“Maybe. I said I’d think about it.” I didn’t owe him a peek at my inner turmoil, didn’t want him to know how rattled I was, and my tone came out way too snappish. Something about Conrad always made me feel even more out of my depth socially, and that uncertainty tended to come out as combative—little verbal swipes that accomplished nothing other than to ensure that we were always at odds.
“Chill, Alden.” Jasper was more Conrad’s friend than mine, and the long-suffering look they exchanged grated on my last nerve.
Whatever. I wasn’t in this to make friends. I was here for one reason, and one reason only—the high I got from winning. Sure, the satisfaction of deck building was nice, and the aesthetics of the game weren’t entirely lost on me, but nothing compared to the rush of victory. And right now, at this point in my life, I needed that rush in the worst way.
Payton would accuse me of being overly dramatic, so I’d never admit it aloud, but there were days when the game kept me going. Just knowing we’d had the filming today had been good. Getting to do this professionally? Being able to call this a career choice and not an expensive hobby? That might be worth whatever it would take to get that seat on the pro tour. I still wasn’t sold on Professor Tuttle’s plan, but that ticket was mine, and I wasn’t letting go.
Chapter Three
Conrad
The ticket might as well have weighed a hundred pounds for how it pressed on every part of my consciousness as I walked back from the game store. It made my bag seem to dig into my shoulder and made my steps heavy. I’d used the store’s Wi-Fi to quickly check the ticket’s value when the others had been distracted saying goodbye and making plans for Sunday’s game. I could easily make several hundred for an all-access tournament slot at the sold-out event. If I put it up tonight, I could have money in my account in a few days.
But…
I sighed as I crossed from Gracehaven’s quaint main street to the district of historic homes that ringed the small downtown, cutting through the park. I could already see Professor Tuttle’s frown if I told him Sunday that I’d scalped the ticket. Which honestly was the best option for me. No way did I want to go on a road trip with Alden the All-Knowing. Five days straight in a confined space with a judgmental dude who always seemed to find me lacking? Count me out. And I had zero faith that he would bow out of the trip. My luck simply wasn’t that strong, and I’d seen the way he’d looked at those tickets as if they were a slice of my grandma’s red velvet cake. He wanted to go, probably so he and his decks could get a “real” challenge like he was always bemoaning, as if our play group were a peewee league and he the only pro wannabe.
Screw that. I was every bit as good a player as him. And I would have—should have—shown him that earlier if I’d simply been able to get that one more turn. Sure, I tended to goof off during matches, which I knew full well drove Mr. Serious Player crazy, but what good was playing if you couldn’t have a little fun?
“Conrad! Hey, Conrad!” A group of kids were playing soccer in the park, assorted parents and babysitters looking on from the benches at the other end of the field. The short, skinny one calling out to me was Dominic, son of the owner of the pizza place. “Come play with us!”
“Guys,” I groaned as I came closer, setting my bag down before I was mobbed. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I don’t—”
“Please.” Dominic’s sister, Maria, had braids and two missing teeth and reminded me so much of my own sisters that my chest ached.
“A few kicks,” I conceded, doing a fast rewind in my head to make sure I’d taken my meds that morning. And at least I had meds that month, which was something. Even though I hadn’t been kidding about being tired, I still got a familiar burst of energy jogging toward the goal with the kids. “You want to be goalie first, Maria?”
She nodded, and I stayed out with the kids until everyone had had a turn being goalie, trying to deflect my soft kicks. Finally, I begged off before they could talk me into a stint as goalie myself.
“You should be, like, a pro,” Dominic declared. “Like on TV. Goooooal.”
“Ha.” I laughed. You’re too good to quit, Conrad. No son of mine is a quitter. Harsh voices from my past rang in my ears, making it hard to smile, but I made my tone come out light. “Not hardly. Thanks for the workout, guys.”