Page 22 of A Quarterback for Christmas

“Take that,” I mutter, getting far too into the game when suddenly, a message pops up at the bottom of the screen.

JMill21:Someone’s in a bad mood today. Did you really have to push me off and waste a life?

I stare down at my controller, narrowing my eyes at the buttons. Nothing resembles a keyboard, so how the heck am I supposed to type back?

JMill21:Where’s your mic?

There’s a mic on these things? I can’t see one anywhere. Taking a chance, I click a few buttons until a keyboard pops up, and just as I’m about to write a message to the stranger to let them know I’m not Drew, I stop myself. A smirk rises up my cheeks. Why not mess with some of Drew’s friends while he’s gone? It’s the least I could do for him after he left me here all day to do nothing but think about how much he hated seeing me naked.

It takes me at least three minutes, but I manage to type out a message.

McD45: No mic. I’m sick and have no voice.

McD45? Really? That’s Drew’s username? Sounds like a fast-food chain.

JMill21:How? Isn’t it like 70 degrees in Tampa?

I sit up straighter, feeling a little more watched than before. The mere mention of Tampa means that this isn’t some random gamer. This has got to be someone Drew knows in real life.

McD45:I’m not there.

JMill21:Don’t tell me you got stuck in the snowstorm? I told you to get the flight with Coach Summers.

JMill21:You better not be eating all my batch cooking.

JMill21:You alive? Okay, fine, you can eat my food. Just pay me back.

Sweat prickles at the back of my neck, and as I read the username one more time, I realize I’m talking to Jacob Miller, one of Drew’s roommates. My fingers back away from the controller because it feels a little too hot. A little too real. I can’t fake being Drew to him, but the persistent messages mean I’ve got to say something.

McD45: No problem. Will pay you back.

What else can I say? I’m talking totheJacob Miller, and I need to nip this conversation in the bud before he suspects something.

JMill21:So, you’re stuck in Hope with no family?

I consider mentioning that I’m here, but don’t because surely that would only raise suspicion.

McD45: Yup. Just me.

JMill21:That sucks. Your mom is going to be so upset.

Sadness for the little boy watchingHome Alonewhile being home alone flashes through my mind, and I wonder if his mom still works every Christmas Eve. Sponsorship deals are great, but Drew won’t be earning the big bucks until he gets to the NFL,and I doubt he has much money left over after servicing his G Wagon.

McD45: It’s not great, but there’s nothing else I can do.

JMill21:You’re not missing much. Family’s overrated.

Don’t take the bait.

My fingers itch over the controls. Jacob obviously wants to talk about something, and I should close it down, but I can’t help it; I’m bored and intrigued. Jacob Miller is always portrayed as this perfectly put-together guy. He’s got that Tom Brady robot vibe, so knowing he has problems like the rest of us is intriguing.

No. I shouldn’t ask. It’s private, and he doesn’t know he’s talking to me. I should shut this conversation down.

But then again, Drew’s still not home, and I have nothing else to do.

JMill21:Never thought I’d despise coming home for Christmas so much.

I bite my bottom lip. That’s just asking for trouble. My thumbs fiddle with the controller, contemplating my next move.

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