Page 13 of From Drummer to Gamer

Only Raphy knew the truth.

“Let the kiddo be, Vicky. It’s her last summer before college,” Dad said, his warm brown eyes sliding to me. “It’s her time to have fun.”

“Fine.” My mother relented, her gaze softening.

As strict as my mother was, she loved us, and she loved Dad even more. One word from him and she would become an unrecognizable person.

The conversation changed to more mundane topics like Abuela’s bingo addiction and teas that helped with headaches.

But the heaviness in my heart intensified as my eyes darted to my dad. I hated lying to him; he was my superhero and always on my side. I was a daddy’s girl, and it killed me to lie to him. But I had no other choice.

If I told him I wanted to be a professional gamer, he would support it a hundred percent, but he would also share it with my mom. Then that would be the end of me. I could already see the flashes of my headstone—In the memory of SIERRA CHAN: daughter, sister, friend, died bravely in the pursuit of her dreams.

I shuddered at that thought.

So I had the next three months to cook up something spectacular for the reason I can’t go to Colombia.

“I swear dinner makes me lose more calories than I gain any,” I complained, later that night to Matt, dripping with sweat, with his drumsticks paused midair, the picture captured right when he was about to smash them. It was my favorite poster of him. It even had his signature printed on the bottom, only I wish it was real.

“What was I going to do?” I mumbled, sighing as his morose green eyes stared at me. “You can’t really answer me, can you?”

I blew out a breath as I crashed into my bed, and my eyes landed on the ceiling.

Gaming was the one thing I was good at; I knew it like the back of my hand.

Nothing sparked the drive in me like my games did, and I wanted to be the best at it.

It wasn’t for the faint-hearted; it was a highly competitive field, and despite what my mother thought, it required an exceptional level of strategic problem-solving and hand-eye coordination that takes years to ace.

I just wish she could see how amazing I was. Maybe one day she could.

“She would, wouldn’t she, Matt?” I leaned on my elbows and asked him.

The same blank look greeted me.

“Ah,” I groaned, flopping back.

I was so fucking screwed.

CHAPTER 4

MATT

“That was amazing,” I praised Luka who looked at me with hopeful eyes after nailing the backbeat three times in a row with newly added rudiments.

“Really?” The tips of his ears pinked.

“Yes.” I smiled at him. “You’re learning fast. Soon, you’ll be playing like me.”

“I’d like that,” he muttered shyly.

“Good. Now come on, let’s watch the movie.”

He nodded, beaming as he took my hand.

Soon, we were all watchingPirates of the Caribbeanjust like I promised the boys, who were all giggling smiles and gleaming eyes the entire movie.

And like every week, Luka stuck to my side and Mitchell to his.