Conventionally Yours (True Colors)

by Annabeth Albert

  I passed a bank of displays that showed the second semifinal was still ongoing. But I didn’t slow down, passing several panels, the food court, winding through the vendor and artist areas, not taking the time to notice any of the merch, everything and everyone blurring together as I flashed through the game again in my head.

  I’d given him a good game, getting caught up in it, getting more competitive than I’d meant to, but I’d still expected him to win right up until the very last move. And then I’d freaked out. Because I’d wanted him to win. I couldn’t even pinpoint the exact moment that had changed over the last few days, when I’d gone from desperately wanting myself to win at all costs, to wanting to win if it didn’t mean hurting him in the process, to wanting him to win because I knew it would make him happy and making him happy was the most important thing in the world to me.

  But then he’d smiled. Alden, who’d smiled more in the last few days but who was still hardly what one would call jolly, had grinned. Like a lottery winner almost. He’d lost the game and been downright giddy about that fact. And I’d lost whatever cool I’d managed to cling to. How could he be so happy to lose?

  He had to have thrown it. No other possible conclusion, except he’d seemed genuinely gutted when I’d accused him of losing on purpose.

  I’m falling in love with you, Con. His voice had been so sincere, but I still couldn’t let myself trust it. Love came with conditions. Requirements. Obligations. And love could be yanked away without warning. Love hurt.

  A lot like my next breath, actually, sharp and painful, a struggle to get enough air in. Hell. Not again. Did I even have my—

  Wait. Of course I did. Ever since I’d needed it outside Denver, Alden had made sure I had my inhaler every morning before we’d left the hotel. Fishing it out, I headed to a quieter corner to use it. Was that love? Wanting to take care of someone? Like the way he’d figured out that I only could stomach coffee super sweet and made it that way for me or the way he let me use him as a pillow whenever I wanted?

  But I did that for him too. Made sure he didn’t have to eat weird flavor combos. Let him have more of the hot water. Wanted him to win. Would I have smiled for him?

  Oh hell. The only thing worse than Alden loving me might be me loving him. And I maybe did. If I was honest, it had started to happen before we even kissed. It was the way he’d bailed out Jasper. The way he’d listened, really listened to me talk about my family and everything that had gone down with them. The way he’d shown me what was inside him, too, his vulnerabilities and fears. That was why I’d wanted him to win.

  I’m falling in love with you, Con. And I wanted you to win.

  If he felt what I felt then… I had to sit down. Right on the carpet, and I could almost hear him getting fussy about it. God, how was he so in my head already? In my head, in my heart. In fact, slumped here like this, I could admit that even while his words terrified me, it had been my own impulse to say them back that had truly sent me running. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself feel like that. Except I did, no way to outrace these unwanted but oh-so-real emotions.

  Down the hall from me, two bored-looking dads were on their phones while a group of kids were playing casual Odyssey. Slapped together, unsleeved decks, mishmash of different sets, and from the sound of it, varying interpretations of the official rules. Their giggles had me flashing back to when I’d first discovered the game—when I’d learned that cracking packs was magical, a surprise every time, every game a fresh opportunity to learn something new or try something out.

  I remembered when every game had been fun. Not this all-consuming desire to show that I was a success at something, that I wasn’t a total loser, this need to stick it to my dad, show him that the game wasn’t worthless after all. That I wasn’t worthless.

  But I hadn’t felt worthless in Alden’s arms, hadn’t felt worthless on the trip, and when I’d played here at the tournament, it had been fun again.

  Keep playing your game, that opponent yesterday had said. And that was what I’d done the whole tournament, including the match with Alden. Just played my game, the way I liked to play. And I’d won. I’d won. For the first time, I let myself hold that fact, believe it.

  Alden had given me that game back, taken away the dark, clawing need inside me and replaced it with so much happiness, reminded me why I’d started playing in the first place. And I’d freaked out and treated him like crap.

