Page 19 of Exchanged

Dad, having basically checked out of the game, sits with a beer in hand, managing the mountain of food tokens in front of him. His Halflings have been fruitful. Emma’s empire is in decline, and she loses more territory to Garrett and me with every passing turn, an innocent bystander in our quest to destroy each other. And Aunt Liz, finishing her third glass of wine, has crafted an intricate still-life scene using dozens of game pieces. She holds her phone in one hand, wine in the other, and snaps photos of her creation from different angles.

“I think I’ll title it Lords of Shadow and Plastic,” she says.

Emma giggles. Garrett and I ignore her.

“Emma,” Garrett says, sitting back and breaking the tunnel of silence between us, “I’ll return those last three territories I captured from you in exchange for fifty gold.”

“No,” I say. “That would be a stupid deal for her.” Those territories are worthless and fifty gold is a game-changer.

Emma glares at me defiantly. “I get to decide what I do with my gold.” She eyes the stack of treasure she collected from her ocean expeditions, looks at the three territories, and pushes her gold across the table toward Garrett.

“Good choice.” He holds out a fist, and she bumps it.

“Are you serious?” I say. “You can’t do that.”

Garrett narrows his eyes at me. “Oh, did I miss the part in the rules that say you can’t make deals with other players?”

“We never make deals,” I argue. “It’s not fair.”

Garrett looks at Emma. “Did that deal feel fair to you?”

She beams, placing workers in her newly regained territory. “Yep!”

Garrett shrugs at me. “There you go.”

I feel heat pouring into my cheeks. He sits, arm thrown over the back of his chair, legs spread wide, smirking at me like he’s unsurprised he happens to be the best at a board game he’s never played before, like winning is his birthright. Sizzling, staticky energy once again ignites in my stomach, this time traveling up my spine, and I recognize it as pure, unfiltered attraction. I hate myself for it.

I can play dirty, too.

“Hey, Dad,” I say. “I’ll give you thirty gold for half of your food.” With extra food, I could double the size of my military and topple Garrett once and for all.

“I’ll give you fifty,” Garrett says, sliding the pile of coins he’s just received from Emma toward Dad.

“Sorry, Enz,” Dad says, pushing his food stores toward Garrett. “I gotta go with the better offer.”

Garrett scoops up the pile of food, enough to establish a massive army. Enough to obliterate me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say.

“Enzo!” Aunt Liz says, surprised.

I don’t back down. “No. Since when is it okay for three people to gang up on one? This is bullshit.”

“It’s just a game,” Dad says.

Ironically, I’m usually the one who says that, shrugging as I bumble into second place.

“I know it’s a game!” I shout. “And this douchebag”—I point at Garrett—“didn’t like that I was winning and decided to make up his own rules!” I’m vaguely aware that I’m standing, that most of my pieces have fallen to the ground at my feet.

“What the hell, Enzo?” Dad says. “You’re being a bad sport. Apologize.”

Why do adults always tell pissed teenagers to apologize to each other? When has that ever worked?

Sorry, Garrett. I was an ass and acted impulsively. It’s because you’re too smart and perfect and attractive. Can you forgive me?

Of course, Enzo! Let’s be friends and go play Call of Duty in my room!

Fuck that.