Chapter 3: Drama in the Rift

That night, as usual, Rachel invited me to a five-stack in the Rift.

Our ritual—energy drinks, fuzzy blankets, and playlists full of throwback pop songs. Even if we were fighting, we always played together at night, like sisters sharing a room again.

As soon as I joined, both our duos were there.

The lobby was tense, like waiting for a verdict on a reality show. Everyone was pretending nothing was wrong, but I could feel the tension through the monitor.

I nudged her. "What's up? Weren't you going to break up?"

I whispered into the mic, eyebrows raised, unsure if this was going to be a friendly match or a digital battlefield.

She shrugged, "Desensitization play—one last round."

Classic Rachel—making things dramatic before she lets them go. She always said goodbye with a bang, not a whimper.

I nodded. Classic best friend: "Just one more, it’s not expensive, eat up, you won’t get fat, almost done, this is really the last time"—her favorite lies.

I couldn’t help but grin, remembering all the times those lies were code for, "I just need a little more closure." Every American friend group has someone like this—the one who insists on one last round, one last slice, one last song.

But tonight was destined to be anything but peaceful.

The air felt charged—like the moment before a summer storm when you know something’s about to go down.

Because her Jack suddenly said, "Hold on, I'll call someone."

We exchanged a look—here it comes. Nothing good ever starts with "let me invite someone."

Then, a girl with a cute pink avatar and the ID 'BaileyMilkTea' joined.

You could almost hear the collective groan. In American lobbies, new faces mean new drama, especially when the name is that sweet.

The first thing she said, with a giggle, was:

"Here I am, all because of Will. Called me to play for no reason and wasted my time."

Rachel nearly rolled her eyes out of her head.

I could tell she was seconds from snark. If she’d been there in person, she’d have rolled her eyes so hard she’d see her brain.

She muted and whispered to me, "If it's such a waste, why is she even here?"

Me, loyal hype woman: "Exactly, exactly, you’re so right."

I typed it out, too, just for backup. In America, backing your bestie’s sarcasm is a requirement.

In game, Jack introduced her as their neighbor and childhood friend—Sophie Quinn.

The name sounded like it belonged in a John Green novel, but she sure didn’t act like a shy bookworm.

Rachel and I were both confused: "Wait, you two know each other in real life?"

We couldn’t hide the surprise in our voices. The odds felt as small as finding someone from your own high school at a music festival three states away.

They both replied at once: "Yeah, we're real-life brothers."

My jaw dropped. This was peak sitcom coincidence. In our heads, we both heard that dramatic “DUN DUN” sound effect from a reality show.

Turns out, sometimes the world really is that small.

We laughed, half in disbelief, half in resignation. Of course the universe would pull this kind of stunt on us.

Brothers in real life, teammates in game.

The whole situation suddenly felt a lot more tangled—a little too close to home for comfort.

The Will player was the older brother, Will Hayes.

The Jack player was the younger brother, Jack Hayes.

Their last name made it real, grounded the fantasy in something so familiar. We’d both known a Hayes in our school, always the jock or the quiet kid who aced history.

Seeing us busy sorting out relationships and ignoring her, Sophie got annoyed and started stirring the pot:

"No need to make it so complicated, just call us childhood sweethearts, isn't that easier?"

Her voice dripped with sugar, but the implication was all spice. In any American friend group, that’d earn her a few side-eyes.

"Oh, Jack, this third pick is your girlfriend, right? Sis, chill, we’re just friends. If Jack and I were meant to be, it would’ve happened already. 😉"

She even laughed twice.

That laugh was the audio version of a subtweet—enough to rile anyone up. It made my drama radar go off like a car alarm in the Walmart parking lot.

My drama radar was blaring.

Sis, tone it down.

You’re practically spilling tea all over the chat.

The tension was thick. In America, you don’t just drop hints like that unless you want to start something.

At the time, I was still on guard for Rachel, worried this girl was after Jack.

I watched their chat like it was a live episode of The Bachelor, rooting for my bestie, ready to clap back if things got heated.

But then, she suddenly switched targets.

Game started, she locked in support.

The room was quiet except for the soft clicks of our mice. I could feel Rachel’s glare from across the digital divide.

"I’m not very good, so I’ll play Will and follow Will Hayes. Who’s ADC? Will’s girlfriend?"

"Her rank’s so high, her skills must be good, she should be fine without my protection."

The shade was real. It was like when someone at a sleepover says, "I’m not hungry," but eats all your fries anyway.

So I was forced to play ADC and got sent to the bottom lane.

I muttered, "Guess it’s just me, myself, and my respawn timer tonight."

I got ganked three times in five minutes—my screen was so dark, all I could do was sigh.

Every time I tried to farm, the enemy team swooped in like seagulls at a boardwalk. I swear, I could practically hear the sad trombone sound effect with each death.

Now Rachel couldn’t take it.

She turned on her mic and said, "You should follow the ADC, she’s been ganked so many times."

Her voice was calm, but I could tell she was fighting the urge to unleash a full-on roast.

Sophie sneered, "She’s getting ganked because she’s bad. Even if I protected her, it wouldn’t help."

"It’s better to follow Will and gank people—at least I can help with tempo."

Who gets this? Family…

The words stung, even though I tried to laugh it off. Rachel was not about to let that slide.

I was terrified. If she insulted Rachel directly, I wouldn’t care, but scolding me in front of my best friend?

That’s the American cardinal sin: you don’t mess with a girl’s best friend in public, not unless you want a social smackdown.

Sure enough, Rachel couldn’t stand it.

She paused the game, turned on public mic, and started roasting:

Her voice went full roast mode, dripping with the sass of every American best friend who’s ever had enough.

"This is Summoner’s Rift, not your king-sized bed."

"Fifteen minutes in and you’re still support with no big items—just red gems, blue gems, green gems. What are you, a walking loot crate? How many gems you got in there, Candy Crush?"

"Have you considered switching to bot matches?"

Her words landed like firecrackers at the Fourth of July. Even the game’s chat seemed to freeze.

Sophie tried to retort, but got cut off instantly.

"Why don’t you go post on Craigslist for a new support? Maybe you’ll finally find someone who can carry you."

"I’m playing chess with your dad—your dad’s the rook, and I’m his queen."

Everyone in voice chat went silent. I was clutching my sides, trying not to laugh. Even the enemies in-game seemed to be rooting for us.

Me and the five enemies all shivered.

The awkward silence was almost cinematic—like the part in a teen movie when someone drops a bombshell at prom. Someone nervously typed "damn" in chat.

After roasting her, was it our turn next?

I could only hope she’d go easy on me. You never know with Rachel.

Sure enough, the next second, Rachel hit surrender on the enemy team’s side.

She was done. When Rachel’s patience snapped, there was no going back.

"Opposite team, help click surrender, I’m out of patience."

Her tone left no room for argument. You could almost see her slamming the virtual door behind her.

After her tirade, she quit the game immediately.

I followed suit, not daring to delay even a second.

I grabbed my blanket and pretended to disappear into my chair, just in case the digital fallout landed in my lap.