I’ll get my grades back up. I’ll work really hard on my math. And once my parents see that I’m not two seconds away from falling into the seedy underground world of gambling and debauchery, everything will be back to normal.
I dial Cole’s number, feeling like maybe this just might work.
“Yeah?” he answers. There are a lot of voices in the background, and I can hear Michelle giggling. Ugh.
“Hey,” I say. “It’s me.”
“Hi,” he says. He doesn’t sound too friendly or happy to hear from me. You’d think he would be, since we just had our first official fight.
“Um, what are you doing?”
“Talking,” he says. In the background, a girl squeals, “Stop doing that with the chicken wings!” and then there’s a huge round of laughter. Laughter that includes female voices.
“With who?” I ask, hoping it sounds like I want to know who he’s talking to, when I really want to know what girls are over.
“Everyone,” he says.
“Well, um,” I say, “I was just calling because I wanted to make sure we were cool, you know, and not in a fight.”
“We’re not in a fight,” he says.
“Oh, good,” I say, relief flooding through my body. I lean back on my bed and snuggle into my body pillow. “Because I didn’t want us to—”
“I don’t fight with people,” Cole says. “Grudges aren’t my thing.”
“Oh.” All right then. Grudges aren’t his thing? What’s that supposed to mean? “So we’re cool, then?” I ask.
“We’re cool,” Cole says. “As long as you’re going to do the right thing.” His tone is cold and scary, and I don’t have to ask him what he means by “do the right thing.” It means going along with their crazy plan. And I can tell he means that if I don’t, we’re over. And who knows what else. Suddenly, I feel scared. Like really, really scared.
“Yes,” I whisper, “I’m going to do the right thing.”
“Good,” he says. “I’ll call you later, Shannon Card.” He disconnects without saying goodbye, and I stare at the phone for a second. Okay, Shannon. Think. Who can I call to talk about this? Robyn, who is my usual confidante in all things, is out of the question for obvious reasons.
So I dial Mackenzie.
“Hello?” she says. “It’s about time!”
“What do you mean, ‘it’s about time’?” I ask.
“I thought you were going to call me as soon as you told her, see what she said,” Mackenzie says. “Did she freak out?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. Did who freak out? My mom? Does Mackenzie know my secrets? And then I remember. Adrienne. Mackenzie was going to call in to work tonight so that she could hang out with Filipe. But she wanted me to tell Adrienne, since she said she’s horrible at getting people to believe that she’s really sick. Technically, there’s no rule that you have to call in yourself, so Mackenzie figured I could do it, since I was going to be at work anyway. But I completely forgot.
“Oh, no,” I say, my stomach dropping. “Don’t kill me.”
“Why would I kill you?” Mackenzie asks. “If she was mad, it’s not your fault.” Filipe says something to her in the background that I can’t quite make out, and Mackenzie giggles.
“Well, she wasn’t mad,” I say. “But that’s because I forgot to tell her.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and then Mackenzie bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, Shannon,” she says. “For a second I totally thought you were being serious.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” I say. “I’ll call her right now, I’ll leave her a voice mail on her cell and at work, I’ll tell her that it’s my fault, I’ll totally take care of it, I promise.”
Silence. Then “Didn’t you notice that I wasn’t at work? How could you forget something like that?”
Because I was all caught up in Cole, and some big illegal gambling operation, and my parents, and Max, and math, and I’m a horrible friend and I didn’t think about it?
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Whatever,” Mackenzie says. “You know, lately you’ve been acting really selfish.” And then she hangs up. I stare at the phone in shock. She hung up on me! The second person in as many minutes to hang up on me! And my family did the equivalent by walking out of the kitchen, so she’s kind of the fifth.
If that many people are hanging up on you in that many minutes, especially your friends and your parents and your sister, something is definitely wrong.
I feel tears starting to prick at my eyes. How did everything get so complicated? Just a few months ago, I was meandering along, trying to beat out Parvati for the math scholarship, secretly lusting after Max, heartbroken but drama free, and just living my life. Now all of a sudden everything is a big mess. My parents hate me, Robyn hates me, Mackenzie hates me, Max hates me, and Cole wants me to do something that at best is completely and totally morally wrong, and at worst could send me to jail.
Before I can stop myself, I’m picking my phone up and scrolling through until I find Max’s number. On the fourth ring, I realize he’s not going to answer, which is fine, because honestly, what would I say? I guess I can just leave a message telling him that I’m sorry about the tutoring thing not working out, and that I wish him the best. That’s okay, right? Although I don’t know why I would be calling him in the middle of the night to say that. It doesn’t make much sense. Or I could just say, “Oh, sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number in my phone. I was trying to reach my boyfriend,” but again, that seems a little unbelievable. Maybe I’ll just hang up and leave him wondering why I would call him so late at night and if maybe—
“Hello?” His voice sounds scratchy but not sleepy, like maybe he’s on the computer or watching TV and just hasn’t spoken in a while. I picture him all rumpled in a sweatshirt, and my heart jumps into my throat, and I can’t talk. “Shannon?” he says just as I’m about to hang up the phone. Curse you, caller ID!
