Page 7 of These Secret Years

He’s not looking at me anymore. The game has started, and I take a second to check out my cards. They’re a mess of uncategorized colors. Quickly, I sort them into something I won’t have to think about. Deandre plays a green three, and I play the only green card I have—a nine—on top of it. “I’m keeping my options open.” The truth is marketing is an easier major, and it’ll give me time to focus on perfecting my game.

My future is in the NFL like my father and my two uncles. If, on the off chance, I need to fall back to plan B, I can still work in sports.

I try a different tactic with Sullivan. To Deandre, I say, “I get all the same questions, but none of the answers.”

It’s my play again, and because I don’t have any yellow cards, I play a Take Four on Tyson.

He glares at me and picks up four cards, filling his hand.

Deandre says to Sullivan, “You do kinda sound like you’re hiding something.”

Sullivan laughs, and there’s a nervous edge to it. He takes another drink from his cup. When he turns his smile on me, his lips are dark and wet. I feel that smile in my pants.

I’ll give it to Gabe. This all started out awkward as fuck, making small talk with strangers and playing a kid’s game. Slowly but surely, though, personalities are shining through. I get a slight glimmer of Sullivan’s now. He’s not being coy, he’s guarded, but there’s something slightly cocky in his gaze, too. Whatever it is, it’s a turn on. Why? I have no idea. The mystery of it, I guess? The way it’s got me salivating to know more.

“I’m shy,” he says with a smile that doesn’t look shy at all.

Ty skips him on the next round, and he grumbles, sitting back in his seat. “Your turn, QB.”

Right. I have to draw because I don’t want to play my Wild Card yet, but Sullivan and I have the same number of cards.

Deandre sighs. “Can this be sudden death? I don’t know how much more UNO I’ve got in me, Gabe.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gabe pipes up. “Winner takes all.”

UNO doesn’t exactly light up my competitive streak, but I do want this to be over. Not the night, but the tournament for sure. I turn, finding a defensive tackle I played against earlier in the crowd of people surrounding the table. Not everyone has stayed, but surprisingly, most of them have. “We should try to find that place you mentioned earlier,” I say to the defenseman. I don’t remember his name—there’ve been way too many names tonight—but I do remember he said he had a brother who went here, and there’s a place behind campus in the woods that people go to start bonfires and hang out.

“Yeah, sure. It’s on the train tracks. It shouldn’t be that hard to find.”

“Are you talking about The Front?” Tyson asks.

“Yeah, I think that’s what they call it,” the other guy says.

“I’m in. Especially if anyone’s got some non-age appropriate B to bring.”

“You in, too, Sullivan?” I ask.

He looks surprised I’m talking to him again. “I have no idea what you guys are talking about. Is it a football thing?”

“No, we’re just taking a walk.”

“Sounds ominous,” he says.

Deandre reaches out and grabs Sullivan by the shoulder. He gives it a squeeze. “I won’t let these guys fuck with you. I promise.” Looking at the rest of us, he adds, “This is my roommate. He’s cool, and I’m gonna be pissed if I have to break in a whole new one.”

Sullivan smiles, clearly fond of Deandre already, and it’s not hard to see why. The wide receiver is friendly, charismatic, and he’s always got a good thing to say. I’ve been practicing with him for a month, and I haven’t heard anyone talk shit about him. Not even the older players on the team. His talent is extraordinary, which, in some places, might make him a target, but his personality makes him impossible to be mad about.

Out of nowhere, Sullivan plays a Skip card and says, “Uno.”

“Damn,” Tyson sighs. His hand is still full of cards.

Because everyone’s a winner here, no one lets the uno stand for long, but eventually, Sullivan and I are both left with one card, and it’s Deandre’s turn to play. He plays his second to last card, a red two, and calls his uno.

I drop the Wild Card I’ve managed to save and win.

“Ugh.” Sullivan drops his remaining card, also a Wild.

I grin at him as I call out to Gabe, “What’d I win?”