“Uh. Thanks. I think.” We were approaching the Indiana state line, and traffic had finally lightened up, but we still had a way to go to Indianapolis. Something about the time stretching in front of us loosened my jaw, made me share more than I intended. “I might be tall, but I was never that much of a jock. Really disappointed my dad. Asthma kept me out of a lot of sports. I was okay at soccer, but I had no real interest in any of the other sports he tried to push me into.”
“I can sympathize. My mothers tried to get me into countless extracurriculars. Most were torture.”
“Yeah. Exactly. If it’s not your idea, it just sucks. But Dad was super set on me playing football. That was our first big disagreement, when I put my foot down before high school.”
“You must have been super brave.”
“Or super stupid.” I half sighed and half laughed at my own naiveté back then, assuming that me quitting sports had caused the worst argument we’d ever have as a family.
“No, it was brave,” Alden insisted, voice as earnest as all the endless green fields we kept passing. “I…uh…don’t do so well at standing up to either of my moms.”
“Yeah, but they seem so cool. I doubt there’s that much tension—”
“‘Seem’ being the operative word.” His tone became weary, worn down like old tires.
“Sorry. Now I’m the one making assumptions. And I should know better. Everyone at my dad’s college and our church and stuff thinks we are the perfect family. Even strangers tell me how lucky I am to have him as my dad.”
“And they’re wrong?”
“You have no idea,” I groaned. “He’s…not always the nicest.” As always, I chose my words carefully, thanks to a lifetime of tempering my speech where my family was concerned. It was a constant push-pull between not wanting to sugarcoat my reality and wanting to protect my family all the same. “And anyway, that’s how I got into the game. He was so angry about me not doing any high school sports that I started escaping to this little game store near our house. Even before I was old enough to drive, I was allowed to bike up to this strip mall—mainly to get sodas at the convenience store, but I started going into the game store. The owner was nice. She gave me a free intro deck.”
“Game stores always give those away. They know people become regular customers once they’re hooked.” Alden’s tone was knowing, but it didn’t make me defensive as it might have in the past. I got now that he wasn’t trying to be intentionally rude or dismissive.
“Yup. But she was good to me in other ways too. She listened to me complain about my folks and our tiny town and wasn’t all judgmental. She was easy to talk to, and she was a Gracehaven alumni, which made me want to go east for college, escape like she had.”
“That’s cool. It’s nice to find people who really listen.” Alden’s thoughtful tone said that maybe he hadn’t had a lot of that himself.
“Yeah.” I paused because I hadn’t thought of myself as lucky in months, but I really had been during those years when I desperately needed someone on my side. “And you? How did you get into the game?”
He flicked a glance my way, almost as if surprised I had asked. “Sort of similar to you, actually. Distraction from…stuff. Mimi gave me some decks as a bar mitzvah present, and they had a code for the online version, which was really basic back then, but it still captivated me.”
“Knowing you, you probably cared more about all the winning you did than the graphics.” I laughed before glancing over at him.
“Guilty.” His shy smile did something to my insides, something I wasn’t sure I liked.
“But later you found the store, right?”
“Yeah. I had Professor Tuttle, and he used examples from the game in class, so I worked up the courage to tell him that I played too. He got me into going down to Arthur’s store more, playing with real people, not just the computer.”
“Dude, real people are so much better than the computer.”
“Says Mr. Popular. I’ve never been very good with people. I’m a little better, now, but there are still plenty of days that I prefer online game play.”
“I can see that. It would drive me nuts, but you’re more of a lo—introvert.” I’d been about to label him a loner, but thought better of it at the last minute. We had this nice sort of peace going, and I didn’t want to lose it by being judgmental. I never would have guessed we had even this much in common, and it was a weird, unsettling feeling. “Besides, the computer doesn’t come with as much trash talk.”
