“I heard Robbie’s parents moved to Franklin so he can play on their football team,” Ratface said, standing in front of the mirror and raking his fingers through his dark hair. His long nose reminded Zach of a rat.

“Yeah,” Gavin said at a urinal.

“Wish my mom could do that,” Ratface said. “It totally sucks that Ironville canceled football. Imagine if we could all move to Franklin and play?”

“It’s a big school,” said Gavin, who had red hair and freckles. “Think you could make the team?”

“Hey, I may not be big, but I’m fast,” said Ratface.

Hidden in the stall, Zach wondered about that. Ratface might have been fast, but he was small. Smaller even than Zach. There were plenty of bigger kids who were just as fast. Gavin, on the other hand, was the biggest kid in the grade. He reminded Zach of Duke Nukem. You wouldn’t think a kid that brawny could be quick and agile, but when they played flag football or basketball in gym, the team with Gavin on it always won.

Gavin backed away from the urinal. He cleared his throat loudly, then gazed up at the ceiling.

Inside the stall, Goofy Foot looks upward. His eyes take in an astounding sight. Stuck to the ceiling of the pissorium are a dozen dried brownish-green hanging loogies! Like a cave with mucus stalactites.

His head tilted back, Gavin hocked and fired. Splat! His loogie smacked into the ceiling and stuck. But from the middle, it drooped, stretching like light brown Play-Doh Slime until the bulbous end broke and fell to the floor with a plop!

“Darn,” Gavin grumbled.

“Maybe next time,” Ratface said.

The bell rings, and Gavin and Ratface leave the bathroom. Once again alone, Goofy Foot exits the stall. But before he goes to class, he stands in the middle of the pissorium, face tilted upward. It is too tempting not to try. He hocks his own glob of slimy ammunition, aims, then fires!

Alas, his mucus projectile lacks firepower. It doesn’t get halfway to the ceiling before it sputters and falls short.

It plummets back down and splatters all over Goofy Foot’s face.

The bell was going to ring at any moment. Ms. B had finally managed to get Principal Summers down to the computer lab to show her the eight shiny new Providia gaming computers that had just arrived.

Principal Summers was a petite, neatly dressed woman with short black hair. She was also a tough, but always fair administrator. She slid a glossy red fingernail along the top edge of one of the twenty-four-inch monitors. “How can these not cost us anything?” she asked.

“We got them with a technology grant for low-income schools,” Ms. B said. “It even includes an upgrade for our internet connection, new routers, and these gaming setups.”

Principal Summers nodded slowly. Ms. B could tell that the principal had doubts about encouraging eSports at school. “Can we use them for anything besides gaming?” the principal asked.