Opinions

There was an air of excitement in my music class. We had a substitute. I looked toward a group of people who stared back. We both knew what time it was—Mario Kart time.

Mario Kart is a racing game. During the race, players collect power-ups and speed-boosters while avoiding mud, water and comically large bullets. A recent adaptation of this game for the Nintendo DS, a dual-screened handheld videogame-console, allows groups of players to race against each other at the same time.

I was chosen as the leader of our group. We set up the game’s race track, chose our favorite karts and, in almost no time, my friends and another kid were in a race to the death to see who the best player was. About three people surrounded each of us and cheered us on as we, filled with uncertainty and determination, raced on.

All my daily training on the subway, racing against my own records and testing out tricks came down to one moment. I dodged the mud, hit every speed-booster and finally made it to first place. I proudly shook hands with the spectators and asserted my position as champion of the music class.

I went to Spanish next. As usual, my teacher was late and everyone was talking and hanging out. But I couldn’t waste my time socializing. I needed to train for other races, and decided to ask for advice from an experienced gamer. But he was preparing for an upcoming match during lunch.

Next, at lunch, I sat down in the cafeteria and started to eat my sandwich. Then, I saw the glint of a gold DS out of the corner of my eye. It belonged to the Supreme Mario Karter. No one had ever beaten the pretentious, incessantly sniffling sophomore before, and I intended to be the first. I pushed away my sandwich and, with my heart pounding, I walked up to him.

“What do you want?” he said, wiping his nose with his soggy sleeve. “I want to beat you,” I answered. I whipped out my DS and set up a match. I chose my fastest racing character and fastest car, and we played on a track I had been studying for the last two weeks.

The countdown began. All the advice my Spanish class guru had given me and the experience I had from playing on the train flashed through my mind. I sat next to my adversary focused on the race. We both started with a boost. I was lucky and got all of the right power-ups, cut corners perfectly and used a glitch my guru told me about. After two laps, we were neck and neck. The finish line drew closer.

Then, my finger slipped. My kart slid to the left and the other kart sped by. I lost, holding my DS limply in my sweaty palms. The snobby sophomore looked at me, smiling.

My friend gave me a light jab. “Hey, what’s the matter with you?” he asked. “The end bell just rang. We should get going.”

I looked across the cafeteria and saw two people playing Mario Kart. “Jeez, those guys would probably keep playing if the school was on fire,” my friend said. “I’m glad you’re not one of them.”

I hesitated before answering. “Yeah, so am I.”