“Your specialty.” His shy smile widened into a genuine grin, a rare joke from him, and it was sort of like seeing a rainbow after a hard thunderstorm, the way the smile transformed his usually stoic expression. He had a dimple, which I couldn’t recall noticing before, and smiling made his brown eyes flicker with gold.
This Alden, the joking one who understood far more than I’d ever thought possible, was so much more appealing than the cranky rival snapping cards down, and I honestly wasn’t sure what to do with this transformation.
Chapter Fourteen
Alden
As we approached Indianapolis, Conrad became more excited, like a little kid on a field trip. It was sort of…cute. And I didn’t find much cute, so that was truly saying something. I wasn’t sure what to do with this new desire to make him happy, which had led to agreeing to this side stop, setting aside my already-strained schedule.
I followed the GPS’s directions toward the northwest part of the city. Driving was decidedly easier now, my hands less cramped, back not so surgical-steel-rod tense even though I had to navigate city traffic. Black Jack might still be an intimidating dinosaur of a car, but my nerves weren’t nearly as bad as they’d been the day before.
“Why do you like car racing anyway?” I asked as I took an exit.
“My grandpa. He’s dead now, but when he was alive, we’d watch the Sunday races together after church. Both IndyCar and NASCAR. There’s this racing museum not too far away from our town too. He used to like to take me there, and he taught me to drive the year before he passed on.”
“I’m sorry.” Condolences always felt so empty, and this was no exception. I was never sure exactly what to say in the face of loss.
“Eh. He got really sick toward the end. I miss him, but I didn’t want him to keep hurting, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway, because of Grandpa, I had a monster crush on this one younger NASCAR driver. Couldn’t ever tell anyone, of course, but I kept up with his career even once I outgrew the hots for him. And Indy and the hall of fame there is like…the ultimate goal for race car drivers. Like MOC West is for us, kinda.”
“We won’t have a stadium full of cheering fans,” I pointed out, keeping my voice even. I’d almost snapped at him before I realized that it wasn’t irritation I was feeling at all. Part of me apparently didn’t like the thought of Conrad having a crush on someone, even some race car driver I’d surely never heard of. Which was patently ridiculous. I had no business caring who he crushed on.
“Well, yeah, if you’re going to be literal. But a win at MOC can set you up, make you a legend in Odyssey circles, just like how history doesn’t forget Indy winners. Maybe we can do some pictures for Professor Tuttle of the winner’s circle at the speedway. Good omen of things to come.”
“I think you just want to see the fast cars.”
“Yup.” He laughed as if I’d made a joke, and while I hadn’t meant my statement to be that funny, I joined in. I didn’t believe in omens, good or otherwise, but I couldn’t completely deny Conrad his fun.
We arrived at the Speedway in midafternoon, and the vast parking lots were all but deserted. I had to admit, the sheer size of the place was staggering. I’d been to New York City during Fleet Week with my family to see the big ships, but Conrad wasted no time in telling me that an aircraft carrier would fit in the middle of the s
peedway. Indeed, the long walls seemed to go on forever as we made our way to the large tower that housed the front entrance. We took some pictures there before wandering to the museum located on the infield of the track.
Admission was ten bucks—twenty bucks if we wanted a tour around the oval—and I could pretty much see Conrad deciding which meal he’d shortchange himself on next.
“We’re here. We should do the tour, right? It’s only thirty minutes…” His mouth twisted.
“If we do that, we should get fast food for dinner. Save time.” I kept my voice decisive and didn’t mention the obvious fact that it would be a big cost saver.
“That works.” He gave me a grateful smile, a full-wattage one that made suffering his love of junk food worth any sacrifice. We paid our admission, then he gestured at one of the cars in the lobby. “Here, let me get a picture of you by this car for the professor.”
The car was an old-style roadster, festooned with bright-colored flags and a gleaming grill. Benches surrounded the raised platform, and I took a seat near the front tires.