  Intending to text him, I pulled out my phone and took it off silent. There was already a message from him. My chest ached like it had last night when he’d crawled in bed with me. I knew making the first move didn’t come easily to him, and it meant something to me that he’d tried.

  Con, be safe. Come back and play your game.

  Play my game. I’d treated him horribly, and he was worried about my game. But maybe that was the answer, too—I had to trust that my game would be enough. That I would be enough.

  While I tried to figure out a reply, I thumbed through my other messages—good luck wishes from friends and even some acquaintances I hadn’t heard from in months. The ones who hadn’t been there when everything had blown up but who were happy to hang around when there was something to celebrate. Alden had seen me at my worst, and improbably, illogically, he still wanted me. My breath hitched. Not another asthma attack, but more like my lungs weren’t up to the job of holding all this emotion inside.

  There were tips from Jasper and Professor Tuttle. You’re both winners, the professor had written. Huh. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe that was why we would have both been happy for the other to win. Because we had both already won.

  I had a new sneak-text from Cassie wishing me luck, and then the most improbable text of all. My mom. On her actual number, not a different phone like Cassie.

  Your sister showed me the live stream of your matches yesterday. I’m proud of you. I’m sorry the past year has been so difficult for all of us.

  Ha. All of us. All of us hadn’t had to deal with no health insurance, tax nightmares, financial aid disasters, begging for a place to live, choosing ramen to afford medicine. I had no doubt that it had been a difficult year for her, but she didn’t get to pretend it was the same as mine. It wasn’t. I was surprised at the depth of my anger. I’d been hurt and guilty so long that I wasn’t even sure when it had shifted to this white-hot rage, but I think Alden had something to do with it, the way he’d patiently told me over and over that none of it was my fault. And it wasn’t. It was Dad’s. And Mom’s for standing by him, and I was angry. So angry.

  Her message continued, I love you. I can’t promise to change anything with your father, but I can do better myself. I’m sorry. But I am proud of you. Go out and win.

  It was what I’d most wanted—acknowledgment and validation from my parents, one of them at least—but it rang hollow. She was proud of me, but where had she been when I’d needed her most? Their love had been conditional, and that was no love at all.

  Holy wow. I let that thought ping around my head, knocking over long-held pillars of assumptions. Maybe it wasn’t love that hurt. It wasn’t love that screwed me over. Real love didn’t have conditions and limitations. People had failed me, let me down, hurt me. But not everyone was like that. Hadn’t Alden shown me compassion over and over? Was what we felt for each other the real deal?

  I still wasn’t entirely sure, but for the first time, I wanted to see. I wanted to believe his words so badly. I paged back to his message, ready to reply.

  “Our final round will begin in fifteen minutes. Players please check in at the judging station as soon as possible,” the PA system blared.

  Hell. No time for a big, long message thread to Alden. Instead, I texted him a highly inadequate I’m coming. I’m sorry and I’m coming. Going to play my game.

  And I was. I was going to play my game—on all levels. I was going to make my move and trust that it would be enough. Th
at I would be enough. Trust that maybe, just maybe, I’d already won.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Alden

  Conrad walking away was one of the worst moments of my life. And I didn’t chase after him. Couldn’t make my legs work. Instead, I sank onto a bench outside one of the closed meeting rooms. What had I done wrong? Why couldn’t I make Conrad believe me? To me, it was so simple—I loved him, I wanted him to win, and all he needed to do was believe me. But I also understood that I couldn’t make another person do or feel anything. I couldn’t make him love me back, couldn’t make him trust this, trust me, trust us.

  But oh how I wanted to. And because I did love him—something I would have thought impossible even a few days earlier—I just wanted him to come back, play the final, get the win he deserved. Maybe he couldn’t love me back, but he could have that. I never would have thought I could be as happy for another person as for myself, but he’d proved me wrong, showed me that I had a capacity for caring that I’d honestly thought I might lack. I’d listened to the voices of others for so long, telling me how different I was, that I’d started to believe that maybe I couldn’t love.

