Page 62 of How We Play the Game
Trieu shrugs again. Some of the tension melts from my shoulders when he sits down on the lip of the vanity. He’s not leaving just yet. I don’t have to be alone with my racing thoughts—not yet. “I can’t blame you.”
“Really?” I ask, arching my freshly sculpted eyebrow.
“I’d be pretty pissed too, if I was in your position.” He frowns, crossing his arms. “I mean, Iampissed, and I’m not even the one who got to have Ivan Hunt as a fake boyfriend.”
Real boyfriend, I think, but don’t say out loud. Dissecting the validity of our feelings is not something we have time to unpack right now. Or maybe ever. Once all of this is over, I can shove all of my memories of Ivan—good and bad—into the box of repressed memories that’s currently collecting dust in the farthest corner of my brain.
“I get it,” Trieu says after I don’t respond, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. Lost in another world I’m not a part of.“Ivan has this … magnetism about him. Makes it feel like you can’t possibly say no to him.”
I swallow hard and nod stiffly. That’s putting it lightly. But it’s good to know I’m not alone in that feeling—falling for Ivan’s magnetism.
Trieu stands up and tucks his finger under my chin like they do in the movies. “You’re amazing. And stop blaming yourself for believing in everything he said.” Trieu’s smile is the most heartbreaking kind of sad. So raw and vulnerable it makes me want to hug him tight and promise nothing will ever hurt him again. “He’s really good at that kind of thing. Making you fall a little bit in love with him.”
Before I can ask him to expand on that—or give him the bone-crushing hug he clearly deserves—a knock at the door makes both of us jump.
“Guess that’s my cue.” Trieu grabs his various bags and heads for the door, an endless black void of a pit opening in my stomach. Is it time for the match already? Did Ivan show up?
Trieu pulls open the door expecting to find one of Wizzard’s various production assistants, but we both stiffen at the sight of Cass standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets.
“Is Zora here?” he asks, making me sit up straighter in my chair. This is certainly a plot twist.
Trieu glances over his shoulder at me, keeping me carefully out of view. I nod, giving him the all-clear, and he pulls the door open wider so Cass can step in and he can step out.
“Break a leg, Zora,” Trieu calls out as he steps into the hallway and Cass takes his place in the dressing room. “You can do it.”
I give him a wave to calm my nerves, but the motion doesn’t do anything to stop my hands from shaking. Something that only worsens when Cass closes the door behind him, and we’re left alone for the first time in what feels like eons.
“Let me guess: you’re only here to wish me luck?”
“Little bit.” Cass scuffs his foot against the dusty carpet. “So this is where they store their superstars.” He scans the room quickly and doesn’t look particularly impressed. That’s fair enough. It’s not particularly impressive.
“Yeah, it’s an all-new perk,” I say flatly. “Sorry if I overwhelm you with all this glitz and glamour.”
“You know me,” Cass jokes. “I’m just a simple country boy from Delaware.”
“Livin’ in the big city,” I add.
“Alone,” he says, coldly.
I sense the shift in his attitude and look up at his face. For the first time this summer, I notice that Cassius’s face and arms are tanned gold instead of his usual indoor white-boy shade of pale. His hair looks lighter, like he’s been spending time in the sun. It’s a more dramatic effect than he’d get just walking the twenty blocks between here and our dorms twice a day—has he been spending more time outside? With who? Doing what? I suddenly imagine him doing something teenage and sporty, like climbing around on the glacial rocks in Central Park with a crew made up of academy students whose names I forgot to learn while I was messing around with Ivan on the internet. Taking the Q down to Coney Island on a weekday to ride the Cyclone and sharing a folding paper bowl of crinkle fries smothered in salty cheese. Curled up in the sun on the fake turf they set up in front of Lincoln Center, gettingsweaty and gold with his earbuds in. Having the summer we were supposed to have together, in another universe.
“Hey, come on. I was … ,” I begin defensively. Sorry, force of habit. I can tell Cass is mad at me, but that doesn’t mean he deserves the sharp side of my tongue today. He’s right to feel left behind, just like I’m right to feel … whatever I’m feeling right now. I have to think about it for a moment. I feel … very little, now that I think about it, like the space where I kept my feelings is locked or just empty.
“You were …?” Cass echoes me. He’s not going to let me get away with a nonanswer.
“I was busy,” I admit, “being a single-minded asshole who fell for a legit teenage con man?”
“Yeah, when you put it that way.” Cass nods agreeably. “I don’t really know what else I expected. That is the opposite of new behavior, coming from you.
“I think … I just thought, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I really don’t know. I thought that I was different to you. I thought the whole reason we did this was to be independent together. But you just—”
“Shot ahead instead?” I ask, hoping he’ll at least acknowledge what I achieved by ditching him.
“Shotawayinstead,” he corrects. “You pissed away our plans to end up where? Waiting to see if this guy shows up so you can make him the villain you need to be a part of this wholedeeply fucking weirdexperiment Wizzard’s conducting on all of us?”
“I guess, man! I fucked up, I’m sorry. It sucks.”
“No, what sucks is you leaving me behind to put all of your energy into someone who doesn’t care if you get whatyou want. From day one, you put all of your chips on him and let him drag you around dancing to his tune.”
