High Score: Chapter One

By the time my rideshare pulls up to the arcade, my phone’s notification box is jammed with 10 unread messages. I tap my finger on the screen, musing over my next move.

The truth is, I read every single one of them the second they flashed on my screen. Most are just my sisters checking in, wondering when I’m arriving, asking about the boyfriend they don’t realize I don’t have anymore.

But one notification sends my heart plummeting into my stomach.

DAD: What happened to your internship?

I blow out a shaky breath. I should have seen this coming the moment I decided to tell my sisters I was coming home. It would have been smarter to call my dad first, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I know he cares about one thing and one thing only: my internship at Mercurial Digital Systems. The one I had last year, the one I thought I was promised this year — until they never called me back.

“Are you sure this is where you want to be?” my driver asks. “Looks like this place is closed.”

I peer out my window at the arcade on Angel Avenue: two wide windows reflecting back the sunny street, and an unlit sign with my family’s name on it.

“It’s okay,” I say, opening the door and sliding out. A quick glance at the ride’s price makes me wince. I should’ve listened to Jess when she said it would be cheaper to rent a car. “Thanks for the ride.”

The driver hurries out to pop the trunk and help me with my suitcase and giant backpack. Last week it held my college textbooks; now it’s stuffed with my favorite blanket, a couple of picture frames, a rolled-up poster, and a pair of heels I couldn’t fit anywhere else. I think my pride is rattling around somewhere at the bottom, too.

I force a smile as the driver returns to the car, then leave him as much of a tip as I can afford. I shouldn’t have quit my part-time job at the Student Union bar, but I needed more time to study for finals. I figured I could float until the internship started.

I guess I’m still floating. Untethered. Unanchored. Adrift. Yeah, that’s me.

My phone lights up again with a message from my little sister.

CHLOE: Are you already here?

I bite my lip, not quite looking up at the apartment windows on the second story, where my family is probably waiting for me. I’m about to ask her where Dad is — not to find him, but to make sure I don’t run into him — when another message hits.

CHLOE: Be right down!

I freeze. Just her, or… everyone?

I huff out a breath. This is ridiculous. I’m home for the summer, like millions of other college students who haven’t yet found a job. This is normal. This is fine. So I thought I had an internship, and now I don’t. Dad will understand, just as soon as I work up the courage to tell him.

I type a quick reply to my sister:

HARPER: Can’t wait to see you.

Then I tuck my phone in my back pocket, heave a deep breath, and open the door to Wynn It Arcade.

The checkered floor creaks under me as I take a few steps inside. The scrape of suitcase wheels practically echoes in the silence. I stop in the middle of the empty room, taking it in.

Everything is exactly where I remember it, peaceful as a pause screen: pinball machines in the middle of the room, classic arcade cabinets against the far wall, and the bar where my sisters and I used to do our homework every night right in front of me. This place used to be so alive with the happy beeps and beats of arcade music, people laughing, screens glowing, neon lights. But today, sunrays spill across the dirty floor, and dust motes float lazily in the air. It feels like a ghost town.

I dump my backpack on a bar stool and leave my suitcase behind to wander through the arcade. I walk over to the pinball machines and run my finger along the edge of The Addams Family cabinet; it comes away with dust. I breeze by the row of fighting games, the cozy couch by the front windows — and then I see it. My chest squeezes tight as a flood of memories washes over me.

The Dragon’s Lair cabinet is right where it’s always been, in the front corner by the window, with a little breathing space so people can appreciate the side panel: a gorgeous illustration of Dirk the Daring battling the fire-breathing dragon. Mom used to play this almost every night, laughing at all the hilariously gruesome ways the poor knight would die if she made a wrong move. She had a rich, tinkling laugh that always reminded me of wind chimes. When she was diagnosed, she said, “At least I won’t go out like Dirk the Daring.” We had to force ourselves to laugh with her.

I pause in front of the cabinet, staring at the gray screen with a handwritten sign taped to it: OUT OF ORDER. It’s not my dad’s neat handwriting, but a looping scrawl I don’t recognize.

What’s wrong with it? Surely my dad would have figured out how to fix this machine, of all the ones here. Mom would have wanted everyone to play it.

