The Bear in the Room

The fiber optic cable snaked across my floor like a dead neon worm, pulsing with that sacred internet connection. Tonight was the night. The night I'd finally prove myself to the squad.

"You live, bro?" Jordan's voice crackled through my headset. I hadn't told them—how could I?—that my "gaming setup" was actually my mom's craft room and a laptop from 2019.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, shoving a stuffed bear behind me. My sister's old teddy. Don't ask.

Then my cat, Beans, decided this was the moment. He leaped onto my keyboard, sat directly on the W key, and stared into my webcam like a furry little demon sent to destroy my social life.

"Is that... is that a cat?" someone asked.

"Yeah, that's my emotional support animal," I said, trying to sound chill. "Helps with the anxiety."

Beans began purring loudly, which my mic picked up beautifully. Then he knocked over my Monster can. It spilled everywhere, soaking the bear, which I'd apparently failed to hide properly.

"Yo, whose room is that?" Marcus asked. "Looks like a kid's room."

The bull in the china shop moment. I could've lied. Could've said it was my little sister's. Could've made up something smooth and sophisticated.

"It's mine," I said, my face burning. "I still sleep with my childhood bear. Judge me."

Silence. The kind where you can hear yourself breathing.

"Dude," Jordan said. "I still have my blankie from when I was five. No cap."

"For real?" I asked.

"His mom still makes him chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs," Marcus added. "We've all seen it."

They started laughing. Not at me—with me. The kind of laugh that feels like coming home.

"Anyway," I said, wiping soda off the bear's ear. "About this ranked match..."

"Play one for the homies with the bear," Jordan said. "We need its lucky energy."

So I did. And sometimes, the most embarrassing parts of you? They're exactly what make you worth knowing.