  Conrad had shown me otherwise, shown me what it meant to truly put someone else first, and if nothing else, I was grateful to him for that.

  I pulled out my phone. I might not be able to chase after him, make myself any more vulnerable than I already had, but I could let him know that. I deliberated over wording far longer than I needed to, typing and erasing a dozen messages before finally settling on one.

  Con, be safe. Come back and play your game. There. I wasn’t asking him to come back to me. Which obviously I wanted, but I was almost too scared to hope for.

  Right as I hit Send, the door to the meeting room opened a crack, and two people slithered out—two women, one in Reaper Bride cosplay and the other in one of the pink “Ready to Lose?” shirts, holding hands and so into each other that they didn’t notice me before they were kissing passionately. From the way their clothes were askew, I gathered they’d been doing more than kissing in the empty room.

  A week ago, I would have judged them negatively for breaking the rules to hookup on the sly. But now, all they made me was wistful. They didn’t care about anything except each other. I’d probably always be focused on rules, but Conrad had taught me to look beyond rules. To have fun. And now that was all I wanted for him. I wanted him to come back, have fun playing, remind everyone, myself included, why we’d gotten into this silly game in the first place. It wasn’t always about the winning, the point totals and online rankings, collecting the expensive decks, or coming up with superhard strategies.

  Once it had been fun. And he’d given me that back. So yeah, even after all that had happened, I still couldn’t regret losing the match. Losing to him had been more fun than winning ever was.

  The couple kept whispering goodbye to each other, kissing again, laughing softly, and starting the goodbye cycle again.

  “Don’t forget about me,” the blond in the T-shirt said.

  “As if I could,” the other replied. “Text me.”

  “As if I could resist.” More laughing. More kissing. They simply couldn’t seem to let go of—

  Oh. Maybe I was letting Conrad go too easily. Doing it again, assuming that what I could offer wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t stack up against others. By not chasing after him, I was protecting myself from more rejection, but I was also shutting out the possibility of getting through to him.

  Be brave. Mimi’s voice echoed back to me from my past, her trying to coax me into relaxing enough to be able to fly. Funny how a few weeks ago flying had been the scariest thing in the world to me, but now it was losing Conrad, the possibility of never getting to kiss him or tell him how I felt again.

  Resolved, I stood up, startling the women who gasped before racing away, holding hands still and laughing. I hadn’t always been brave in my life, but I was going to try here, push past my fears.

  Buzz. My phone vibrated in my hand with a message. I’m coming. I’m sorry and I’m coming. Going to play my game.

  Relief coursed through me, quickly followed by confusion. The message was rather cryptic. Did he mean he was sorry we’d fought? Sorry he’d run away? Sorry he couldn’t feel the same way I did? The possibilities were almost enough to make my stomach rebel. But he was coming.

  And I was going to meet him halfway.

  I sped up, wanting to catch him before he checked in for the round. Spotting him cutting through the maze of vendors, I intercepted him by a large display of Odyssey backpacks and stuffed animals.

  “Alden!” His eyes went wide as he skidded to a stop in front of me. Biting his lip, he gave me a searching look. “I messaged you.”

  “I saw.”

  “Will final competitors please check in at the judging table?” The PA system bleated.

  “Crap.” Conrad’s eyes darted between me and the entrance to the tournament space.

  “Go,” I ordered him.

  “But I need to tell you—”

  “Go. Talk later. Win now.” No way was I letting him miss his chance. We could sort out everything else afterward—or at least I hoped we could. Not knowing what it was he wanted to say was already making me want to jump out of my skin. But even if it was going to be a let-you-down-easy-Alden sort of conversation, I wanted to have it knowing he’d given his dream his best shot.

