Conventionally Yours Page 2

  I swore I could already hear the cheers, feel the weight of the trophy, the intense wave of pride washing over me. But behind the daydream was the bitter splash of reality. I didn’t like to fly. It was what had kept me limited to cons and tournaments within driving distance here on the East Coast and what had held me back from registering for MOC West when it first opened.

  “And it doesn’t involve flying?” I asked, trying to not sound as skeptical as Conrad.

  “Nope.” Professor Tuttle offered a wide smile. “I’ve had a bunch of midwestern local game stores ask for signed books. And they’ve been clamoring for something of a tour. So my idea is to drive with whomever wishes to join me. We can share time behind the wheel, stop at my favorite local game stores along the way, play a few hands of Odyssey with their regulars, see the sights… It’ll be fun.”

  That was easy for him to say. He had friends all across the country thanks to his storied career as a mathematics professor as well as the reputation he’d built with his vlog. He loved travel, but I knew full well that he was only proposing driving because he thought that was the best way to get us there. He’d been friends with my family long enough to know about my issues with flying. Also, Jasper was perennially short of funds, and I was never quite sure what was up with Conrad lately. He’d had to drop out of school for reasons he was cagey about, and I could never tell whether he was as broke as Jasper, or just didn’t care, or possibly a mixture of both. For all his bravado, he was tough to read—something that irritated me even more than his swagger and constant needling.

  “Can it be the sort of fun that I hear all about when I see you guys at the con? Road trips are so not my style, and I’ve got plane tickets already up on my phone.” Payton waved their phone, managing to sound dismissive without outright knocking the professor’s plan. I desperately wanted to learn their trick for always managing to seem above the fray without being rude about it. They were never emotionally invested in anything, whether it was grades or relationships or even the game itself. Me? My adrenaline was still thrumming from the win, my stomach yet to settle from that sick feeling when I’d thought Conrad might be about to best me. Holding back his soldier tokens had been a stroke of genius.

  Not that I’d ever tell him that. He didn’t need the ego boost.

  “The convention is right after the term ends for summer break.” Professor Tuttle still taught part-time, despite devoting most of his retirement to his vlog. “I say we take two weeks—five or six days there, three days for the convention, five or six days coming home. It’ll be a grand adventure. Who’s in?”

  I expected Conrad to agree first, because no way would he turn down a chance to go party with Payton and be a minor celebrity with Gamer Grandpa’s following. I’d been forced to overhear too many stories of their wild antics over the years to think otherwise.

  In the end, though, it was Jasper who nodded first. “I’m up for it. I’ll have to talk to my folks and Arthur, though, make sure I can be spared.”

  “Excellent. Conrad?” Professor Tuttle prompted. Relief rushed through me that he hadn’t asked me next. I still hadn’t sorted out my reaction to this turn of events. Unlike the others, I wasn’t the best at reading situations and never coped well with sudden change. I wanted to go. That wasn’t the issue, but there was a ton of other mental clatter going around in my head that was making it hard to focus.

  “Uh…” Conrad still sat across from me, still holding his duffel like a shield. “Work, you know? Might need to rearrange some things…”

  That was typically vague. I wasn’t entirely sure what job Conrad currently had. He seemed to have an endless supply of side hustles and part-time gigs that never lasted long. Rumor was, he got fired almost as often as he went out and partied. I’d once tried to help him see that the two probably were related, but he’d almost bitten my head off, so I tried not to get involved anymore. It wasn’t my business anyway.

  “That’s fine. How about you guys think about it? The tickets are yours, but you can tell me your decision about the road trip when we play Sunday afternoon.”

  “Time to think is good.” That gave us a little under forty-eight hours, but it was better than being put on the spot. I nodded along with Conrad.

  “The tickets are ours?” Conrad licked his lower lip as he took one from the stack. I couldn’t shake the feeling he was mentally working out what his ticket might fetch on a reseller site. And see, this was why I needed to go. I was the only one of us who truly cared about the game and the tournament.