“Use my phone.” I’d picked up on his phone being crappy even before our trip. He could never seem to look up rules for the game like the rest of us. Now that I knew more about his family situation, I found myself strangely angry on his behalf. Like, what sort of parents cut off their kid just because he wasn’t straight? Thinking about it made it hard to smile when Conrad prodded me.
“You look like a hostage proof-of-life photo, but I sent it,” he said before he handed me the phone back while we were waiting for the tour to start. Our fingers brushed—something that had happened dozens of times over the years, but this was the first time it made my breath hitch.
“Thanks.” My voice came out huskier than usual, and I swore I could feel his lingering warmth on the phone.
His eyes narrowed, almost as if he was about to speak, but then my phone buzzed with a reply from Professor Tuttle.
Looking good, Alden! Pleased to see you both having fun! Kiss the bricks for me!
I blinked several times, trying to decode the message. Did he have some sort of sixth sense for our earlier conversation about kissing? “What the—”
“He means at the end of the tour.” Conrad leaned over my shoulder to peer down at the message, not even bothering to hide his nosiness. “That’s what the winners usually do—they kiss the finish-line bricks.”
“But they’re probably filthy!”
“It’s tradition.” Conrad shrugged. “And it’s not like they’re using tongue or something.”
I made a weird squeaking noise, just as he and Jasper had predicted the night before, but I couldn’t help it. The thought of Conrad kissing someone, tongues tangling, invaded my brain and short-circuited something vital. I still hadn’t recovered by the start of the tour and quickly realized that I should have read the tour’s description closer. We were crammed onto a small bus with no option but to sit together because a large family with grandparents, parents, and a bunch of kids was taking up most of the seats. This meant that our legs rubbed together with every jolt, far closer than we were in the car.
At the front of the bus, the tour guide droned on about all the sights, but my every cell seemed to be honed in on all the spots where Conrad and I were touching—the brush of his arm, the press of his leg, the accidental thump of his foot as the bus jostled along. I was undoubtedly missing out on many great historical facts, but all my brain seemed capable of was wondering what brand of shampoo Conrad used. When we had the option of exiting the bus at the start-finish line, I was only too eager to escape, drinking in big lungfuls of the fresh air, trying to chase Conrad from my consciousness.
Bizarrely, a lot of other tourists did kiss the dusty bricks, taking pictures of one another doing it.
“You can go ahead,” I said to Conrad, getting my phone back out. “I’ll take the picture.”
“Nah. Think I’ll spare my lips.” He gave me the sort of smile I hadn’t seen from him before. Kind of sly and silly at the same time. My insides fluttered, as confused as the rest of me. I had no clue whether to smile back, and before I could decide, the moment passed, his smile tucked away as he wandered over to look at a plaque.
Back on the bus, the close proximity seemed worse instead of better, because each time Conrad leaned forward to hear what the guide was saying, our shoulders collided and heat snaked all the way down my arm. Back at the museum, my body continued to buzz as if I’d licked a battery, and I was rattled enough to not protest when Conrad said he’d drive to our next stop. We’d lingered far longer than our planned half-hour break, but I wasn’t as put out about that as I would have thought, the experience of seeing Conrad so happy more than worth it.
As he drove, I studied my pictures of him with the various cars and exhibits, trying to pick out the best ones to send Professor Tuttle and Jasper, who had texted Conrad that he was back safely and that his sister was in stable condition. I liked the way Conrad’s hair looked like a golden halo in the sunlight and the way his grin showed his dentist-ad perfect white teeth when he stood next to some big-time racer’s favorite car. I kept noticing details about him that had never registered before—the breadth of his shoulders, the size of his hands relative to his lean arms, the crooked collar of his shirt. Off-kilter, I hit send on a couple of pics before I could obsess further.
We had a stop in Terre Haute, and I reluctantly let Conrad break the no-food-in-the-car rule on the way there so we could make it before the store closed. No one was doing cosplay at this stop, thank goodness. The owner, Blake, was a skinny guy with a goatee and was younger than most small-business people, probably in his early thirties or late twenties.
