Battling Hearts and High Scores: A Teenage RomCom

Battling Teacups and Tough Guys

"Ouch! Hot, hot, hot." I exclaim, wincing as I sip the scorching green tea I ordered.

"This is why you don't drink and game at the same time. Something could go horribly wrong, like, you know, burning your tongue," Greggory chimes in, his eyes glued to the screen as he fidgets with his controller.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have ordered anything if Mr. Roberts over there wasn't threatening to kick us out for not buying something." I scoff, glancing over to the burly, hairy man who's standing behind the diner counter, arms crossed and watching us like a hawk. Mr. Roberts, Izzy's father, runs this place with military precision. "Why does he make us pay? You're practically family, Max."

Max shakes his head rapidly. "He's never liked me, not since that one time he babysat me and caught me in the guest room... imagining I was kissing his daughter. And please, don't say I'm practically family. That's just creepy—it makes it sound like Izzy and I are related."

Greggory and I exchange glances and, in unison, say, "Well..."

"Ugh, come on, guys. That's gross! We're just best friends, neighbors, and lived together in the same house at one point. Besides, I have no idea how she really sees me. It's all confusing teenage girl stuff! She's impossible to read." Max mashes the buttons on his controller, clearly focusing hard to avoid the embarrassing conversation.

"Who's impossible to read?" Izzy appears beside our table, her expression as neutral as ever. She holds a metal pitcher filled with hot water, ready for a refill.

"Uh, no one. Refill?" I ask, quickly diverting attention.

"Okay," she says, pouring more water into my teacup with fluid, deliberate movements. Izzy's always precise, never letting a single drop spill.

Max, like always, gawks at her as she works, and it's obvious that she notices. Today, she's in her diner uniform—faded skinny jeans, a light blue polo shirt with the diner's name embroidered on it, and her usual stained apron from hours of working. Her curly hair is pulled back into a neat puff. Despite her disheveled appearance, Max has always thought she's effortlessly beautiful.

Izzy's a part of Shalom's clique of naturally pretty girls, but for Max, Izzy's the one who stands out. He used to compliment her all the time, especially when she felt insecure about her looks—until Greggory told him he was coming on too strong. Their friendship is like a delicate flower, nurtured in private but wilting in public. Nobody really knows why Izzy distances herself from Max when they're not alone—except for the two of them. It's a secret they guard closely. And because Max cares so much, he respects her boundaries, however long she needs.

"Oh, we were just saying how this girl we've been gaming with is practically a master at Steel Reckoning lll. She's got one of the highest scores in the whole game." Max finally speaks, still clearly entranced by Izzy, who, in turn, raises an eyebrow in mild amusement.

"Are you saying girls can't game? Not that I would. That's so not my thing," she says, brushing off his comment.

"Whaaat? Obviously not." Max smirks, nudging Greggory, causing him to miss his next move and get attacked by the monstrous bats we've been struggling, all day, to beat in Mission 3.

I grab my headset from my sling bag, connect it to my laptop, and unmute my mic. "I think we're done gaming for today. Maybe we can catch up sometime this week?"

"Sure," comes the preppy, monotone voice of QueenBeeofChaos on the other end before we all log off and close our laptops.

"Max, I can't defend you on this one, buddy. It really sounded like you were insinuating something," Greggory leans in, giving Max a knowing look.