Page 130 of Power Play

“That was luck.”

“That sounded insecure.”

“I’m deeply threatened.”

“Good.”

We spent the next half hour turning carnival games into an increasingly stupid competition. I beat him at ring toss. Ryan demolished me at a water-gun race against six children and celebrated with enough enthusiasm that the father beside us laughed. I accused him of having no dignity, and he said dignity didn’t come with prizes.

Then we reached the milk bottles.

Ryan paid for three baseballs and missed the first throw badly enough that I stared at him. He looked at the bottles, then the ball on the ground, before slowly turning toward me.

“You say one fucking word.”

“I’m trying to process what I witnessed.”

“I play hockey.”

“You throw things with your hands every day.”

“Pucks are not baseballs.”

“You throw hockey pucks?”

“Sometimes.”

“This defense is deteriorating.”

The teenage guy running the booth laughed.

Ryan pointed at him. “You stay out of this.”

The guy lifted both hands while I folded my arms.

“Take your second throw, athlete.”

Ryan turned slowly. “You’re getting cocky.”

“Professor Brown encouraged it.”

His second throw hit hard enough to knock two bottles over and leave the rest standing.

I winced. “You were so close.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m supporting you.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

By the time Ryan finally knocked the entire stack backward, he had purchased enough attempts to fund part of the carnival’s electricity bill.

The booth attendant gestured toward the wall of prizes. “What do you want?”

Ryan looked at me.