Cable Knights and Bad Haircuts

Marcus's hair was doing that thing again—the third-period explosion where his curls became a chaotic halo around his head. He'd spent twenty minutes with gel and hope that morning, but chemistry class humidity had other plans.

"You look like a fox who stuck its paw in an electrical socket," said Jenna, sliding into the cafeteria seat across from him. She was the kind of effortlessly pretty that made being fifteen feel like a developmental error.

Marcus ran a hand through the disaster. "Thanks, Jen. Really boosting the confidence here."

"I mean it in a good way! Like, feral chic. It's a vibe."

Whatever. His phone buzzed—his mom again. She'd discovered health TikTok and now Marcus was required to take a vitamin D supplement because apparently sitting in his room gaming for six hours a day wasn't "natural behavior." She'd already mailed him a care package with gummy vitamins and a lecture about sunlight.

"You streaming tonight?" Jenna asked. "The boys keep asking about that Cable Knights tournament."

"Yeah, if I can finish this stupid English essay. Also my cable is being trash again." He gestured at the tangled mess of HDMI and power cords spilling from his backpack like electronic intestines. "I think my dog chewed through something."

Jenna's eyes lit up. "Wait, is THIS the tournament that's qualifying for regionals? Like, actually actually?"

"Maybe. I mean, probably not, but—"

"Marcus! That's huge!" She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "You have to tell people. This isn't just some random gaming thing."

He shrugged. What was he supposed to say—that he spent most Friday nights talking to strangers online while his hair developed its own gravitational pull? That his mom thought he was vitamin-deficient? That he felt like a fraud every time someone called him "CableKing42" in chat?

"Whatever," he muttered. "It's not a big deal."

But something shifted in Jenna's expression. "You're downplaying yourself again. You do that thing where you act like everything is whatever even when it's actually impressive and you're being a stubborn bull about it."

Marcus actually laughed. "Did you just call me a bull?"

"I did. A stubborn bull with excellent gaming reflexes and terrible hair."

He looked at her—really looked. And for the first time, the fox-in-a-socket feeling didn't seem so terrible.

"Okay," Marcus said. "Okay, fine. I'll tell people."