Page 51 of How We Play the Game
“I’ve been in situations where being me helped me get away with stuff. Avoiding consequences. And I know that people like you—don’t look at me like that; you know what I mean—don’t have that to the same degree, I guess. So ifyou decided you needed to use me, or what I have, to get ahead … I wasn’t going to stop you.”
“I didn’t need—”
“And maybe I’m kind of using you too? Beyond the algorithm stuff.”
“Oh, I havegotto hear this.” I cross my arms and lift a brow. “How? How are you using me outside of the competition?”
“To feel better about myself.” He shrugs. “Helping you because I didn’t help someone else.”
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeats. “I … don’t know? I have this need to like myself. I want to be the good guy.”
“You want tothinkyou’re the good guy,” I agree. “That’s different from being one.”
“Fair. But yeah, maybe it’s just that. I want people to like me, so I try to be a person people like.”
“Wow,” I say. “As far as I’m concerned, youreallyshat the bed on that one.”
“I said people, notyou.” His tone is light as he nudges his knee against mine. Our bodies are closer together again, like two magnets that can’t resist their pull. “I stopped trying to get you to like me long ago. Talk about a lost cause.”
“I didn’t make it easy for you.” I pause, then make a rewind motion with my finger. “Don’t. Idon’tmake it easy for you.”
“And yet I persevered. And maybe succeeded.”
“Only when you’re not trying,” I point out.
“Eh.” He shrugs. “That’s what I like most about you. Not having to try when I’m with you. That and how good you look in purple.”
Before I can reply to thatveryloaded statement, an explosion makes us jolt off the steps in surprise. We step out from beneath the shadow of the castle to get a better look at the sky. A crack, then a high-pitched whirring sound, a boom, and a dramatic shimmery clatter that turns the evening light on the East Side bright green for three long seconds. The fireworks.
I read somewhere that the body and the brain don’t always agree on what certain signals mean. When someone is scared, for instance, their body responds to the situation by pumping them full of adrenaline and getting their heart rate up, but those symptoms don’t go away when the danger does. Those leftover homemade happy drugs need something to do, so the imperfect machine that is the human brain will start associating them with whatever is nearby. And that thing—or, sometimes, a person—will start to make them feel happy and safe.
I am not afraid of fireworks, but I do startle easily. My adrenaline is up, that’s for sure.
“Look at that one!” Ivan points up to the sky, where a bolt of red explodes into a shimmering cascade of sky glitter. He looks so cute, with his arm stretched up like a little kid trying to touch the sparkles as they fall.
“You know what?” I turn to Ivan, shouting to be heard. His light eyes reflect each new color in the sky as they burst, crackle, and fade. “I think you might not be the worst thing ever.”
A lull in the fireworks makes that last word too loud, which makes us giggle, which brings us closer together on the steps.
“You sure about that?” Ivan asks. Slowly, dramatically, he pulls out his phone and shows me what’s on his screen. His text messages.
KAVI: Mission complete!! You guys can come back now.
KAVI: Guys???
KAVI: Seriously it’s been like three hours are you dead
KAVI: Did you kill each other??
In the time it takes me to read the texts, Ivan’s body has shifted close enough for me to smell his neck again, and I amthisclose to … fully collapsing into a puddle, if I’m being honest.
“When did you get these?” I ask, though I can’t seem to get my voice up beyond a whisper.
Ivan shrugs. “Oh, like, halfway through dinner. I was waiting to see how long it took you to notice.”
Above us, the sky explodes in red, blue, and sparkling white.