He seemed especially taken with Conrad, in the way that everyone back at Gracehaven in the Safe Space Alliance had been at first. Part of it was undoubtedly that Conrad was a friendly guy, one of those people who radiated confidence and easy popularity. People simply wanted to be his friend. But there was something else in Blake’s demeanor too—the same sort of puppy-dog expression and tendency to follow Conrad closely, laughing too loudly at whatever he said.
I’d known him long enough to predict how this usually played out. Conrad would laugh along, lean in closer than appropriate, be all casual and familiar as though the other guy was a long-lost best friend, and then, inevitably, the rumors would filter in that they’d hooked up. Now, I didn’t really think Conrad would go off with this guy for a backroom tryst, leaving me holding the equipment, but if Blake touched Conrad’s arm one more time, I was going to throw something. Possibly Blake.
“It’s too bad you guys are trying for St. Louis tonight. I’d love to take you out for a drink after we close.” Blake spoke to both of us, but his eyes were firmly on Conrad.
“Yeah. We need to press on.” Conrad sounded far more reluctant to get moving than I would have, and that made my neck muscles tense. “But we do have time for a quick game if you want us to film one.”
“Of course. We need the publicity.” The store was a small, freestanding building with mismatched windows and a cramped interior with all the merchandise shoved against one wall to make room for some game tables. “Do you want to play each other since your rivalry is like the thing on the show? Or one of you could play me.”
“It’s not a thing.” I refused to believe people were tuning in simply to see Conrad and me bicker. It was the Gamer Grandpa analysis that was the draw, not us. “And I’ll play you.”
“Be glad you’re not in costume,” Conrad joked to Blake, only increasing my desire to win. I chose my deck full of big, rare creatures with expensive cards that had taken me years to assemble and that utilized a complex strategy to win. It seldom lost, and I wasn’t expecting much from this wannabe Romeo. However, Blake had my least-favorite style of deck—the pest. Lots of blocking my ability to attack, lots of card stealing, lots of rule bending, and just an all-around pain in the neck to pl
ay against. This type of deck rarely won, but it tended to make winning a slog for the other side.
And the game dragged on even slower because Blake kept joking with Conrad as he filmed us. Finally, I’d had enough, and I waited through three turns of inaction, saving all my scrolls for several moves in rapid succession, first wiping out all Blake’s creatures, then making him discard his hand so he had no chance to repopulate, and finally power-boosting all my giants at once so I could go in for lethal damage with a single attack.
“Uh. Wow. Good game, I guess.” Blake blinked at me as he realized just how completely he had lost.
“Yes.” I shook his hand, same as I would anyone else, but I was already packing up my cards, not interested in postmatch chitchat.
“You sure I can’t buy you dinner?” Blake didn’t even bother looking my direction this time.
“Yeah. We sort of already ate.” Sounding both hungry and regretful, Conrad had a hearty handshake for Blake, complete with arm slap—the sort of easy “bro” contact that I had absolutely no talent for.
“We need to get going.” I headed for the exit, trusting that eventually he’d follow when he finished basking in all the attention.
“Gee. You couldn’t let him get in even a single hit on you?” As I’d expected, Conrad easily caught up with me right as I was unlocking the car. “You completely waxed him.”
“Yes. That was the point.” Too irritated to drive, I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Wow. Remind me to never piss you off.”
Conrad being impressed with my play went a long way toward calming me down. “It was an easy win. Those decks always think they squeeze like a vise, but really, they’re just jokes. You could have won against him.”
“High compliment from you. And yeah, I could have beat him. But I might not have cut off his balls to do it.” Conrad laughed. “With these sorts of things, you need to play friendly, you know? Let the other person think they have a shot at winning at least. It’s not all cutthroat.”
Conventionally Yours (True Colors) Page 10