  I grabbed mine before anyone else could think about taking it.

  “So, you think you’re going?” Conrad nodded at the ticket in my hand. His midwestern flat affect took a turn for the country with you sounding more like ya when he was agitated. I’d never figured out exactly where he was from—some corn-fed rural state where they grew their guys naturally athletic and tall as water towers. Conrad always looked like he’d escaped some minor league baseball team to come slum with us nerds at the game store.

  “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.”

  And with that, I continued on my way through the park toward the three-story blue Victorian with apple-green trim that, while not exactly home, wasn’t that far off either. I headed around back where I found Maxine on a low stool next to one of her immaculate flower beds, using the last of the light to get some weeding in, curly gray hair sticking to her forehead.

  “Hey! Isn’t that supposed to be my job?” I set my bag on the porch and hurried over to help her as she tried to get up to greet me.

  “It’s my joy.” She gave me a tired smile that didn’t reach her dark eyes. “And you’ve got enough jobs. Where are you scheduled tonight?”

  “Overnight stocking at the grocery store.” I sighed as she let me lead her to the Adirondack chairs on the back porch. “And then tomorrow night at the pizza place. And I know it’s the third, and rent—”

  “You’ll get it to me when you have it. I trust you.” She sank into one of the chairs, her lack of protest showing that she really was more tired than she was letting on. “And speaking of rent, I need to talk to you.”

  Crap. My back muscles tensed one by one until my shoulders felt guitar-string tight. I perched on the arm of the chair next to her. “Oh?”

  “I’ve reached a decision. Even teaching part-time is getting to be a lot for me. This is going to be my last term. I’ll take my emeritus status and ride off into the sunset.”

  “What? The poor freshman. First-year seminar won’t be the same without you.” I forced myself to smile, even as dread continued to gather. Unlike Professor Tuttle, who continued to dabble in upper-level courses in his retirement, Maxine’s passion had always been for freshman courses, especially the seminar class where I’d first met her as Professor Jackson. She’d easily been my favorite class, and she was one of the few people outside the administration who knew the whole story about why I’d had to drop out. Faced with hard choices, agreeing to rent one of her spare rooms at a discount in exchange for yard work had been one of my better decisions. She’d spent most of the year finally convincing me to call her Maxine.

  “You’re too kind.” She patted my arm. “I will miss teaching. And this place.”

  “You’re moving?” Dread turned into full-on bile, rising in my throat. No way was I finding another rent this low.

  “Even with your help, this is a lot of house for an old woman—”

  “You’re not that old,” I protested, even though I knew her to be at least seventy, having kept teaching long past when other professors took their retirements.

  “I am.” She laughed, a rich full-bodied sound that belied her small stature. “And DeShawn and his wife are having number three this fall. Maya’s getting married this summer, and she’s got that look too. Won’t be long for her and Carol, I bet. I think it’s time I moved nearer to my grandbabies.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” I grumbled. Both of Maxine’s kids and their partners lived in the DC area, having settled there after college, and I couldn’t deny her logic in wanting to move closer. Family was important to her, as it should be, and I was merely her renter. “So you’ll be putting the house on the market?”

  “Yes. Soon. Everyone says it’ll sell fast—the place across the street got a cash offer in eight days.”

  “Ah.” I chewed my lower lip, trying to calculate how much time I had.

  “Why don’t you keep this month’s rent, Conrad?” She’d always been too perceptive by half. “You can add it to your fund for a new place. And I can ask around—”

  “You’ve done so much already.” No way was I letting pity drive her to find me another professor with a spare room. It was beyond time for me to figure out what came next for the smoldering heap that had become my life. A vision of the MOC West ticket leaped to the front of my brain. If I could win, if I could get a seat on the pro tour, that could be my next move. Rent money, breathing room from my bills, and the chance to win big at the game I loved. What could be better than that?

