Page 56 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

It’s become a thing.

The only game I’m better at? Table tennis, because it’s the game my father loves most.

Given I regularly defraud grown men at the Pizza Palace? Neither Hermès nor Lucas stands a chance.

I start with a triple nineteen, and though I don’t get the perfect nine game, I’m not far off.

“WTF?”

It’s one of the MIT guys who says this, though he’s got a huge grin on his face—and why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t lost any money. He’s just enjoying the show and at least his fourth free drink.

“She didn’t drink anything.”

“Yeah, she’s the only sober one here.”

“And she was trying.”

The guys nod to one another sagely, as if having solved the mystery of how a girl could be good at darts.

“Yeah, my dudes,” Brody says, slinging a careless arm around me. “I’m sure you could have each thrown a nearly perfect game if only you’d tried or been sober.”

“Lorelai’s good at everything she sets her mind to.” The quiet pride in Lucas’s voice soothes me a little. Though I’m still angry about the penis-waving that got us into this.

I wonder how regularly Hermès does this—pass out free drinks, challenge someone to a game. It’s close between him and Lucas. But Lucas is the only sober guy here. And he gets a little lucky on the last throw.

Hermès is flushed as he reaches for his wallet. “Cute little one-two swindle you have going.”

“You challenged us,” Lucas states.

“I’m curious which one of you is better. I mean, I’ll pay up, but wouldn’t it be fun to figure out which one of you is actually the bitch?” He casually counts out ten one-hundred-dollar bills.

“It should be a thousand each.”

“You’re lucky I’m paying this much. And that I’m not reporting your little con.”

It’s Lucas’s turn to become belligerent. He’s always been the most honest of the three of us, the one who points out when a professor has tallied incorrectly (in your favor).

“We won fairly.”

Hermès’s look is pure disdain. He blatantly looks Lucas up and down. “I get that you need money, but I mean, find a job or something, yeah? Fucking entitlement programs and affirmative action admits are going to be the death of this country.”

Clearly by rote, one of his teammates high-fives him.

Lucas, however, goes a bit still. I watch as his fists clench at his sides.

“We should go.” I tug at Lucas’s arm, wait until he makes eye contact, until he lets out a breath and unfurls his hands.

Hermès smiles. “Looks like we know who’s the real boss, huh?”

“Lorelai is our captain,” Lucas says, his voice back to the deep, slow monotone.

I don’t let myself show my anger until we’re back on the T.

“I’m sorry—” Lucas starts, but I won’t hear it.

Seeing how tense we both are, Brody sits between us. “Is this the wrong time to ask about a well-timed commemorative selfie?”

Neither Lucas nor I laugh in a manner that’s genuine, but Brody adopts his challenge-accepted manner and monologues for the entirety of the ride back, displaying an impressive knowledge of local trivia (that it’s called the “T” because of a mayoral campaign opposing fare increases, popularized through a folk song called “M.T.A.” about a man named Charlie who couldn’t afford to come home), ICPC facts (Did Lucas and I know it used to be teams of four? Imagine if we’d been paired with Arjun?), as well as an already previously ascertained ability to turn anything into a semi-crude joke (Doesn’t that [insert harmless inanimate object] look just like [body part] if you just tilt your head the right way?).