Page 39 of How We Play the Game
This is it, the moment of truth. We haven’t said anything out loud, but I think all of us are waiting on the results of the first week to determine whether any of this is worth the effort. I try to think of a number I want to hit, the cutoff after which I consider this a massive failure, and settle on the number forty-two. Get me above forty-two and I’m in for the summer. Anything below and I’m out. I’ll find a new strategy, I don’t care. If I’m going to make a fool of myself with Ivan, it needs to be quantifiably worth it.
See, now I got myself doing math. My game performance shouldn’t drag me down. I crushed it in the match this morning—top five, baby!—but will my first match disqualification mess up those numbers? Is Brian averaging them? Do comments pull more weight than likes? I don’t know how the Wizz-Algorithm works. No one does, and without that knowledge we’re all just flinging romantic, interracial spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks.
Five clicks, five phones unlocked. I hold mine far away from my face, tapping the email open at arm’s length.
Dear Academy Players,
Wow, what a week. After a shaky start, our Summer Academy Royale isblah blah blah, recap recap, whatever, I’ll read this part later. Show me the rankings, Brian.
“Holy shit.” Trieu actually puts his hand to his mouth and gasps. Spoilers! I scroll faster until I hit the bottom of theemail and open the attached PDF and scan the columns only for the relevant information.
#8 Ivan Hunt
#20 Trieu Vu
#23 Kavi Khurana
#30 Cassius Sharpe
#32 Zora Lyon
Overshot my goal by ten. From the shocked, happy looks on Kavi’s, Trieu’s, and Ivan’s faces, we’re having the exact same thought. It’s Ivan who puts it into words.
“Okay”—he nods at the screen—“so we’re doing this.”
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.” I don’t normally sing when I’m getting dressed, but I like the Fourth of July. I don’t mind fireworks when I know to expect them, and I love baking myself darker on the beach. It also turns the entire continental United States into an unlimited hot dog dispensary for twenty-four hours, which was more of a plus for me when I wasn’t staying in New York, where hot dogs are legally considered a food group.
“Happy birthday, dear America. Happy birthday to”—an aggressive tap on my door cuts off the big finish—“Almost ready!”
“It’s me,” Cass calls from the other side. Odd. Team Vision is meeting in the lounge again at noon, but Cass has never come up early to see me first.
“Hey!” I open my door and step back so Cass can see I’m wearing the purple dress. It’s not very patriotic, but it’s theprettiest shade of plum I’ve ever seen and Kavi said to come looking cute. Which isreallysuspicious, now that I think about it. We agreed not to make #content on a holiday, so why did I put this dress on again?
“Hey-yowza.” Cass stands up straighter. “Sorry, I’m looking for my friend Zora? I know you’re a supermodel and everything but if you see her, tell her that Kavi asked me to ask her if she’s ever playedOvercooked!”
“Overcooked!? The co-op cooking game? That you play with a partner? And have to team up and work together?”
“That is what co-op means, yes.”
“Well,” I poke my head out of the door to see if I can spot Kavi at the end of the hall. Yup, there she is. Futzing around with the lounge TV again. Hopefully not trying to screenshare a stream this time. “I haven’t seen this ‘Zo-rah,’ but I feel like she’d answer that question with a request for Kavi to take awild fucking guess!” I shout the last few words loud enough for her to hear me—almost no one else is hanging out in their dorm rooms around noon on a holiday so I’m not worried about disturbing the peace.
“I figured!” Kavi shouts back with a laugh. “Just checking.”
“So that’s her plan, huh?” I grab my summer academy tote bag on my way out the door. “Making me and Ivan play co-op?”
“Not exactly,” Cass answers. That perks me up.
“Making you and me play co-op?” I ask.
“Hard pass.” Well, now I know how Kavi felt two minutes ago.
Ivan and Trieu are already assembled in the lounge when Cass and I make it down the hallway. Kavi’s “look cute” memo must have applied to Ivan as well, since he’s lightlydolled up in a patterned short-sleeve button-down and shorts. I lean forward to see what the pattern is—oh my god it’s tiny flamingos, that isadorable—but snap back when I realize I’ve leaned right into Ivan’s personal space. I can tell because I’m smelling him again, and I’ve been trying not to do that as much, because. Just because.
“Hi to you too, Zora,” Ivan says with a smile I would classify as shy if I didn’t know him.
“Right. Hi.” I wave. Is it weird to wave when you’re standing right beside someone? I did it without thinking but now I’m wondering if a wave is more of a faraway greeting. Is there an optimal distance between the two waving human points of a line that unlocks better social outcomes?
Ivan waves back.