The power cord is coiled on the floor beside it, unplugged. Safe to touch, then. I bend low to check the back panel, which is scooted away from the wall. I find two loose screws. Somebody must have already opened this and not bothered to put it all the way back on.

I work the screws free and swing the panel open. Inside is a labyrinth of wires and circuit boards and a whole lot of dust. Squinting into the depths, I notice something in the monitor casing is disconnected.

I reach inside.

“What the hell are you doing?” comes a voice behind me, low and frantic.

I jump, banging my head on the cabinet, as a hand clasps around my arm and pulls me backwards, gentle yet firm. I fall on my backside, more from shock than anything else.

“Ow!” I cry, rubbing my head.

I glare up at whoever just grabbed me, as their hand slips from my arm. At first all I see is a shadow, backlit by the windows and haloed in dust motes. Then my mouth drops open, because somehow — from somewhere in the dusty corners of ancient high scool memories — I think I recognize those square shoulders and that tilt of the head.

“Are you…” I blink to clear my eyes. “Brady Donahue?” 

He shifts just enough for his features to come into focus. Yep, it’s him all right: the kid from high school who played here every night, claiming every high score on just about every game. It drove my sisters nuts. I mostly ignored him.

“What were you thinking?” he demands. Now that the light is on his face, I see he’s glowering at me. “You almost electrocuted yourself.”

I puff out a disbelieving laugh. “You remember this is my family’s arcade, right? I practically grew up here. I know my way around a game cabinet.”

As I start to clamber to my feet, Brady extends a hand to help me up. I hesitate for a breath; I hardly need the help. But I take it, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he’s just being kind, not condescending. His hand is warm and calloused in mine as I pull myself up. Then, back on my feet, I remove my hand and point to the cord on the floor.

“See? It’s not even plugged in.”

“And the CRT monitor?” Brady shoots back. “Those things hold a charge even when they’re unplugged. If you touch the wrong thing in there, it could stop your heart.”

I narrow my eyes at him, wanting to argue. But somewhere in the back of my head, I hear my mom cheerfully reciting “101 ways these machines can kill you,” and my stomach sinks. It’s been a long time since I’ve set foot in here, let alone actually helped. I guess the details don’t stick when you’re busy avoiding a place.

After my mom, it was easier to stay away.

“Right.” I look back at the cabinet, sitting there as innocently as a sleeping dragon in its lair. My shoulders sag. “I just wanted to help, but I guess I almost ended up like Dirk with the Robot Knight.” My voice goes soft as I add, “This game was her favorite.”

I don’t know if Brady will understand who I mean, but from the way his eyes soften, I think he does. He was in here often enough to see my mom playing Dragon’s Lair. And serving up her famous quesadillas. And helping my sisters and me with our homework at the counter. All of the regulars saw my mom with the Pokemon wrap on her head, her body shrinking, thinning, fading away like vanishing pixels until she was hardly there at all.

“I know.” His voice is softer now. It still has that rasp I remember from high school — just deeper now. And when did he bulk up? He was always scrawny in his vintage gaming t-shirts; now his arms are swelling where they peek out from his short-sleeved henley. I guess he’s leveled up in the clothes department too. “Just let me take care of it, okay? That’s why I’m here.”

I frown, wanting to ask him what he means, but there’s no time before the arcade’s front door swings open and my sisters barrel into the room, chattering like squirrels as they tackle me in a group hug.

“Why didn’t you just come upstairs?” “How was the drive?” “Are you hungry?” “Where’s your boyfriend?” “Why didn’t you tell Dad?”

I close my eyes, breathing in the scents of them: Jess’s musky cologne, Chloe’s fruity shampoo, Mackenzie’s vanilla soap. How long has it been since all four of us hugged like this? It’s been months since we were all even in the same room.

“Whoa,” I say, as we finally disentangle ourselves. “Too many questions at once.”

We all laugh at that. Over Jess’s shoulder, I notice Brady ducking his head as he gives me one last glance, then slinks away to the side room. He must have been working in there when I walked in, but why?

I shake away the questions and focus on my sisters. They’ll have all the answers anyway.