  “Okay.” He turned on his heel, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Play your game, your way,” I said in a rush, knowing time was of the essence. “Have fun. Don’t overthink it, okay?”

  “Okay.” He nodded at me. “Find me after. If I don’t win—”

  “You will.” I tried to believe enough for both of us. “And if you don’t, we’ll deal. Promise.”

  The we part was more hopeful thinking, especially since I had no clue whether there was even an us anymore, but I wanted him to know that he had me, win or lose. As he hurried away, I made my way to the crowd of people gathered around the displays that would broadcast the final round.

  “Here we go.” Payton strode toward me. They were wearing a baggy black sweatshirt with one of the Odyssey angels on the front, looking fierce in contrast to Payton’s messy hair and hangover shades. “Saw you run after Con.”

  “So?” I refused to be embarrassed. Near us, a group of kids were playing a round of the game, oblivious to the commentators droning on the monitors.

  “Are you going to keep chasing after him if he loses?”

  “Of course.” I bristled. “I’m not…with him just because he’s good at the game.”

  “And if he wins?”

  My stomach flopped. These were the questions I didn’t want to think about, not yet. Not with everything still so unsettled. “We’ll deal.”

  “Him as a big-time pro player isn’t going to leave much time for us plebeians back in Gracehaven.” Payton sounded genuinely sad about that truth. “Might want to hope he loses.”

  The quick retort I’d planned got stuck in my suddenly clogged throat. Did I want to hope that? Even privately? Conrad would never have to know if I watched the match hoping… No. I would know and that was bad enough. I wanted him to win, even if that might mean losing everything I truly wanted.

  “I’m going to root for him,” I said firmly. “And you better too.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Payton laughed. “Glad to see your bossy side back. I was starting to worry you’d been replaced by a lovesick pod person.”

  “No replacement.” I wasn’t sad about that either. After years of wanting to be someone else, I was plenty happy being myself, being Alden in all my facets. I might have missed out on the med school dream, but what I’d gained this summer was even better. At long last, I finally believed that I was enough, exactly as I was. And even if Conrad and I weren’t meant to be, he’d given me that gift.


  “No, that’s not how you attack!” One of the kids in the game near us—a shortish boy with dark hair—stood up, clearly ready to do battle over the rules.

  “Is too. It’s a creature. It attacks. And you lose,” a girl with frizzy blond hair insisted.

  Despite everything, I couldn’t help but drift closer. “Can I see the card?” I asked, holding out my hand.

  “Sure. But he still loses.” The girl scoffed as I studied the card. It was an older one, the sort Conrad always favored, but I’d seen it enough to know how it worked.

  “Actually, if you read the card, you can see that this one only attacks with three or more other creatures,” I pointed out gently, crouching down to their level, keeping my voice even.

  “Darn.” Deflated, the girl slumped back down. “I need a few more turns.”

  You and me both, kid. I nodded. “Yeah, you just need to be patient. You’ll get there.”

  Patience. I needed that too. Needed to believe that eventually Conrad and I could figure things out. I took a deep breath as I returned to Payton, trying to embrace patience and a certainty I still didn’t quite have, trying to make sense of everything.

  “How are you always so good with kids?” Payton shook their head. “I mean, you barely tolerate the rest of humanity…”

  “Kids are easy.”

  “You saying I’m not?” A smile tugged at Payton’s mouth. “Just kidding. Arthur should hire you to teach newbie classes back at the store or something.”

  Teach. For the first time in years and years, my old dream didn’t seem so silly. Maybe…

  “It’s starting!” The kids pointed at the monitors. Knowing how much Conrad had given me, knowing how I felt about him, it was easy to cheer for him as the competitors took their seats. The commentators started hyping the match, talking about how Conrad had come from nowhere to blast through the competition. I frowned. That wasn’t technically accurate. He was made for this moment, and I could admit now that he’d been great for years on the show. He might be a relative unknown, but he wasn’t riding some random winning streak.