Crosby straightened up in his chair and smiled. He liked hearing that.

“Hey, CrossBow, know what?” 88Rising said. “Maybe it’s time we shared our real names. What do you say?”

Crosby was surprised. That was a big step. People didn’t share their real names online unless they felt a strong bond with each other.

“I’m Dave,” 88Rising said.

“I’m Crosby.”

“Nice to know you, Crosby. Now what do you say we play some TGW?”

They played until Crosby’s aunt Mary called him for dinner. Crosby went into the kitchen feeling good, like he’d just made a new friend. A real friend. His mom was sitting at the kitchen table wearing an old pink robe and a blue scarf on her head to cover up the hair loss caused by chemotherapy. She smiled weakly at him. She was thin and her skin was a sickly gray. Crosby felt his body tighten. He couldn’t get used to seeing her like that. Every time he did, he had to fight back tears.

While Crosby’s mother had always been slender and gentle, her sister, Crosby’s aunt Mary, was short, stocky, and pushy. She was the sort of person who always had an opinion and let you know it. That evening, Aunt Mary served him a bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce. Crosby’s mom’s dinner was a bottle of chocolate Ensure and a handful of colorful pills. Crosby was an only child, and he hadn’t seen his father in years. He wasn’t even sure where his father was anymore. Sometimes Crosby woke in the middle of the night wondering what would happen if they got to the point where his mom could no longer live at home. What would happen to him? Where would he live?

They’d hardly begun to eat when Aunt Mary asked if he was still in the eSports club. Crosby knew that she was trying to be like a mother to him because his own mother was now often too weak to do it. But having never been a mother herself, Aunt Mary really stank at it.

“Yes, and for your information, there are girls in the club,” Crosby said, because he had a feeling that was what she was going to ask next.

“Good,” Aunt Mary said. “And what about when you’re online here?”

“I don’t know,” Crosby said. “I just play with people.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“Not usually,” Crosby said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, I think it does,” Aunt Mary said in that accusing tone of hers. Like no matter what he did, it was wrong. “I’ve read that there are all sorts of predators who use gaming as a way to meet boys. Has anyone ever asked you for a photo of yourself?”

“You must think I’m really stupid,” Crosby snapped at her.

“Crosby, please,” his mother said softly.

“Sorry, Mom.” Crosby turned to his aunt. “No one’s ever asked, and I’d never do it if they did.”

“Do people say racist things?” Aunt Mary asked. “Or sexist?”