“Oh,” I say. “Hey. Um, I thought you’d be sleeping.”
“Then why did you call me?” He sounds amused, maybe even a little bit happy to hear from me, which is a change from the last time I talked to him and from the other people I’ve been coming into contact with tonight.
“I was going to leave you a message,” I say.
“So you didn’t want to talk to me?”
“No,” I say. “Yes, I mean, I did want to talk to you, but when you didn’t answer right away, I thought I’d leave a message.” I pull at a stray thread that’s popped out of the lining of my pillowcase, wrapping it around my finger.
“What was the message going to say?”
“I dunno,” I say. “I figured I had one or two more rings to figure out something cute.”
“You wanted me to think you were cute?”
No. Yes. “I don’t know.”
“Are we in a fight?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re in a fight.”
“So are you calling to work it out?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Because I’m not even exactly sure what we’re fighting about.”
“A lot of things,” he says. “Kisses, gambling, your boyfriend, what happened over the summer, what a total jerk I am …” He trails off, and I don’t say anything. My heart aches, because suddenly, I miss him so much. Not just him, physically, but how we used to be, how I could tell him everything and he would understand, how I could call him anytime, day or night, and he would be there. It hurts so much it makes my whole chest ache. “Speaking of your boyfriend …,” he says. “Would he approve of such a late-night phone call?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “We’re kind of in a fight, too.”
“About what?” he asks.
“It’s … complicated,” I say. And then I have an idea. “What are you doing right now?”
“I’m involved in a very spirited online video game tournament with Chris Harmon,” he says.
“Oh,” I say. “No, I understand
. I just … My sleep schedule is all screwed up lately, so sometimes I really feel like hanging out with someone, you know, late at night, and all my other friends are busy or sleeping, you know, like normal people, so I just thought—”
“Shannon,” Max says, cutting me off.
“Yeah?”
“I was kidding.”
“You’re not playing online video games?”
“Oh, no, I am,” he says. “But it’s not something I can’t get out of.” There’s a pause, and I hold my breath. “Wanna meet me at IHOP?” he asks. “Twenty minutes?”
I think about the fact that I’m grounded, and that sneaking out is most definitely not the best idea. And then I think about Max, and how badly I want to see him.
“Sure,” I say, hoping I sound calmer than I feel.
When I get to IHOP, Max is already there, sitting in a booth and sipping some coffee. He looks up as I approach him.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” I say, suddenly feeling awkward as I slide into the booth.
“I waited for you to order,” Max says, sliding the menu across the table to me. And I don’t know why—maybe it’s because that was a really thoughtful thing to do, or maybe it’s because I’m so emotional, or maybe it’s because I still really do miss him—but the next thing I know, I burst into tears.
Max looks shocked for a second but recovers quickly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says. He gets up and slides into my side of the booth. He puts his arms around me, and I cry into his shirt, my tears leaving little tracks on his jacket.
“You must think I’m so stupid,” I say. He hands me a napkin and I blow my nose. “Yelling at you in the library, and then calling you and now … now …” I’m crying too hard to finish.
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Max says, pushing my hair out of my face.
The waitress, who obviously isn’t paying attention to the fact that there is a complete and total mental breakdown going on in our booth, comes over and asks us what we want to order. “We need a minute,” Max tells her. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready.”
“No,” I say, sitting up and brushing my tears away with another napkin. “I know what I want. Chocolate cake.”
“And some hash browns to share?” Max asks hopefully.
“No,” I say. “French fries with gravy.”
He grins. “And another coffee.” The waitress writes down our order and then leaves.
“You okay?” Max asks.
“Yeah,” I say, blowing my nose one more time. Ugh. So gross. Max returns to his side of the booth, and for a second I consider asking him to stay on my side, but I don’t.
“Listen, I’m sorry about being such a jerk to you before,” I say. “When you wanted to talk, I mean. It was just a lot to deal with, with the kissing stuff and Parvati and …”
“I’m sorry, too,” Max says. “You playing poker is really none of my business. And I’m sorry I told Ms. Kellogg that you quit tutoring me. That wasn’t right of me, because honestly, it was both of our faults.”
“No,” I say, sighing. “It was my fault. You tried to talk to me, and I kept blowing you off.” Looking back, I realize that was pretty crappy of me. Max was trying to talk to me, and I just ignored him. “Besides, I shouldn’t have … you know, tried to, uh, kiss you.” My face is burning, and I hope he can’t see how totally and completely embarrassing this is for me.
“Whatever,” Max says. “It’s not really important.”
It isn’t? “It isn’t?”
“No,” he says, looking at me. He’s balling his straw wrapper up in his hands and twirling it around his fingers. “What’s important is the reason I blew you off over the summer.”
I hold my breath.
“Shannon, I’m sorry,” he says. He reaches across the table and grabs my hands, and electricity shoots up my arms. “I just … I freaked out. We were friends and I got scared and I didn’t really know how to deal with it.”
For a second, anger wells up inside me, but then it burns itself out. “You could have called me, we could have talked. It didn’t have to be this big thing.” But of course it was a big thing.
