he’s going to lose again.”
Anthony scowled. “It just seems like the odds are a little biased toward Carswell, that’s all.”
“What do you mean?” Carswel waved his hand over the pot. “I’ve lost the last three hands in a row.
You guys are bleeding me dry over here.”
Carina raised her eyebrows at Anthony as if to say, See? Do the math. Antony duly fel quiet and tossed his ante into the pot. They were playing with markers scavenged from the school’s lunch bar –
olives where micro-unives, potato crisps were singles, and jalapeno slices made for fivers. The trick was to keep Chien, who was seated on Carswell’s left and had the appetite of a whale, to keep from eating
them in between games.
At the end of every school day, Carswell – as “the house” – would divvy up the wins and losses
between the players’ real savings accounts. He’d based his system on the same odds that casinos in the
val ey used, al owing him to win about 60% of the time. It was just enough to turn a consistent profit,
but also to give players frequent enough wins that they kept coming back. It had turned out to be one of
his more profitable ventures to date.
Carina took the next hand without much competition, but that was fol owed by a round in which no
on could beat the house’s required triplets-or-better, ending Carswell’s losing streak. He kept the grin
from his face as he raked the pot of food scraps into his dwindling pile.
He quickly did the math in his head. He was up from where he’d started the lunch period, nearly
fifty-five unives. Just twenty-nine more would put him at his goal for the day and push him into the next bracket of his savings account.
Twenty-nine unives. Such a smal thing to just about anyone in this school, just about anyone in the
entire city of Los Angeles. But to him, they equaled sixteen weeks of freedom. Sixteen weeks of being
away from his parents. Sixteen weeks of total independence.
He brushed his thumb over the Rampion tie tack for good luck, and dealt another hand.
As the betting began, he glanced up and caught sight of Kate Fal ow sitting against a palm tree at the
edge of the courtyard, the pleated skirt of her uniform pul ed snugly around her knees. She was reading
from her portscreen – no surprise there – but it was odd to see her out here at all. Carswell had no idea where she normal y spent her lunch hour, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t in this courtyard, where he could always be found.
The betting ended and Carswell began to dole out replacement cards, but now he was distracted.
His gaze kept flicking back to Kate. Watching how she smiled at something on the screen. Mindlessly
tugged at her earlobe. Seemed to sigh with a hint of longing.
Maybe she came to the courtyard every day and he’d never noticed. Or maybe she’d come here
today because he’d suggested it, even if the offer had ultimately been declined.
Either way, it was clear from the faraway look in her eyes that she wasn’t in the courtyard right now,
not real y, and he couldn’t help wondering where she was.
Holy spades. Was he developing a crush on Kate Fallow? Of all the girls who smiled and swooned
and giggled, all the girls who would have handed over their math homework for nothing more than a
flirtatious compliment, and he suddenly couldn’t keep his eyes off one of the most awkward, isolated
girls in the school?
No, there had to be more to this. He was probably just confusing his desperation to raise his math
grades and lift his dad’s punishment with something that bordered on romantic interest. He didn’t like
Kate Fallow. He just wanted Kate Fallow to like him so he could swindle her out of her math homework.
Just like he swindled everyone.
There it was again. That peculiar tingle of shame.
“Ha! Suited triplets!” said Chien, laying out his cards. The other players groaned, and it took Carswell
a moment to scan the hands and determine that, indeed, Chien had taken the round. Usual y he could
pick out the winning hand in half a glance, but he’d been too distracted.
As Chien scooped up his winnings, Carswel determined that he probably should have quit while he
was ahead after all. He was back down to thirty-eight univs won for the day, forty-six behind his goal.
Boots would not be impressed.
“Wel done, Chien,” he said. “One more hand?”
“There won’t be time for it if our dealer goes out to space again,” said Anthony. “What’s wrong with
you?”
He cringed, the words reflecting his father’s question from just that morning. “Nothing,” he said,
shuffling the cards. “Just had something on my mind.”
“Oh, I see what he was looking at,” Said Carina. “Or should I say who.”
Chien and Anthony followed Carina’s gesture. “Kate Fallow?” said Anthony, with a curled lip that
said he highly doubted she was the person who had caught Carswell’s interest.
Ducking his head, Carswell redistributed a new round of cards, but no one picked them up.
“He was flirting with her in lit class this morning,” said Carina. “Honestly, Carswell. Do you really
need to get every girl in the whole school to fall under your spell? Is this some sort of manly conquest
you’re on or something?”
Cupping his chin in one hand, Carswell leaned toward Carina with a suggestive smirk. “Why? Are you
feeling left out?”
Rol ing her eyes, Carina shoved him away, at the same time that the speakers announced the end of
lunch hour. A groan rose up from the courtyard, but was hastily fol owed by the sounds of footsteps
padding back into the buildings, and friends bidding each other good-bye for the whole ninety minutes
they were about to be separated.
Carswell gathered up the cards he’d just dealt and slipped them back into his bag, “I’ll tally the
winnings,” he said, shooing away a fly that was buzzing around the pile of food.
“How do we know you won’t take a little extra for yourself?” asked Chien, with unhidden distrust.
Carswell only shrugged. “You can stay and count up your own if you’d prefer, but then we’l both be
late to class.”
Chien didn’t argue again. Of course, a lost univ of two was nothing to any of them, so what did it
matter if Carswell skimmed a little off the top?
By the time he’d entered the balances into his portscreen and put in a reminder to shuffle the
money between their accounts when he got home, the courtyard had emptied but for him and the
seagul s that were creeping in to pick at the scraps of abandoned food. Carswell slipped his portscreen
back into his bag beside the deck of cards, and heaved it over one shoulder.
The second announcement blared. The hal s were abandoned as Carswel made his way back to
second-era history. He would be a couple minutes late for the second time that day, but the teacher
liked him, so he couldn’t bring himself to be worried about it.
And then, through the quiet that was laced with the padding of his own footsteps and the hushed
conversations behind closed classroom doors, he heard a frustrated cry.
“Stop it! Give it back!” Carswell paused and traced his steps back to the hallway that led just off the
tech hall.
Jules Kel er was holding a portscreen over his head, grinning, with Ryan Doughty and Rob Mancuso