Conventionally Yours (True Colors 1)

My game. I just needed to play the way I relished playing, quit worrying about the semifinals, and enjoy the fact that I was actually here, in this place, playing in the elimination rounds. I kept that advice as the field kept shrinking. Watched it get whittled down to sixty-four. Then thirty-two. I didn’t connect with Alden at lunch. One of his rounds went long, so no lunchtime cuddling that day. But it was okay. I watched the tail end of his match on the monitors while eating a sandwich and got to see him in an epic battle against a woman cosplaying as a Reaper Bride—black wedding dress and garish makeup and all.

“And he said he can’t play against cosplayers,” I crowed to Payton, who gave me a high five. “Look at him dismantle her defenses. He’s going to win!”

“I note you have no sympathy for me. Your boy took me apart in under fifteen minutes. I think I was still on turn six.”

“Yeah. He’s good at that. And you did ask him to be nice. He probably thought he was being kind, letting you get to your coffee.”

“That or he doesn’t like to play with his food.” Payton rolled their eyes. “He actually seemed unsettled the first two turns—not like his usual cranky self. Didn’t even tell me to remove the hoodie or my shades. But then he settled in and found his ruthless gene again. Which you seem only too happy about. Do you want to play him tomorrow?”

In between rocking out at my matches and trying to remember why I loved this game so much, I’d thought about that some. “Yeah, I do,” I said, surprising myself in how firm I sounded. “I want him to go as far as he can. He needs this win.”

“And so do you.”

“As if I needed reminding.” And Payton didn’t know the half of it. They knew I wanted it, sure, but I’d never confessed the entirety of my circumstances to them.

“Dinner’s on me tonight.” Payton nodded at the screen. “Bring your dude. He just won. Can’t wait to watch you guys bicker over who’s taking the L tomorrow.”

“No one’s throwing the match.”

“Ha.” Payton’s raised eyebrow said they weren’t so sure. And honestly, a few hours later, faced with Bart from Denver in my last match of the day, I too wasn’t sure about any of this. A win against Bart and I’d be through to the semifinals. Due to a prior match going long, Bart and I were the last match of the night. Alden was already in the semifinals. I hadn’t watched, but Payton had brought me word right as I was setting up. I very purposely didn’t check my phone either. I didn’t want to know if Alden was watching, if he wished me luck or if he’d stayed radio silent all day. And I didn’t need the stress of more messages from Professor Tuttle and Jasper, who had been watching the live streams. This was going to be hard enough without added pressure.

Bart played a reaper deck, just as he had back in Colorado. And without Alden’s big expensive stuff to bail me out, I fell behind early. And maybe that was for the best. I could lose here. Go cheer for Alden tomorrow. I’d be screwed as far as life went—money, job, place to live. But I’d have him, and maybe that would be enough. Alden had beaten Bart once. He could beat him again and—

Wait.

Right as I’d talked myself into accepting defeat, I top decked my Transforming Scroll Scribe. I knew the cameras would have caught me drawing it. If he was watching, Alden would know I didn’t play the card. He’d know that I threw the game, and I’d shatter his trust in me. We’d both promised not to throw this thing. To play our best game. And so far that round? I was doing anything but my best.

Newly determined, I slapped down the card and prepared to use it to summon enough scrolls to create a new army of frog soldiers.

“Hold up.” Eyes narrowing, Bart held up a hand. His lips curved into a sneer as he waved a judge over. “Card legality challenge. No way is that a genuine card.”

Hell. Sweat broke out on my lower back and my hands turned clammy as I handed the card over to a judge. What if the packs from that store had been counterfeit? What if they didn’t believe the card was real? All of a sudden, I wanted to win in the worst way, wanted to wipe that sneer from Bart’s face.

The judge, a small man with big horned-rim glasses, turned the card this way and that, even took it out of my card sleeve and ran a blunt nail along the edge. Finally, he nodded and my stomach sank.