It All Started in Detention

Chapter Eighteen

"Dumb move."

Jack groaned as he tried to ignore the distracting voice of a friend of his, JoJo, who really showed up for Crutchie and Medda.

It wasn't that Jack and JoJo didn't like each other, but their relationship resembled that of distant first cousins, one being much older than the older, so conversations were limited. But they had their moments, ones Jack appreciated, unless JoJo was currently trying to keep him from winning at Mario Kart. "Oh- Look, you fell off. You know you're practically dead, right?"

"JoJo, I love you", Jack sighed, eyes focused on the screen and teeth refusing to let anything through, "but please, for the love of God, shut the hell up."

"You don't even believe in God." Race, another patron of what seemed to make Medda's house a tavern, chuckled as he shoved grapes into his mouth. "What, are you trying to get Good Samaritan points for the big man upstairs?"

"No, he's just trying to get supernatural forces involved so the two of you would stop talking for once", Albert—automatically attached to Race, and vice versa—smiled mischievously as he threw pieces of popcorn at JoJo and Race's heads, causing a gradual decrease in noise as Crutchie began to protest the food being thrown around the living room. Jack didn't mind.

It was noisier than JoJo's whispers, but it wasn't targeted at him. If the noise continued, he could easily beat his little brother and find his name rising in the ranks but summer time.

"Jack, dov'é l'uva?" Jack sighed out as he moved with animated Bowser on the screen, trying his best not to focus on the commotion behind him. "Jack, where are the fucking grapes?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know, Racer?" He barely turned his mind to the question, let alone his head. He needed to win this round. "Look under...look under the table, or something."

Jack ignored the other conversations behind him, practically tasting victory in his tongue, his tongue sticking out in concentration. Even if Crutchie were to start playing now, there was no way he would be able yo catch up—he's on lap 2, and Jack's on lap 3.

His kart inched closer and closer to the finish line, and Jack's grin grew closer and closer to his ears. Everything seemed quieter than before, the boys behind him, the beeping of the smoke detector, his heavy breathing; he could only hear the engine of his car and the music of Rainbow Road.

Just thirty seconds away from victory—he could hear the worried voices of his friends and brothers, realizing he was practically salivating even as his tongue went dry, but he was twenty seconds away from winning, twenty seconds from being in fifteenth place on the Newsies Mario Kart Podium. He wouldn't be able to compete in the finals yet, but he'd have beaten Mush and Blink in just ten seconds.

He was so close to winning, so close to tasting sweet pride of third place compared to Crutchie's twelfth; he could practically embrace the feeling of crossing the finish line, the elatedness of winning something for once in his life.

Then the screen faced black, and the lights around them flashed off. Jack's hand dropped in his lap as the remote he was using fell lamely onto the floor. A warm chill tan down his spine, combating the icy glare aimed at the roof. "What the hell!"

"The power went out", JoJo pointed out, and Jack closed his eyes to keep himself from exploding at the obvious statement. "Do you guys have a generator?"

"No", Crutchie muttered softly, and Jack could hear the rusting of his crutch against the floor. "Medda, where are the candles?!"

Jack sighed out angrily, falling back onto the floor as his brother's receding footsteps pounded the floor, vibrating onto the back of his skull. He ignored Race's comment on his dramatics, thinking about how ironic his distaste was—he had a tendency to scream whenever he saw an ant, which was made obvious by his objective to stay at his home rather than going to Albert's which was notorious for it's ant farm. If Jack was Race, he thought, he'd be crying by now from frustration.