He Shoots, She scores

Chapter Eighteen: Weston | Nerf Gun War

"You have to admit" Eli says. "This is stupid." He ties the red bandanna around his upper arm, using his teeth to yank the last knot.

"Yup." We're squeezed together in the tiny laundry room getting ready. I'm busy trying to un-jam the nerf gun so I can re-load it with bullets.

"I have a lab report worth 20% of my final grade and I'm out here shooting foam pellets." Eli waves his gun in the air for emphasis.

"Yup." Stupid gun. Why won't the bullets go in?

"You're really willing to go through all this just so you can keep bringing your booty calls over here?"

"Wrong." I look up from the gun to find Eli's dark eyes boring into mine with impatient vexation. "I'm going through all this so that Gracie will dump John's ass. I couldn't care less about the booty calls." The term makes me scoff, but when I say it aloud, I realize that I haven't brought a girl over here in weeks. My new personal record. And if I'm being honest, I don't plan on doing it anymore either. Having meaningless sex was merely a distraction, that was all, but now there's a new distraction in my life. One that drives me crazy but also a hint of amusement. I can't tell if this is a good or bad thing. "So as stupid as this is, we're going out there, and we're gonna win. Kapeesh?"

Eli rolls his eyes. "Believe me. I don't like John anymore than you do. But this bet you guys are placing is insane."

Ignoring him, I jab my nerf gun into the wall with one solid hit. Finally the damn thing unlocks. I slide the bullets in. "Just try to win. Can you do that?"

"Can I do that" he scoffs. Eli holds his gun vertically and cocks the gun in James Bond fashion. "Have you forgotten who's brought our team to victory three times in a row?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get too cocky yet, big guy" I mutter. "You get RJ. I'll get Gracie."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

We push our bodies against the wall and wait for the signal. A few seconds later, RJ's voice ricochets loudly across the house. "GAME STARTS IN 3, 2, 1- BEGIN!" The sound of a trumpet goes off.

In the past, we've done 2 vs. 2 with whatever fourth roommate we've had. And each time, Eli and I have been on the same team. We don't need a game plan because we work well together. Our brains move in sync. I never have to tell him where to go, and he never has to tell me where to shoot. We just do it. And we win every time.

Eli makes his way out the laundry room first. His gigantic body somehow moves with ease, probably from years of training as a goalie. He even somersaults into a kneeling position before darting his head out the corner. I almost burst into laughter. Eli is always the one to comment on how immature this game is, and yet he and RJ are the ones who take it the most seriously.

Eli looks at me and then jerks his head, which is my indication that the coast is clear. I follow suit (sans somersault) and then we're heading in opposite directions. Him towards the kitchen, and me towards the stairs. We don't know where RJ and Gracie are hiding, but my intuition is warning me that Gracie would play it safe. She'd hide somewhere comfortable. Somewhere like her room.

I'm army crawling through the living room where the heights of the furniture can conceal me. When I'm certain there's nobody here, I stand up and bolt for the stairs. I don't stop until I'm on the second level. From down below, I figure that RJ and Eli have found each other already based on their shouts.

"GET OVER HERE, JONES!"

"NOT A CHANCE, SINGH!"

"DIE, DIE, DIE!" This is followed by a series of aggressive pellets bouncing off the walls and whatnot. I resist the urge to go help Eli. When it comes to RJ, his tactic is more physicality based than strategic (the opposite of Eli). RJ lacks the patience to think things through. He loves the thrill of chasing someone with a nerf gun, and so consequently, he's always the first one out.