Page 51 of Playing for Keeps

“Good. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” I said, surprising myself.

Grace gave me a look, soft but knowing, as if she had been waiting for me to choose that. “Well,” she said lightly, “that’s new.”

Will didn’t show me a card. Instead, he just asked, “Okay. True or false: you planned that, right?”

I laughed. “False. But I’ve been hoping for it since aisle seven.”

Grace snorted. “Aisle six,” she corrected. “Children’s books start at six in that store.”

“Right,” I said, and smiled at her for knowing that detail.

Bridget slammed the dare deck down on the coffee table and announced she would take the next one. Will told her to pick a truth just to prove she had one. I let it wash over me and held the taste of Emma’s yes in my mouth like something I wasn’t done learning.

Twenty seconds, give or take. Long enough to change the way the room looked when I opened my eyes. Long enough to hopefully make the next time seem less like a dare and more like a choice.

27

EMMA

I had never been to Quebec before, but as soon as I walked out of the hotel that first morning, I knew the postcards weren’t lying. The air had that crisp, almost sparkly bite that makes your eyelashes feel a little heavier. Quebec felt older and closer together than Toronto. Cobbled streets. Façades that had stories hidden in the mortar. Small cafés with windows fogged up from the warmth and chatter inside. It did have that European thing that everyone went on about.

In winter, Quebec resembled a storybook village. The roofs looked like they were covered in icing, with twinkling lights everywhere. I was definitely planning to visit the Winter Carnival after the conference, but when I looked at my schedule again, “planning” felt overly optimistic. I was fully booked. In the morning, there were panel sessions, a long lunch for networking and in the afternoon workshops and seminars.

I ordered a tea, took a seat near the window and thought about the day before. When Max had shown me the card with his dare, I had initially thought it was a joke. Then the world had gone very still for a second, like it does when you realise you’re about to cross a line you’ve been skirting for a while. The look he had given me wasn’t silly or smug; it was open and full of something that made my chest feel both lighter and heavier at the same time. It had made the decision easy. And I had wanted to kiss him too. I just didn’t think it would affect me the way it did, like someone had hit a tuning fork in my chest and the sound was still humming there.

I shook my head to make myself focus on the present. The first panel session: literary horror. Why not? You might be taking a conference too seriously if you can’t be a little reckless.

I found a seat near the end of a row. The panel launched into a smart and witty discussion about building atmospheric tension and unreliable narrators. I jotted down a few notes until a speaker read a passage that made everyone in the row collectively hold their breath. Yes, I thought, this is why I came.

Afterwards I chatted to a woman from Halifax, whose students were currently devouring Shirley Jackson. We swapped cards in that polite way where you’re not quite sure if you’ll ever talk to each other again, but you really hope you do.

Lunch, however, seemed to drag on forever. Our table talked about ownership in the age of remakes and everyone had to have their say – even when it sounded like the same thing being repeated over and over, just dressed up in bigger words. I hated that. Just say what you mean and move on.

The evening workshop saved the day. Run by a scholar I’ve long admired, we dived into a close reading in comparative contexts. It felt like stretching muscles I’d used for years but in a different way, like yoga for the mind. We dissected a single paragraph until it gave up its secrets. My brain was still crackling when I reached the lift and my phone lit up.

Max: How’s my fave book nerd?

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Me: I’m just going back to my room with a head full of metaphors. You?

Max: Watching How to Train Your Dragon with Lucas. Wild night.

Me: I love that film. Which part are you at?

Max: The one where Toothless finally flies again. Big moment.

Me: Oh, I kind of wish I was there.

Max: Me too.

I stood in the lift, stupidly smiling at my reflection.

Day two was my own panel. I had said yes to it without really thinking it through. The problem was that my absent colleague is all about symbolism, while I am… competent at best. I do symbolism in the way you make a decent Victoria sponge when you’re really more of a brownie person. So that’s why I did the one thing I always told my students not to do: I googled in a panic. I typed in search terms no one would be proud of like ‘Symbolism nineteenth century quick refresher’ and read until I felt like I was drowning in other people’s cleverness. So I came up with a plan. I would only speak up when I was sure I wouldn’t look stupid. Otherwise, I would use the oldest trick in the book: nod thoughtfully and just keep quiet.

When I arrived, the panel room was already full. Our chair was sharp and kind, which is the dream. We had fifteen minutes each. Mine went by surprisingly fast. I made my points. I didn’t try to impress anyone, I simply wanted to convey my thoughts clearly. There was one question that felt like an exam I hadn’t studied for, so I nodded and said, “That’s such an interesting way to put it,” and let the person next to me take the honours. Works every time.