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You really enjoy playing this crap?she asked me when we got paired for a match.
You don’t?I asked back, appalled.
Of course not. I just need a wide range of extracurriculars. College scholarships don’t win themselves.I checkmated her in four and have adored her ever since.
Funny, that Easton never cared for chess like I did but stuck with it much longer. What an odd love triangle the three of us make.
“You owe me for the juice box, then— come to the tournament,” she orders. “I need a team of four. Everyone’s either on vacation or can’t tell the difference between chess and checkers. You don’t even have to win— and it’s for charity.”
“What charity?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course. Is it for a right- wing think tank? The next Woody Allen movie? A made-up disease, like hysteria or gluten sensitivity?”
“Gluten sensitivity isnotmade-up.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And the tournament is for— ” She taps furiously on her phone. “I can’t find it, but can we cut this short? We both know you’re going to say yes.”
I scowl. “We know no such thing.”
“Maybeyoudon’t.”
“I have a spine, Easton.”
“Sure.” She chews on her tapioca balls, aggressive, daring, suddenly more grizzly bear than guinea pig.
She remembers ninth grade, when she talked me into being her VP as she ran for class president. (We lost. Overwhelmingly.) And tenth grade, when Missy Collins was spreading gossip and she recruited me to hack her Twitter. Eleventh grade, too, when I starred as Mrs. Bennett in thePride and Prejudicemusical she wrote and directed— despite my better judgment and my half-an-octave vocal range. I probably would have agreed to something moronic during senior year, too, if things at home hadn’t been . . . well, from a financial standpoint, less than good. And I hadn’t spent every spare second working at the garage.
“We all know you’re unable to say no,” Easton points out. “So just say yes.”
I check my phone— twelve more minutes in my break. Today’s hot as soup, I’m done scarfing down boba, and I eye her cup with interest. Honeydew melon: my second- favorite flavor. “I’m busy.”
“Busy how?”
“Date.”
“Who? Carnivorous plants guy? Or the Paris Hilton lookalike?”
“Neither. But I’ll find someone.”
“Come on. It’s a way to spend time together before college.”
I sit up, knocking my elbow against hers. “When are you leaving?”
“In less than two weeks.”
“What?Wejustgraduated, like— ”
“Like three months ago? I have to be in Colorado by mid-August for orientation.”
“Oh.” It’s like waking up from an early afternoon nap and finding out that it’s already dark. “Oh,” I repeat, a little shocked. Iknewthis was coming, but somewhere between my sister’s bout of mono, my mom’s week at the hospital, myothersister’s bout of mono, and all the extra shifts I picked up, I must have lost track of time. This is terrifying: I’ve nevernotlived in the same city as Easton. I’ve nevernotseen her once a week to playDragon Age, or talk aboutDragon Age, or watchDragon Ageplaythroughs.
Maybe we need new hobbies.
I try for a smile. “I guess time flies when you’re having fun.”