  Road trip with Alden, I reminded myself. And using the last of your cash to take two weeks off would be beyond stupid. Damn it. I hated practical reality. Would braving a road trip with Alden and his barbs be worth the payoff in the end? I still wasn’t sure.

  “Well, all right.” Maxine nodded slowly. “But I hate leaving you in the lurch.”

  “You’re not,” I lied. “I’ll come up with something.”

  And I would. It was what I was good at—coming up with strategies on the fly, seeing opportunity where others saw only defeat. But later that night, when the manager at the grocery store sought me out, I was having a hard time not seeing doom in her sad frown.

  “We’re having to cut back. Both hours and positions. I’ve got some hours for you through the end of the month, but then…” Bian looked away at a display of cereal boxes, not meeting my eyes. “You’re the most recent hire.”

  “Yeah.” First in, first out. I got it. This wasn’t my first time losing out due to not having seniority somewhere. And the manager was a nice enough woman—twenty years’ experience at the store, and still able to be patient when I didn’t know where things went at first. “Listen, don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out.”

  I was less and less sure about that, and when I collapsed across my bed at seven thirty that morning, all I could see was my duffel at the foot of the bed. That ticket. It could be a few hundred to try to get another rental situation, or my last, best hope of actually turning my luck around. I tried to picture winning, being handed the check, and all I could feel was relief as I counted zeroes. And if I got on the pro tour, there would be more checks like that—enough to buy a future, one win at a time.

  Maybe, just maybe, the road trip wasn’t the worst idea, especially if it delivered me to a better place.

  Chapter Four

  Alden

  “You’re so beautiful.” I stroked Emma’s golden head, reveling in her presence, drinking in her calm acceptance. She was easily one of the highlights of my day, which said a lot about the state of my life right then.

  “I’m pretty sure you came to see the dog and not us, didn’t you?” my mom asked from the kitchen doorway.

  “I came to see you guys too,” I protested from my spot at the bottom of the staircase where I’d been brushing Emma. My hand tightened around the brush because I was totally guilty. Knowing Emma had been counting on our weekly Saturday run while the moms made brunch had gotten me up and out of bed, much more so than the thought of French toast casserole or turkey saus
age. Or the grilling I knew was coming.

  “Well, the food is ready. And no, you can’t take yours back with you.”

  “Hey, I’m not that bad.” Two weeks ago, however, I had done exactly that, claiming the need to make a phone call and grabbing my waffles on the trek back to the carriage house behind my moms’ Victorian, where I currently lived. I supposed I couldn’t do the same trick again. I knelt for one last pat for Emma. “Who wants a treat?”

  “You spoil her.”

  “She deserves it.” And she really did. I might live in the backyard, but my visits to the main house had been irregular at best this last year—all part of a losing effort to distance myself from the pressure my moms had been exerting. Also, the dog had put up with my anxiety over the last year far better than either of my moms. That morning, she’d eagerly done an extra lap around the pond while I continued to puzzle out what I was going to do about my ticket.

  I wish I knew for certain whether Conrad was going to bail. That would make everything easier. I did not want to spend days on end in a car with someone who made no secret of not liking me, even though he got along with almost everyone else. Something about the two of us was like mixing Diet Coke and Mentos—guaranteed instant eruption. I wasn’t blameless either. I knew I had a tendency to bristle at all his teasing. Just as I retreated to my carriage house to avoid uncomfortable encounters with my moms, I retreated to the relative safety of the game when around the rest of the Gamer Grandpa crew, its rules and requirements so much more reassuring than the complexities of social interactions.

  And okay, part of me wouldn’t object to being smashed in a back seat with someone who looked and smelled as good as Conrad did, but that part of me was not in charge of making important life decisions, and I’d spent over two years trying very hard not to notice Conrad in that way. I wasn’t about to start crushing on someone who hated me now.