"Are they fucking serious with this shit? 'Full legal investigation?' What does that even mean?!"

I pace back and forth in Finn's room, my hands balled into fists at my side. I'm so fucking angry right now I can't breathe, and it's all because of those shit-for-brains children I used to call teammates.

I knew they wouldn't just let us have the victory and congratulate us for shaving three minutes off the fastest qualifying time. None of them know what good sportsmanship is. Or being a decent human, for that matter. But I expected their tantrums would mostly take place on Twitter, and that they'd fizzle out after a few days. Instead they've built into a crash of fury.

"As far as we're concerned? It means nothing." Finn's still sitting where he was when he told me the news, and he looks almost completely calm. Only a tightness in his jaw betrays his emotions.

He's in team captain mode, which I get. I should be in professional mode, too, but instead I want to burn shit.

"Come on, man. They're accusing us of cheating."

To hear them tell it, we somehow hacked into Estalia Online's code, bypassed the online server, and applied modifiers to all of our characters that drastically increased our damage. They got a big shit-smearing piece published on a gaming site, and now it's all over social media with the stupidest hashtag I've ever seen in my life: #DragonGate.

"With absolutely no proof. Credible sites are already saying they're full of shit," Finn points out. "If Nat20 contacts us and says we've done something wrong, then I'll worry about it. If they want to waste money on some official investigation in the meantime, they're welcome to do it."

It should be simple. Finn's words should get through. But as we go back and forth--and even after I head downstairs with him for the team meeting--I just can't seem to let it go.

Victoria has always had a hate-on for the Cyclones, and I was a big part of that. Now that I'm a member of the team, they're going hardcore into some bullshit trying to ruin us, and I can't help feeling like it's my fault.

I sit down beside Finn at the long table, keeping quiet through the hushed chatter of my teammates. Everybody looks pissed, but not in the same way I am. And from the few glances that are being cast my way, I'd guess I'm not exactly wrong about it being my fault.

"Okay, I'll keep this brief, because we have shit to do today," Coach Singh says. "By now I'm sure everyone's seen the article and read the accusations being thrown at us. We all know they're ridiculous. Most people with a shred of common sense know they're ridiculous. So I don't want anyone engaging on social media. Mute the hashtag so it doesn't show up in your mentions. If you're asked about the allegations, just say we're happy to let Victoria investigate. The truth'll come out soon enough, and people will either believe it or they won't."

She's right. I know she is. Making a scene isn't going to change anything that's happened. But the entire time we're practicing, it's all I can think about. I fuck up so many times Coach Singh dismisses us early, and I immediately head up to my room to read all the new shit that's been posted without anybody on the team judging me. I know I'm obsessed, but I can't help it. The thought of people blatantly lying about me and my friends just gets to me.

Before I can open any of my accounts, though, I see a notification for an email from my dad. There's no subject, a fact that immediately makes me nervous. Dad always makes sure his emails have the most ominous subjects imaginable, but somehow this one is worse. I open it and start reading.

Halfway through the email, I'm shaking with rage. By the time I finish, I'm genuinely considering throwing my laptop out of the nearest window. But I know that won't accomplish anything. I could write a heartfelt, thought-out email in response, and it wouldn't matter. My dad would still wrap his particular brand of professional homophobia in a shame blanket and send it to me under the guise of trying to help.

I open Twitter in a new tab and, like a man possessed, fire off a series of threaded tweets. All of my rage, all of my doubt and hurt is channeled into every word, and I send every last one before I even have time to stop and think about what I'm doing. Reading them back is like suddenly regaining consciousness with blood on my hands.

I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone as I reread what I wrote. It's just one long, nonsensical rant that's barely held together by context. And the fact that most of it is directed at my dad is clear as day to me. I'm just about to delete it--for all the good that'll do, seeing as how my notifications are blowing up--when Finn walks in.

"Hey, I was hoping we could get a stream going tonight. I know it's not scheduled, but I think it'd be a good diversion for both of us, and--"

He stops mid-sentence, and I know he's seen my screen. I can feel him looking over my shoulder; reading.

"What the fuck, Ryker? Please tell me these are just drafts, or... I don't fucking know." I can see his reflection in my screen as he pulls out his phone to check himself. "What the fuck?!"

"I didn't mean to--"

"You didn't mean to write like twenty fucking tweets and hit send? What were you thinking!"

I don't think I've ever heard Finn yell before, but he's yelling now. The sound of footsteps on the stairs tells me we'll soon have company. Not like this wasn't going to be a whole thing, but the fact that I'm about to be publicly flogged puts me on the defensive. Even when I know I'm totally in the wrong.

"I was thinking somebody needed to stand up for us. You know how it looks when we just go all radio silence?" I toss out, feeling like a fucking idiot.

"It looks like we're better than this," he snaps, gesturing at my laptop.

"Everything okay?" Rosa asks, popping her head into my room.

"Delete those tweets. Right now." Finn grates out, which of course makes Rosa go for her phone.

"You know somebody's already screencapped them."

"I don't fucking care, Ryker," he says. "God, why are you like this? Do you just need attention or something? Is me spending every spare minute with you not enough?"

I should let his words bounce off of me. He's angry and feels betrayed. He put his trust in me and I abused it by acting like a moron. But his words make it sound an awful lot like he's doing me a favor. Just like my dad.

"Sorry you have to babysit me all the time," I fire back, standing from my chair. "Here I thought you actually liked spending time with me, but I guess I'm just your little pet project."

"Guys, cool it," Rosa interjects. "What's done is done."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see it's not just her anymore. Zed and Gabe are standing there, too, eyes wide.

"Oh, cry me a fucking river. Stop acting like a victim all the time and grow the hell up, Ryker."

I want to apologize. I want to say I'll find some way to fix it. Resign from the team, make an apology video--something. I want to show him the email from my dad, so he can maybe understand why I did what I did, even if it was wrong. But some part of me thinks it wouldn't matter. Finn doesn't seem all that surprised. He's angry, sure, but all these things sound like they've been bottled up. Like he's just been waiting for the right moment to tell me what an irredeemable piece of shit I am.

And I can't handle that. Not from him.

"You're right. My bad." I put up my hands in "surrender," but my whole body is tense as I shove past him and toward the door. "Sorry your little charity case is acting up, Finny. I'll try to act like a good little boy next time."

One glare gets the people gathered at the door to move. All except Rosa, who puts a hand on my arm to try and stop me. But I'm not interested in being stopped right now. I shrug her off, push my way past her, and head for the stairs.