Vitamin C & The HDMI Cable

The orange gaming chair glared at me from across the room—a birthday gift from my mom who swore it would help my posture during finals week. Instead, it had become the throne from which I hosted my失败的 Fortnite streams to an audience of approximately zero.

"Dude, you're literally Vitamin D deficient," Marcus said, kicking back in my beanbag with a Gatorade. "That's why your aim is mid."

I snorted. "Pretty sure my aim is mid because I don't practice four hours a day like some people."

"Whatever. Your stream setup is tragic anyway." He pointed at the tangle of cables behind my monitor. "That HDMI cable has been hanging by a thread since September. Bet it disconnects during your first big moment."

He was right. The cable was frayed at the connector, exposing copper like a bad haircut. But new gear meant money, and my summer job at the smoothie shop barely covered my phone bill.

Still, Maya from my AP Bio class had mentioned she watched streamers sometimes. Maybe she'd tune in if I actually went live for real.

That weekend, I splurged. Twenty bucks on a premium HDMI cable with gold-plated connectors—because the internet said that mattered. I even bought a bottle of those neon orange vitamins that promised focus, energy, and probably glowing skin. The label listed enough B vitamins to kill a horse.

"You're trying too hard," Marcus said when I showed him my setup. "Just be yourself."

Easy for him to say. He didn't spend Friday nights alone in his room, talking to a chat room of ghosts.

Sunday night, I popped two vitamins. They tasted like artificial orange and desperation. Stream started. Five viewers—personal record. My hands shook as I dropped into the map. This was it. My moment.

Then my screen went black.

The cable. Of course. My nineteen-dollar gold-plated dream had come loose.

I almost cried. Almost. Then I heard it—laughter. From my phone. My chat was going wild.

"LMAO the face cam tho"

"finals week finally broke him"

"this is peak content"

I looked at my face cam recording. The moment the screen died, I'd made a face like a confused pug. It was ridiculous.

Then: a notification. Maya liked my clip.

My hands stopped shaking. Sometimes the best moments aren't the ones you plan. They're the ones that happen when everything goes wrong—and you're okay with it anyway.

Also, I finished the vitamins. My skin did not glow, but my aim improved. Probably placebo. Probably fine.