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“See? You’re smarter. You do it.”
“You got this, Griff. I believe in you. Go.”
Theo nudges me to the front of the room and retreats once I’m up there. I’m representing us in a trivia contest; this is definitely a bizarre universe. I shake hands with my competitor, a redhead girl in big glasses. It’s her against me for the Star Wars boxed set. Everyone is quiet, staring at us, excited for the showdown. But my tunnel vision reveals only a smiling Theo and his encouraging thumbs-ups.
“First one to answer correctly wins the grand prize,” the hostess says. “Tiebreaker question.” She reaches into what looks like an empty mint bowl and retrieves a slip of paper. “From the Harry Potter series, what is Dumbledore’s full name?”
A Harry Potter question; I got this. “Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore!”
Before the hostess can shake her head, I realize I’ve gotten it wrong. It’s Wulfric before Brian. I gasp with my hand over my mouth. I can’t even face Theo. My bespectacled competitor answers the question correctly and receives the roaring applause—the applause I wanted Theo to witness for me. I try to remind myself that this is all silly, and I smile and congratulate her. She is gracious enough to congratulate me too, which makes it a little better.
I walk back to my table with the sword and shield. “I suck.”
“Dude, you killed it! I bet you wouldn’t have confused those names if you were able to write them down on paper. It’s like trying to solve certain math problems without a calculator.”
“Which you do all the time.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not the same thing. You’re passionate about this. There’s also no way in hell I’d have even gotten Dumbledore’s first name.”
“You’re forced to be nice to me because I just lost,” I say.
Theo takes the sword from my hand. “Kneel before the king, Griff.” I look around for the king. “Me, asshole. I’m the king. Who else would be the king? Wade?”
I laugh in spite of myself and get down on one knee, bowing my head as he knights me.
“On this rainy Thursday, I, King Theo of New York City, praise you, Sir Griffin of New York City, for your vast knowledge of fantasy novels I’ll never take the time to read myself. And for having the kind of laugh that I like hearing so much I would punch myself over and over if you found it funny.”
I rise, still grinning at our own stupidity. Theo twirls the sword between his fingers and swings, but I deflect him with the shield. I keep blocking his attacks. We ignore the waiters asking us to stop playing and eventually run toward the pinball machines, where I finally drop the shield.
“I surrender!” I say. “It’s surrender, right? Not forfeit?”
“My work here is done. I have nothing left to teach you, Sir Griffin of New York City.” Theo is brandishing his sword, victorious.
I disarm us both as I kiss him, the plastic sword clattering at our feet as he pulls me closer to him.
This feels right, even as our teeth clink. I laugh when we part.
“That’s a thing we just did,” I say.
“Let’s do it more often,” Theo says.
TODAY
Monday, November 20th, 2016
Jackson Wright is here, and there’s no not talking about him anymore.
There’s no denying Jackson and I resemble each other; even Wade joked about it. His hair is a little darker and longer than mine, but still light brown at first look. We’re lanky, with bad posture, and we both looked back into your blue eyes with our hazels. You mentioned becoming fixated with the horseshoe-shaped birthmark on his collarbone, much like whenever you traced the “deflated pyramid” on my inner thigh. The big difference between us right now is I’m here at your funeral in your old hoodie and jeans, and he’s wearing a suit that’s a size too big for him. The suit makes sense, though I’m not sure what an eighteen-year-old in California would do with one.
Here’s your history with Jackson as you told it to me: You met him last year on October 29th while walking along the highway. You were on your way to tutor that high-school junior, while Jackson was driving from his mother’s house to spend the weekend with his father. The rain surprised you, which doesn’t surprise me since you always refused to check the weather app; you prided yourself on adapting to any outside conditions.
Lucky for you, Jackson came to the rescue.
He’d seen you before during this same drive and thought you looked friendly. He was curious about how you existed in California without a car or bike or “some flying carpet.” You thought the flying carpet bit was funny. I thought it was uninspired. It’s possible I’m programmed to be a dick to anyone interested in you. But really, let’s not rule out Jackson’s joke sucked because—
I’m letting it go. I’m moving on.
Jackson pulled over and offered you a ride. He was a stranger, but from everything you told me about the impossibly perfect weather in California, it sounds like rain is the first wave of the zombie-pirate apocalypse, so I guess you can’t be faulted. Just sucks you were looking for a new partner to aid you in what was supposed to be our alternate universe.
