Conventionally Yours (True Colors 1)

“See—”

“But that doesn’t mean I need one of your plans.” I might not know much, but I knew that whatever came next for me would be my own idea, my own direction. The time away had been good for me, firmed up my resolution to go my own way. And being around Conrad had helped, too, given me new confidence and perspective.

“Be reasonable. You know we only want what is best for you.”

“And so do I,” I said firmly. “Listen, I really do need to go.”

“We’re not done,” Mom warned.

“Fine.” Great. One more thing to dread later. But as I ended the call, my thoughts shifted back to the match with Conrad. I still had no clue what I wanted to happen. Winning just didn’t seem as vital as it had even a few days earlier. I meant what I’d told Mom—I’d figure something out. What mattered more was figuring out how to keep Conrad.

But he greeted me with stony silence as I emerged from the bathroom and didn’t bother with small talk on the short walk to the convention center. Crap. How much had he heard of my conversation with Mom?

I wanted to ask, but also was loath to start an argument moments before we had to battle.

The way the tournament was structured, the two semifinals would be played back-to-back, then a break before the finals, all three matches streamed with professional commentators. Without looking over at Conrad, I accepted the noise-canceling headphones. I still lacked a clear plan, the sort of strategy I was known for. I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do, all the thoughts that I’d been wrestling with still ricocheting around my brain.

We rolled dice to see who went first. Him. Good. My opening hand was good—not great, but not poor either. I’d won my quarterfinal match with a worse deal. The universe certainly wasn’t making it easy for me to know what to do. His first few plays were no help either—pretty standard stuff for him, the sort of setup I’d expect. So I mirrored him, neither aggressive nor passive, focused on creating a typical board state for me.

We each give it our best shot. His voice rang in my head as we came to the turn where I really needed to set up an attack. I surveyed the board. He had good cards out. Not his best, but I simply couldn’t tell whether he was holding back or not. However, I’d promised. He knew me well enough to know if I skipped this attack step purposefully. So, I attacked, and he countered with a devious defense. Great card. Either he’d been holding back or he’d only recently drawn the card, but whichever the case, he’d revealed himself as willing to battle in earnest.

Him playing well actually relaxed me in a weird way, made it easier for me to play my best stuff each turn. I was first to strike at his life total, but he quickly evened things up, and back and forth we went. I went from reluctant opponent to wanting to impress him with my play. If I was going down, I was going down swinging, the way he always did. Maybe later we’d dissect the game, and he’d be as proud of my moves as I was of his.

Then the worst happened. I drew a card that could win me the game. The sort of massive creature that Conrad never had an answer for. Hell. Forget analyzing the game later. He’d know as soon as he saw the stream if I didn’t play it. Promise me we’ll deal. I had to believe. Had to trust.

But he deserves to win. He needs it. I held the card, inner war making my palms sweat. Conrad had been wrong. This was nothing like a slot machine. I didn’t want to win, had so much I wanted more than the win. I’d been searching for validation this whole time, direction, but I’d found far more purpose than I’d ever thought possible.

So I did the only thing that made any sense.

I played the card.

My eyes squished shut, brain roaring like a jet engine, and when I opened them again, he was frowning, his mouth a thin, hard line. He’d forgive me. He had to. He—

Oh. Fuck.

He’d been right all along. There were times that only that word would do. Still glowering at me, Conrad slapped down his Transforming Scroll Scribe.

If I had been playing to lose, I’d just played right into his hands. I, the guy who knew every opponent’s strengths and weaknesses, who knew all the decks, all the moves, all the rules, had totally forgotten he owned that card. I’d used all available scrolls to cast the ogre, so I had nothing left to counter his card and no answer when he paid the required scrolls to transform it. Next turn, he’d win for sure.