THIRTY-EIGHT
 
 Pee Bee
 
 She laughed until I thought she was going to pee her pants. After catching her breath, she looked up. “Really?”
 
 I flipped her my middle finger. “It’s a fucking word.”
 
 She arched an eyebrow. “You went to college, right?”
 
 “Fuck off, kid,”
 
 “P-I-G,” she said. “Six points.”
 
 “A word’s a word. And six points is six points.”
 
 “We’re playing for stakes. And, they’re high. Don’t you want to win?”
 
 I didn’t. I really didn’t. “I’m trying babe. I really am.”
 
 But, I wasn’t.
 
 “Okay,” she said.
 
 She studied the tiles on her rack, twisted her mouth to the side, and then burst out laughing.
 
 Using an existing U, she spelled a word using all her letters. After she placed the tiles down on the board, I looked at her in disbelief. “What the fuck is that?”
 
 “That, my dear, is a word worth enough to seal my win. And, it’s nothing short of a miracle that I had those letters. Truth be told, it sends chills down my spine to spell it.”
 
 I stared at it. M-U-Z-J-I-K. It made no sense. “You’re making shit up, now. You’ve been challenged.”
 
 “A muzjik,” she said “Is a Russian peasant.”
 
 “And if it isn’t in the dictionary, you’re going to be an American peasant.”
 
 I grabbed the dictionary, flipped through the pages, and found the word. She was right, a muzjik was a Russian peasant. Aggravated, I considered throwing the dictionary down – just to be a shit – but remembered it was fifty years old.
 
 I placed it in the box carefully, then stood. I took a bow. “Turn relinquished, my dear.”
 
 “Thank you, honorable sir.”
 
 In ten minutes, the game was over. After tallying up the points, she declared the score. “502-312”
 
 “Ouch,” I said. “That bad?”
 
 She bit her bottom lip, nodded, and then shrugged. “Sucks, huh?”
 
 “Kind of.”
 
 “So, what’s it gonna be?” I asked.
 
 “Haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Let me think on it for a few minutes.”
 
 “Okay.”
 
 There was nothing she would assign me that I’d argue with, that was for sure. We’d been playing three nights a week for the last four weeks, and my father was right. Playing Scrabble built an incredibly solid foundation for a relationship.
 
 If he knew we were playing for stakes, he’d probably laugh.