Chloe gawks at me through her red-rimmed glasses, whistling as she takes me in. “You look good, sis. I know you said your boyfriend is a personal trainer, but damn.”

Mackenzie gives her a friendly shove. “Shut up, Chloe. Harper’s always been a ten.”

Chloe tosses her dark hair over her shoulder, preening. “We all are. It’s in our genes.”

Mackenzie just rolls her eyes. Her light brown hair is shorter now, cut in a fashionable bob that gives her jaw a sharper angle. I know she’s eighteen now, but she looks even older than Chloe, who’s twenty. But then, that could be because Chloe dresses like the rainbow and chatters away like she’s still on the cheer squad at Waverly High.

Still, it’s weird to watch my little sisters grow up.

“Did you bring him?” Chloe asks.

I frown. “Bring who?”

“Your personal trainer with benefits!” Chloe hisses.

My mouth twists. She means my boyfriend — the one who ended things via text a day before we were supposed to road trip to Santa Barbara for spring break. “Oh, Trevor. Yeah… he’s history.”

“Wait, what?” Chloe gasps. “But he was so hot!”

Mackenzie shakes her head, hiding a laugh. Before I can reply, I notice Brady glancing up from the doorway. He’s probably shocked that Harper Wynn, cheerleader and valedictorian, is now job-less and boyfriend-less and coming home to crash after college.

“Leave her in peace,” says my older sister Jess, who’s been taking in this exchange with her usual look of mild amusement. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up over lunch. But right now?” She looks at me and lowers her voice. “You didn’t tell Dad you were coming home, did you?”

I shake my head, feeling that familiar twinge of guilt in my chest. I can take a few barbs from Chloe and Mackenzie because they’re younger than me, but Jess? She has a way of seeing straight through me, and she doesn’t bullshit. I love that about her, but in moments like this, it terrifies me too.

“Why?” I ask. “Did he find out? Is he mad?”

Jess arches an eyebrow like I’m an idiot. “What do you think?”

I exhale. My whole body feels tense, and I realize I’ve been holding all this inside the whole car ride here. Probably the whole last week, trying to focus on finals when I knew the internship was over and my boyfriend long gone. I feel like I’m one hit away from losing a boss fight. And now, in trying to avoid my dad’s disappointment over what a failure I am, I’ve only managed to make him livid too.

“Don’t worry,” Mackenzie says, giving me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “He’ll get over it.”

Chloe twirls some hair around her finger, then sighs and spills, her words tumbling over each other. “I entered this place in a competition. Kind of. I overheard Dad on the phone, talking about how we needed more foot traffic, more publicity. Which is, like, impossible in Waverly, right? So I thought of a tournament — something big that would bring in people from outside of town. There was a competition for which arcade would host it, and… well. We won.”

I blink. “Wait. We’re hosting a tournament? Which one?”

“The Northwest Retro Game Tournament.”

I know that name.

Memories hit me all at once: Mom driving us all the way to Oregon with the windows down, singing along to Ella Fitzgerald, talking about which game we were most excited to see. Usually we watched coverage of the tournament online, but Mom knew she didn’t have long left, and she wanted this one last memory with us.

I was seventeen.

At the tournament, everything was so alive: the buzz of the cabinets, the cheering crowds, the influencers with their mics and cameras. We watched the best retro gamers in the region play everything from Mortal Kombat to Mario Kart. We lived on burgers and drank our body weights in sodas. Jess even won a spot playing Street Fighter 2, and even though she got knocked out in round one, she received a tournament magnet for it that’s still on Dad’s fridge.

“Wait, did you say we won?” I stammer, trying to keep my words ahead of my thoughts.

Chloe bites her lip, then forces a too-big grin. “That’s right. We’re hosting the Northwest Retro Game Tournament.” She glances around, then gives a lackluster, “Hooray?” that sounds more like a question than a celebration.

My heart races. Hosting a tournament this big was my mom’s dream, but it sounded so far-fetched at the time. And that was when she was here to keep this place running. The machines were polished, everything was functional, and there definitely wasn’t this weird musty smell in the air.

But now? Looking around the empty room, I can’t picture anyone coming here for a game tournament.

