Pointless competition

I narrowed my eyes, swirling the beer in my hand. “Still convinced that being able to quote The Art of War makes you interesting?”

The people around us shifted awkwardly, sensing the brewing storm. Evans grinned, that smug smile that made my fist itch to wipe it off his face. “I’m just saying quoting strategy books is a little more useful than knowing how to throw a ball.”

"Useful?" I barked out a laugh. "Yeah, nothing says 'life skills' like being able to ruin a party with strategic discourse."

“You know,” Evans said, tilting his head, “I bet you couldn’t even keep up in a real competition. I’ve got stamina for days.”

“Stamina, huh? You couldn’t handle a jog, let alone a real test of endurance.”

One of our friends interrupted with a grin. “Why don’t you two settle this with a good old-fashioned drinking match?”

The crowd perked up at this. What started as a petty exchange had turned into a public spectacle. I couldn’t back down now. Not in front of everyone. Especially not in front of Evans.

“Fine,” I said, squaring up to him. “You’re on.”

And just like that, Tom handed us both shots of something I wasn’t entirely sure was legal. But what the hell, it was time to show him.

Shot One went down easy enough. A little burn, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Evans tipped his head back with that same irritating confidence.

Shot Two followed. A bit of cheering now, mostly from people who were excited to see one of us crash and burn.

By Shot Four, the world was starting to tilt just a little. But I wasn’t about to give Evans the satisfaction of tapping out. No way. Not tonight.

“Still with me?” Evans slurred, leaning a little too far into my personal space.

I scoffed, waving for another round. “I could do this all night.”

“Oh yeah? Because from where I’m standing”—he gestured wildly to the air—“you look about two shots away from a nap.”

“Nah,” I grinned, blinking slowly. “You’re seeing double. There’s two of me now. Good luck beating both.”

The crowd laughed, and someone, probably Dexter, pushed another drink into my hand. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it went down like fire. And then there was more.

By Shot Seven, I couldn’t tell if Evans was swaying or if the whole house was on some kind of fault line. Either way, he didn’t look any better than me. His hair was mussed, his glasses askew, and yet he still had that infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

“You ready to give up?” he hiccupped, his words barely holding together.

“You... wish,” I shot back, pointing at him—or maybe someone near him. “You’re going down. You and... all your... strategy books.”

Tom chimed in again, the devil on both our shoulders. “One more round, boys! The last one standing takes the crown!”

If my vision wasn’t swimming, I might’ve told him to shove that crown somewhere unpleasant. But instead, I grabbed the final shot, tipped it back, and tried not to think about how gravity suddenly felt ten times stronger.

That was the last coherent thought I had before Dexter appeared out of nowhere, practically lifting me off the ground.

“Alright, champ, let’s get you home before you actually pass out,” Dexter said, half laughing, half hauling me towards the door.

“But…” I protested weakly, dragging my feet. “I gotta… defeat… Evans.”

“You did, buddy. You totally crushed him,” Dexter lied, as any good friend would.

“No, no, no.” I mumbled, flopping against him like a rag doll. “He’s too... smug. and his glasses... they... they have powers.”

Dexter snorted as he dragged me down the street, my legs not quite cooperating. “Uh-huh. Sure. You’ll get him next time, big guy.”

“I will,” I declared, though it came out more like a croak. “He’s not... not smarter than me... just good at... words.”

By the time we got to our flat, my eyelids were practically glued shut, but I still managed one last heroic mumble as Dexter dropped me onto my bed.

“I’ll defeat him... tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say, champ,” Dexter said, tossing a blanket over me.

As I drifted into the void, all I could think about was how, somehow, even drunk off my ass, Evans Brooks still found a way to get under my skin.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’d defeat him.