“I know that now,” he says. “But I cared about you so much, you were the only thing I had in my life that I felt was so real and so good, and then I thought, Oh, God, what’s going to happen if we mess this all up with kissing and stuff? and I freaked out.” He looks down at the table. “I just needed some time to think about it. But then somehow I lost you altogether, and I didn’t know how to get you back.”
There’s a lump in my throat, and I try to speak around it, but the words won’t come.
“Anyway,” he says, releasing my hands, “it doesn’t matter now.”
“It doesn’t?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “Because you have a boyfriend.”
“Oh,” I say. “Right.” I consider mentioning that Cole isn’t technically my boyfriend, but then decide not to, because I’m not ready to go there.
The food comes and we talk about school and people we know and sports and everything else. And he tells me about the Parvati breakup, about how they had been growing apart and how she’s already dating some other guy.
And it’s fun just to talk. For the first time in a while, I’m not running through different combos of cards in my head or nodding off in English class or worrying that my parents are going to go upstairs and find my bed empty. (Well, I’m a little worried about that last one, because I did sneak out of the house.) I’m not nervous about whether I’ll be able to find Cole at the end of the night, or whether Adrienne is going to march up and fire me because she knows I’m lying about my age. I’m just me. And it feels good. And relaxing. And real.
When the waitress comes to check on us, I order a black-and-white milk shake, and Max looks impressed and then orders the same thing.
“I forgot,” he says, “what a great orderer you are. Most girls do not know how to order.”
I blush.
“So,” he says. “Is it serious?” He looks up at me from under his eyelashes and I remember how close we were that night at the party and I have the inexplicable urge to go to the other side of the booth and slide in next to him.
“Is what serious?” I ask.
“The thing with this guy,” he says. “Your relationship, is it serious?”
“No,” I say, looking him straight in the eye. “And after tonight, it’s even less serious.”
“Oh?” he says. I can see the hope in his eyes, and I think he might think that it’s because of him. And partly it is, but it’s also partly because of all the other stuff.
“We, uh, had a weird night,” I say. And then I tell Max everything. About Adrienne, about Mackenzie’s being mad at me, about Aces Up, about Cole’s only wanting to make out with me in his room (which is actually pretty embarrassing to say out loud, but Max is totally sympathetic and gets that “oh my God, I can’t believe what scumbags guys can be, even though I am a guy” look on his face), and about what he’s trying to do with the tournament. When I tell him that, Max seems shocked. “So what are you going to do?” he asks.
“I dunno,” I say, squirming around in my seat. “I mean, I’ve never actually been in this situation. And really, is it that bad? What they’re doing, I mean?” Of course, I already know what he’s going to say.
“Um, yeah.”
I let out a huge sigh, because I know he’s right. “I know,” I say. “I know it is. But what can I do? If I don’t go along with it … at best, they’ll turn me in for being underage. At worst, well … I don’t know. Not to mention that I’m already in so much trouble with my parents, and they don’t even know the worst part of it.”
He looks at me. And then he gets really serious and lowers his voice. “So beat them,” he says.
“Beat them?” I look at him incredulously. “What do you mean, ‘beat them’?”
“Beat them all,” he says. “Just enter the tournament yourself, and don’t go along wit
h their dumb signaling or whatever, and just … you know, beat them.”
“Oh, Max,” I say, looking at him fondly. “You obviously aren’t that much into the poker thing.”
“You mean I don’t get it?”
“Yes,” I say. “You don’t get it.” The waitress comes back with our milk shakes, and I take a big sip and let the coldness spread through my body. So. Good.
“Maybe I don’t,” Max says. “But I do know that one time I saw Chris sit down at a table and win five hundred bucks off some guy in about fifteen minutes. And if Chris Harmon can do that, then you can definitely beat some dumb college kids.”
“Except,” I say, “they’re not just some dumb college kids. They’re the best poker players around.”
“Around where?” he asks, looking skeptical.
“You know, around,” I say. “It’s metaphorical.” I take another sip of my shake.
“If they’re so good,” he says, “then why aren’t they in Vegas?”
“Because they go to school here,” I say.
“If they’re so good,” he says, “then why do they have to go to school?”
“Because,” I say. “They want to?” He raises his eyebrows at me again.
“Stop looking at me with skeptical eyebrows,” I say.
“Look, you’re giving them too much credit,” he says. “You’re looking at them the way they present themselves, instead of the way they really are.”
“So you think they’re pulling the wool over my eyes?” I say, a little interested. It definitely could be true. I mean, besides the times we played in Cole’s bedroom and the times he sat at my table, I haven’t really even seen him play. And I’ve never seen him in a tournament. I don’t really know how good of a poker player he is—I only think he’s great because he told me he is.
“Yes,” Max says. He leans forward in the booth and looks right into my eyes. “And I know you can beat them.”
“But even if I could,” I say, “it’s not going to matter. I told you, if I don’t go along with their plan, they’ll definitely turn me in for being underage. Especially if I let them buy my way in.”