The teaser is very old and hasn’t been revised in quite a while apart from updating a couple of items. I put it
there as a “come-on”, to “cut me some slack” with the reader as I put together a slower buildup into the action. It’s important to me to get it right, so I’ve left it for last, after I have the entire book to consider in getting the right phrasing.
I LOVE your analysis of my opening paragraph. My book isn’t specifically written to be MG or YA, though I suspect many people will put it into one of those two categories since the MC’s are all young people. The protag, my son Mason, is 12 yo, and his brother is 10. The other three MC’s are Mason’s actual real friends, though fictionalized for the story (with their and their parent’s permissions).
EDIT: And the opening line is straight from my memory, on one evening when Mason, Maxwell, and Ben were all playing some game together-- it could have been Minecraft, and the whole house was infused with their laughter.
Mason himself passed away from leukemia in 2019 and the book(s) are “The Further Adventures of Mason”, in which I try to give him adventures he was never able to have. This particular one is titles “Mason and the Atomic Train”. He loved trains, as well as computers, electronics, robotics, astronomy… and he wanted to attend MIT when he graduated… (and he had the grades for it) so all of these are elements, as he and his friends are catapulted into a rollicking adventure.
If you would like a larger sampling, here’s the first couple of pages. The Inciting incident, however, doesn’t occur until chapter two.
Dedication: Dearest Mason, May you always have glorious adventures, and
your gentle, joyous spirit live on forever.

Mason Owen Whitten
(May 14, 2007 - September 18, 2019)
===
“Ben! Ben! Ben!” Mason called breathlessly to his friend between giggles, imploring him
to wait as he hurried to catch up. They’d spent the morning together, building, exploring,
and having grand adventures in their virtual Minecraft world.
Mason brought his character to a halt while Ben’s character tromped a bit further
onward. In the real world, Mason tugged his headset microphone a little closer, turning
to face Ben in the video chat window. “Whatcha doing?”
“Getting us something to eat,” came Ben’s reply. Back in the game, he had his
sword out, having stumbled across some hapless creature, and was now busy chasing it
around while hacking and slashing in a heroic bid to defeat it.
Mason giggled nonstop, unable to conceal his merriment, as he reveled in his
friend’s comical antics.
After several near-misses, Ben was finally in a position to deliver the coup de
grace, and with a single blow, split the beastie into a large pile of delicious steaks. “Hey,
look!” he said, turning to Mason and mugging for the camera, “Pork chops!” He scooped
them up and tossed them into his backpack, eliciting further giggles from Mason and
sending both boys into a fit of serious laughter.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
Mason was a smiling, fun-loving boy kitted-out with a big honkin’ laptop, a flashy,
multicolored light-up keyboard, and a huge set of headphones sporting green-tinted,
kitty-cat ears perched atop his balding head. He sat with his knees drawn up,
scrunched between his bed and roll-around table, and half-buried among the piles of
pillows, books, balloons, get-well cards, teddy bears, Lego kits, and the myriad other
things people give kids cooped-up in hospital rooms.
Next to the bed, dangling from a pole, was a thick mass of tangled tubing snaking
down and back up under his shirt, where it connected to a pair of access ports implanted
in his chest. The tubes delivered fluids, medicines, and whatever else his slender,
twelve-year-old body needed to combat his illness.
Ben was Mason’s best gaming buddy. Though he was a couple of years older and
in-person towered over him ‘like a small tree’—as Mason frequently joked, not that it
mattered much in their online world. The boys had forged an iron bond, conspiring daily
to spend every waking moment playing their rowdy games and hanging out.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
Mason turned from the computer to stretch his arms, his brown eyes blinking at the
bright sunlight streaming in through the enormous, eleventh-floor window. He peered
out across the bustling city streets to the gleaming waters of Baltimore Harbor, which lay
just beyond. The faint odors of bleach and alcohol tickled his nose while he surveyed his
little room, barely big enough for himself and the bed, much less a sink and a bathroom
too. The remaining space contained a minimalistic chair that virtually disappeared
behind a sideways glance, and a blocky, pleather couch for those occasions he did have
actual, real visitors. The chair was currently occupied by his dad, who was busy surfing
the net on his own computer.
His gaze touched briefly on the small sink and mirror directly opposite the foot of
his bed, quite unremarkable apart from it being white—as was the whole room itself—
everything in it was exceedingly white… most excruciatingly white. In fact, the only real
color anywhere was in the orange chair presently propping up his father, the blue couch
by the window, and the silver pole beside the bed. And, of course, the door. Made of
some type of stout wood—probably oak, he decided. It was his own little home away
from home, such as it was.
One feature he did enjoy, was the spiffy strings of colorful Neopixel lights his dad
helped him rig over and around the sink so he could see them from his vantage on the
bed. Some days he passed the time programming in new sequences and patterns to wow
the nurses when they came to do their rounds. Everyone liked his lights.
Looking down, he ran a thumb across the cool, plastic surface of his laptop
computer—his prized possession and gateway to everything he held dear—his friends,
his games, his virtual worlds, plus all of his favorite YouTube channels. Nearly
everything important in his twelve tender years, he accessed through that black plastic,
nondescript box. He continued caressing the smooth, rounded edge until his thumb
finally slipped around to the side.
He turned his attention to the screen once more, where Ben sat patiently waiting
for him to return. His blue eyes lit up when Mason asked, “You wanna play ‘Kerbal
Space Program’?”
Ben grinned. He was partial to action games, in contrast to Mason’s usual fare of
science, simulation, and strategy games, but ‘Kerbal Space Program’ was always a good
compromise as it combined the better elements they both enjoyed.
“Yeah, I’d like to,” said Ben, raising Mason’s hopes, before dashing them again
when he had to decline. “I gotta wait though, for my dad to get home so I can use his
computer. It won’t run on mine.”
“Mmm, okay,” Mason grumbled, slumping down behind his keyboard. He was
disappointed, but it didn’t last long. He brightened up quickly.
Ben changed the subject. “Do you have your tutor today?”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, at two o’clock. I gotta write a report.”
“What about?”
“Sunspots and solar flares.”
Ben snorted. “Better you than me!” He sent his character skipping away.
Mason watched it go for a moment before hollering out, “Hey! Wait for me!”
Ben paused and looked back, motioning for him to hurry up.