“Marisol’s on her way,” Alistair says as I unwind my cable-knit scarf and shrug out of my jacket.
“Great.” I plunk down in the worn leather club chair across from him, in front of the blue game pieces. I pick up the mocha with extra whipped cream he ordered for me. I need this coffee. Ben ended up texting me very late last night, after all his friends left. I smile, heat blooming in my chest. This is all so crazy and exciting and I still can’t quite believe it’s happening. That he’s happening, to me.
I wish I could talk to Alistair about this. It should be easy because he’s my friend, but it’s not. There’s a wall between us, and I have no idea how to scale it; I just know that something shifted between us last night, and now it’s next-level awkward.
I take a sip of my lukewarm mocha, trying to think of something to say to break the tension. While Alistair fiddles with his tiny white houses, probably strategizing how he’s going to win this game—which is pointless, because, hello, I am the master of Catan—I glance around, wishing Marisol would hurry up and get here and help defuse the tension. In the corner, a group of college kids is playing Dungeons and Dragons. A row of old-school video game machines are pushed against the back wall—Pac-Man, Frogger, Space Invaders—just waiting for someone to slip a quarter into them. Someone has spelled out several pretty colorful swear words with the Velcro tiles on the huge Scrabble board mounted to the brick wall. This happens a lot, but the staff are usually quick to catch it.
“Sorry, sorry,” Marisol says, bursting through the door. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, but beneath that, her face is pale. Dark rings circle her eyes. Her hair is pulled into a tangled ponytail.
“You’re not feeling any better?” I ask. It occurs to me that I was so caught up in Ben last night that I never asked Alistair what was wrong with her. I’m a terrible friend.
Marisol shakes her head and the movement makes her wince. “I should have listened to my own advice and not touched that vodka punch.” She rubs her forehead. “That stuff was pure evil.”
Alistair wordlessly slides her mug across the table to her. She sits down beside me and says, “And how was your night?” to me in a singsong voice.
I steal a quick glance at Alistair. His eyes meet mine and then dart away, like he can’t bear to look at me.
“Um, it was good.” I don’t want to talk about Ben in front of him, and I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t want to hear about him.
Marisol raises her eyebrows. “Just good? You disappeared with Ben Griffin for hours, and all you have to say is that it was good?”
I can’t help smiling. “We weren’t gone for hours.”
“You were gone long enough,” she replies.
Before Marisol can ask me anything else, Alistair picks up the dice to determine who goes first. He rolls an eleven, then Marisol follows with an eight. I frown when the dice add up to three for me, because it means I’ll be going last, which isn’t ideal.
Alistair starts placing his white road and settlement pieces on the game board, setting the pieces down a little harder than necessary.
Marisol shoots me a questioning look. What’s up with him?
I shrug. I probably should have warned her that we aren’t really speaking. Honestly, I don’t get why he’s so mad at me. I know that he doesn’t like Ben, but his reaction is kind of over-the-top. I mean, I’m not mad that he kissed Camila.
Okay, maybe I’m a little bit mad—but that’s only because Camila is the worst and he can do much better. And maybe I’m a tiny bit jealous. Obviously, there’s something between Alistair and me, some under-the-surface feelings that neither of us is willing to admit to. Which is really for the best, because acting on those feelings would just mess with everything. He must know that.
Marisol and I set up our roads and settlements. Alistair deals out the resource cards and we start the game.
From the beginning, it’s clear that Alistair is in it to win it. After fifteen minutes, his white game pieces are already dominating the board. I need to play smarter or I’m going to lose, and that just can’t happen. I’ve won the past six games, and there’s no way I’m giving up my crown. Not without a fight, anyway.
Marisol keeps sneaking looks back and forth between Alistair and me. We play in relative silence—very unlike us. I study my resource cards. I need one more ore card to build a city, which will gain me an extra point. Marisol has no cards left—she played them all on her last hand—so I’ll have to trade with Alistair.
“I’ll give you a grain card for an ore,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Nope you don’t have one, or nope you’re not going to trade with me?”
“Nope I’m not going to trade with you.”
I roll my eyes. Seriously?
Ten minutes later, Marisol is dragging behind, but Alistair is still a point ahead of me—and dangerously close to winning the game—when I secure the largest army card, which pushes me right over the ten-point finish line.
“Ha!” I say, raising my arms in victory. Alistair snorts and shakes his head. He’s never been a sore loser. Then again, I don’t usually lord my wins over him like that. All right, maybe I do, but I probably shouldn’t have done it today, given his mood.
“What is going on with you guys?” Marisol says as Alistair sweeps his game pieces off the board and separates his white roads and settlements into little piles. I don’t know what to tell her, and I guess neither does he, so we don’t say anything.
But before we can get the game set up again, Ben texts. He’s with Olivia and her boyfriend, Drew, at the outdoor ice rink, and he wants to know if I’ll meet up with them.
I bite my lip. Sundays are sacred. Alistair, Marisol, and I always spend them at Bonus Round. But it’s a lot less fun when Alistair is broody and the truth is, I really want to see Ben.
“I have to go,” I say, standing up.
“What? Why?” Marisol says.
I put on my jacket. “I forgot I told Ben I’d meet up with him. Sorry.” But I know I don’t sound that sorry at all.
For the first time all morning, Alistair looks at me, but I avoid his eyes.
“So that’s it?” he says. “He just snaps his fingers and you run?”
“It’s not like that.”
But it kind of is. And I wish that he’d understand and cut me some slack.
Instead, Alistair leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “You’re ditching us for that—”
“Al,” Marisol says. “Don’t.”
“I’m not ditching you,” I say. But we all know that I am. And I feel bad about it, but not bad enough not to go.
I grab my scarf. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”
Alistair calls my name, but I’m already out the door. And I don’t look back.
CHAPTER
3
Today was perfect. Ice skating, hot chocolate, holding Ben’s hand as I wobbled like a baby deer around the outdoor rink. And then, after blueberry pancakes at the diner with Olivia and Drew, Ben’s room, where we spent most of the afternoon getting to know each other better.