Page 7 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

“Don’t blame this on Trickery, Yobani,” Greg grumbles. “You’re a dick even when you’re not an infernal being.”

Yobani smiles. “What came first? The Trickery or the dickery? The world may never know.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Eh?”

I sigh. “No.”

“I think, maybe... we should call it for tonight,” Leela says, grabbing her phone again. “It’s already nine.”

Greg starts to nod, and even Yobani looks like he might agree.But this is the last thing I want.

“Nine?” I say. “I thought we were going to play until midnight!” I may hate this holiday, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend it alone. Ringing in the new year in Slarog’s castle is the kind of festive I can get behind.

“Sorry, Reggie.” Leela bites her bottom lip. “I told you I couldn’t play forever tonight. Ryan has a show at The Mode. And, I mean... even you can admit this is a good stopping point.”

Ryan Love is Leela’s girlfriend and the lead singer of this sorta locally famous rock band. Her shows have been getting in the way of our Saturday-night games a lot more this year, as the band has gotten more popular around Long Beach. We even had to switch to a Sunday afternoon one week, and it threw off the whole vibe.

“You all could come?” Leela offers. She always does.

But I turn her down the wayIalways do. “Nah, that’s okay. You know that’s not really my scene.”

I’ve never actually been to one of Ryan’s shows to know that for a fact. But I know Ryan, with her half-shaved head and over-the-top costumes—so I’m pretty sure I’m correct in that assessment.

See, Leela is different from me. Even though we were both nerdy kids with rubber bands on our braces, searching online for people to play a role-playing game with us—she’s also a chameleon. She always has been. She can talk to anyone, be at home anywhere. The only place I feel at home is here at the table, running my campaigns. Well, and also online—talking, anonymously, to other people about what goes down at their tables. I feel like I spend all week waiting in anticipation for the escape from life that ourSaturday-night games will bring, but Leela is always a reminder that people are out there living, like, all the time. And she wants to get back to that real life right now.

“Let’s go, Reggie,” Yobani says. The traitor. “I kind of hate Ryan’s music—no offense, Leela—but it’ll probably be fun anyway.”

“First of all, Yo, just because you say ‘no offense’ doesn’t mean what you say isn’t offensive,” Leela says, putting her dice away. “And second, I feel like you don’t get a say here. All you listen to is lo-fi versions of video game themes.”

Yobani shrugs. “Hey, that Zelda one is a bop.”

“Well, I’m busy.” Greg puts his character sheet into his shiny green folder and tucks it into his backpack.

“No one invited you, Greg.”

“Greg is invited,” Leela says, narrowing her eyes at Yobani.

Everyone is putting their stuff away: Yobani rolls up the bags of Hot Cheetos and cheddar and sour cream Ruffles. Leela is sweeping up all the crumbs with her hands. Greg is scooping up his main dice and his backup dice. And I’m filled with disappointment. Just like that, we’re done? The wyverns didn’t even come into play, and I had some cool shit planned for the wyverns!

I hear the creak of the front door opening, followed by footsteps. Lots of footsteps. And yelling. Quickly, my disappointment is replaced with dread.

“Honey, I’m home!” Eric, my older brother, calls from the front of the house. Loud laughter follows, almost like a sitcom laugh track, because Eric always surrounds himself with peoplethat will reliably think he’s the funniest guy in the room.

A Vince Staples song starts to blast on Dad’s stereo system in the living room, and I groan. This isn’t some quick pit stop. They’re staying.

We never play at my house. Mom and Dad know about the game, but actually playing in front of them? Yeah, that’s my worst nightmare. And playingin front of my brother... What’s worse than a worst nightmare?

So we always play in Leela’s family room, our only soundtrack the muffled sounds of the Patels’Law & Ordermarathons coming from the front of the house. But my parents decided to drive down to San Diego to drink wine and dance like they’re young with their old college friends, and Eric bragged about some big party in Belmont Shore he was going to. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to finally play on my home turf.

“Hope we’re not interrupting your party, baby bro,” Eric says, his voice sounding like he cast Trickery’s vicious mockery spell. He explodes into the room, blowing into a loud silver noisemaker and holding up a bottle of champagne. Frankie and Tyrell, his two closest friends, trail behind him, along with three girls I don’t think I’ve seen before.

“Bruh, what is this?!” Frankie laughs, gesturing to the table. We’ve cleaned up a lot of it, but my hand-drawn map is still in the center, along with my player’s handbook and some character sheets.

“This,” Eric says, stretching his hands out wide, “is what Reggie does for fun. They be, like, casting spells on each other. Andpretending to be gnomes and unicorns and shit. For real!”

He falls forward laughing, and they all take the cue and join in.

“Hey, thanks for getting the snacks,” Eric continues, grabbing Greg’s Tupperware of cookies from his hands. “No Oreos? I knowthoseare Reggie’s all-time favorites.”

He snorts and loses himself in another fit of laughter. “Ha! Cause he’s an Oreo!” Tyrell clarifies, just in case anyone didn’t catch that sweet, sweet burn. Thanks, Tyrell.

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