“I mean…” I lick my lips, trying to find honest words that won’t crush my sister’s spirit. “That’s exciting, Chloe. But with the state of this place, why did you sign us up to host a tournament? Is this really the right time?”

“There’s more,” Mackenzie says, her voice low. “Dad’s behind on payments. We just haven’t been getting as many people in here since Mom. Half the cabinets aren’t working, and they’re too expensive to replace.”

“Brady’s helping us fix them,” Chloe adds, “but it’s too much work for one person, and Dad can’t even pay him for it.”

I lift my eyebrows, filing that away for later. I would think Brady has better things to do than fix our machines for free, but maybe he’s gunning for a job here. This was always his favorite hang-out, after all.

“Okay…” I say slowly, trying to wrap my head around this barrage of unexpected information. “So again, why are we hosting this tournament right now? This seems like the worst possible time.”

“Chloe is smart,” comes a gravelly voice from behind my sisters.

We all jump in surprise, only to find my dad striding in through the back door. He’s thinner than I remember, wearing his usual plaid shirt and a baseball cap to cover his receding hairline. Something in me knots, seeing him change so much in just a few months.

I rush forward to hug him, all my worries forgotten. Even if he’s mad at me, he’s still my dad. He hugs me back, but I can feel how stiff he is. It’s a lot like being hugged by a warrior in heavy armor.

I step back, my throat tight. “It’s good to see you, Dad.”

“How was your drive?”

“Good. Easy. No traffic.”

I swallow. Dad was always the serious one where Mom was the jokester. But since she died, he’s gone even colder, like he buried some part of himself with her.

He reaches into his pocket and hands me a piece of paper folded into thirds.. I raise an eyebrow in question. He just stares at the paper, willing me to open it. So I do.

My heart skips. It’s a foreclosure notice.

I read it over, double-checking the numbers, making sure I’m seeing things right. Then I look up, my mouth open. I knew things were bad, but this?

“Dad,” I say, my voice coming out breathy with shock, “this says you’re fifteen thousand dollars in debt. One more missed payment, and they’re taking this place from us.”

“The tournament is in six weeks,” Dad says. His jaw twitches, like he’s tightening the screws on some emotion he doesn’t want to slip out. “This arcade was your mother’s dream. She made the decisions. She kept it running. Now…” His voice trails off. It’s as much of an apology as I’ve ever heard him give.

Chloe gives him a side-hug. When he wraps an arm around her shoulder, tucking her in, she kisses his cheek.

“We’re doing everything we can to keep this place running,” Mackenzie explains. “But the tournament will bring in new customers, maybe even news coverage. That could be enough money to get us ahead.”

Dad nods. I realize my sisters are saving him right now. The whole way here, I was terrified at what he would think about me losing my internship. But here he is, barely keeping his head above water. Who has time to worry about an internship when we might lose the arcade?

“Until then, I’m working double shifts at the Wizard Cafe,” Jess says. “At night I’m here, running the counter.” For free, obviously.

“I’m thinking of taking a year off from school,” Chloe adds.

Jess shoots her a warning look. “You are not doing that. You’re too close to graduating.”

“It’s not forever,” Chloe promises, “just until this place is back in shape.”

“I might do that too,” says Mackenzie, glancing around the room. “I could take some classes at the community college while I help out here.”

I frown. Looking around the arcade again, I see it with new eyes. It’s not just run-down, it’s on its last sliver of health. One more hit, and it’ll be wiped out just like Dirk the Daring when he plummets to his death.

Mom wouldn’t have wanted this. I don’t blame Dad for letting it go — not when every machine here must remind him of her — but that’s exactly why we can’t lose it. This place is the last piece of her we have.

“So the tournament is our best shot at making some money before it’s too late,” Mackenzie says. “But to do that, we need to conduct a major clean-up.”

“It’ll be all hands on deck if we’re going to keep this place afloat!” Chloe chirps, sounding more than ready for the challenge. This is why she became cheer squad leader her sophomore year of high school.

“We have to save this place,” I agree. “It was Mom’s dream.”

“And there’s more,” Jess says. “Which is why I’m so glad you’re back, Harper.”

I eye her with some suspicion. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s a long-shot, but… do you still play Ms. Pac-Man?”

© Ashley Quinn 2026 – High Score