Home > Out of Character (True Colors #2)(2)

Out of Character (True Colors #2)(2)
Author: Annabeth Albert

   “Quit looking so surprised.” Milo made a dismissive gesture, nearly taking out one of the boxes of holographic dice we had by the register. “I can read the cards, same as anyone else. It’s not a hard game to learn.”

   Actually, it was rated among the world’s most complex games to master, but far be it from me to convince a guy who’d probably played less than ten games total. “I’m still not sure how you go from him showing you how to play to losing a set of the rarest cards in Odyssey.”

   Milo might be an idiot, but Bruno had always been smart on top of being brawny. No way would he have had those cards in an intro deck he used to teach newbies like Milo.

   Milo rubbed his temples. “Whiskey.”

   “No kidding.” I’d been right. His jerk friends and alcohol were never a good combo.

   “The guys I’m living with had a party a while back. And there was this dude big into Odyssey there. I said I could play some and told him about Bruno’s kick-ass collection.”

   Sensing where this was going, I groaned. “Tell me you didn’t show him the cards.”

   “Whiskey and Coke. Like I said. Anyway, he invited some of us over to play last night and tells me to bring my cards. There was food and drinking and some friendly betting going on.” Milo nodded, like I was supposed to sympathize with this tale of woe.

   “Odyssey is not a drinking game. Or even one to try buzzed.”

   “Yeah, yeah, I know that now, Mr. Serious Gamer, but cut me some slack here. It’s just cardboard.” Milo still had the ability to make a simple eye roll condescending as all get out.

   “Says the guy who apparently lost near-priceless cardboard.”

   “I know. And anyway, I’m good at the game. Even Bruno said so. Last night, I won several rounds in a row. His decks are that good, I guess, and then George says—”

   Despite my determination not to feel sorry for Milo, my stomach took the express elevator all the way to the tile floor. “Oh, hell no. George Bryant? Our age or a little older? Tall guy, dark hair but longer than yours?”

   “Yeah, that’s probably him. He goes to Gracehaven but lives off-campus in a nice condo.”

   Yup, that was George, and if there was one person I disliked more than Milo and his squad, it was probably George. He’d cost me several of my best transforming cards with a dirty play style that might win him games but also made enemies out of most of the game-store regulars.

   “He’s in my year, and he’s total bad news. Arthur had to ban him from playing here. That’s the last guy you should have been betting with.”

   “Now you tell me.” Milo’s shoulders slumped further and he leaned on the counter. His eyebrows drew together as if he’d seriously expected a warning when we hadn’t exchanged more than ten words in years. “He seemed like an okay dude right up until he suckered me into betting the frog family cards—”

   “The Royal Frog Court, ultra rare—”

   “Yeah, yeah. I get it, okay? And I lost.” The pain was back in Milo’s voice, which legit cracked. Damn. The guy really was hurting, and if he were anyone else, I’d pat his shoulder or something. “He wouldn’t even play me to try to win them back. So now I’m screwed.”

   “Yup.” I couldn’t argue with that assessment.

   “You don’t have to sound so happy about it.” Milo pushed away from the counter, making the dice rattle in their boxes.

   “I’m not.” Seeing anyone screwed over by George wasn’t my idea of fun, even if I didn’t exactly have warm and fuzzy feelings for Milo himself.

   “I tried to think of who I knew who might be able to help me. And you’re the biggest gamer I know.” His eyes were soft and pleading, the same look that had always earned us extra cookies from his mom. “Are you sure you can’t help?”

   “I’m sure. It’s not like we have those cards here, and I’m on duty right now. I can’t drop everything for a hunt for you.” The way I saw it, Milo was boned, with or without my help, and Google could convince him of that as well as I could.

   “After work?” More of that pleading face, and snapshots from every sleepover, every birthday party, every playdate danced in my head. He’d been such a great kid right up until he wasn’t. And no way was I going to go down the path of trying to convince myself he’d changed back into the boy I used to know. We weren’t friends now, and I wasn’t particularly interested in changing that fact, opening myself up to that kind of pain.

   “No.”

   “Is it because of high school?”

   I wasn’t going to lie. “Part of it. You think I’ve forgotten?”

   “We’re older now. And I’m sorry. I guess we were kind of jerks to your crowd—”

   “You think? Kind of?” I kept my voice down, but I couldn’t stop the sarcasm from seeping into my tone. I wasn’t going to start listing incidents like I kept an accounting of all the hurts he and his crowd had dished out to anyone who dared to be smart, nerdy, or anything other than a vapid clone in their popular jock clique, but I deserved more than some half apology.

   “Okay, some shit went down. Like I said, I’m sorry. Are you sure you can’t help me? For old times’ sake?”

   “F—” I was about to lay into Milo about how far “old times’ sake” had gotten me back when I could have actually used someone to defend me and all my geeky interests, but then my boss, Arthur, called my name as he came from the back of the store, and all I could do was shake my head. I was older now and I was my own damn hero. Maybe others didn’t always see me that way, but I’d grown way past “old times’ sake” sentiments.

   “Jasper! Who has the private room booked?”

   “It’s that dads-who-game club,” I told Arthur, trying to ignore the way Milo seemed to collapse further, despair rolling off him. He glanced at me again, and, apparently not liking what he saw there, he headed to the door, a slight limp to his steps. I had to stiffen my back muscles and plant my feet, trying not to feel anything as he walked away. Not curiosity about what had caused the limp and definitely not regret. I didn’t have time for either.

   He paused to hold the door for some patrons, light catching his expression. His eyes had transformed from pleading to resigned, like a world-weary soldier returning from a battle he hadn’t won. His head was high even as his shoulders slumped, and he was perhaps more regal in defeat than he had been when he’d been so sure I’d agree. In that instant, he looked exactly like Prince Neptune. April would have freaked at the resemblance and would have begged him to cosplay with us. She always was a sucker for the story lines where Neptune faced losing odds and had to claw his way back from the edge of defeat. Maybe…

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