“What?” I ask, so utterly confused that I wonder if being part of the SSS is even worth it.
But then the door opens, revealing a very large room, larger than all the other dorm rooms, and it’s a haven to all the things I love. Off to the right is a raised bed with a desk underneath which holds three computer screens, speakers, a massive keyboard as well as a giant mouse and mouse pad that expands the length of the desk . . . Lord of the Rings themed. Hanging on the beige walls are posters, flags, and framed art ranging from Star Wars to board games to a large yellow-and-blue model airplane suspended from the ceiling. To the left is a futon sofa with a coffee table and crates with cushions all along the edges. In the middle, a Scrabble board on a turntable—the fancy kind.
I could totally spend an hour nerding out in this room.
The whole collection of Harry Potter books rests on the bookshelf—and they look like the originals. My mouth salivates.
A framed poster of Adam West as Batman hangs over the sofa, Adam standing tall with a “Kerpow” in comic detail directly behind him.
And under the small television on a flimsy-looking TV stand is what looks to be an original Atari game console. If the owner of this residence owns Pitfall, we will be best friends for life.
“Wow, cool room,” I say. The fantastic décor speaks to my geeky heart. And the precise organization, from the labeled folders on the bookshelf next to the desk to the stacked shoes on the shoe rack, is next level.
“Thanks,” Slurpee Boy says. “It’s mine. I’m also the authoritative person, as you like to call it.” He holds his hand out. “Breaker Cane. It’s nice to meet you. Maybe as you hang out with us more, you can lower yourself to my lack of intelligence on a more personal level.”
My mouth goes dry.
The tips of my ears go hot.
And I feel a wave of sweat crest my upper lip.
Good job, Lia. Really good job.
“Uh, yeah . . . I didn’t really mean—”
“No, no. Don’t take it back.” He holds up his hand. “I like your brutal and brash honesty. Made me feel alive.” He winks.
“Oh, okay. In that case.” I clear my throat. “Although your room seems like a dream to explore, you could have tucked the corners of your bed better, not quite ‘nurse’s corner’ tight, your framed picture of Rory Gilmore is crooked, and you have to get rid of the mustache. It’s atrocious.”
He chuckles and nods while moving his fingers over the bush beneath his nose. “Still trying to perfect the nurse’s corner. If you have expertise in this endeavor, then, by all means, present a tutorial. The room I share a wall with plays music loud enough that they force Rory to dance, making her crooked. I’ve given up. And the mustache, well, I thought it looked good. Seems to me everyone’s been lying to me.”
“They have been.”
“But you don’t seem to have that ability . . . to lie to someone to forsake their feelings.”
“Depends on the moment and the person.” I look him up and down. “You seemed sturdy enough to handle the truth, and also, stressful situations—i.e. not knowing where the room was—snatching any social decorum I might have stored away.”
“Well, that can only mean one thing.”
Confused, I ask, “What’s that?”
“That there is no other choice than to become the greatest friends of all time.”
I smirk. “Only if you shave.”
“Ehhh, that’s something we might have to work out.” He rocks on his feet and continues, “Given that you are the only new recruit to the Secret Scrabble Society, you must be Ophelia Fairweather-Fern.”
“That would be me. But just call me Lia. My entire name is far too many syllables for anyone to carry around, let alone my first name.”
He chuckles. “Your name was a check in the plus column during tryouts. But your brutal use of words we’ve never even heard of was the real reason you were chosen, especially since we play on a timer.”
“That was an added challenge I appreciated. Although the timer startled me at first and took a second for me to get used to. That and not being able to see your new letters or the gameboard until your turn started. I had a lot of fun. I’m glad I was chosen.”
“It was an easy choice.” He sets his Slurpee cup down. “Everyone, this is Lia. Lia, that’s Harley, Jarome, Christine, and Imani.” From where they’re seated at the coffee table, they all raise their hands for a brief hello and then return to the gameboard. “Yeah, they’re not really social.”
“Well, good thing I didn’t come here to socialize.” I rub my hands together. “I came to play.”
Breaker chuckles and then reaches for his Slurpee again. “Then what are we waiting for? Game on.”
I stare Breaker down and then glance at the last two tiles on my shelf.
He has one tile left.
The room has cleared out.
The rest of the SSS has left, claiming early morning classes.
“Your move,” he says while purposely running his finger over his mustache. I’d dominated this entire game until about three moves ago when he somehow pulled out an eighty-point word, completely shattering my lead.
“I know it’s my move.”
“Really, because you’ve been sitting there catatonic for at least five minutes.”
“I’m making sure I have the right move.”
“Or any move at all.” He leans back on the sofa, a smug look painted across his face.
“I have a move.”
“One that won’t win you the game, though, right?” he presses. He knows he has this game. It’s evident in his cocky disposition.
“You know, it’s not polite to gloat.”
“This coming from the girl who was dancing only a few minutes ago because she had a tremendous lead on me.”
I slowly look up at him and, in a deadpan voice, say, “It will behoove you to know that I can dish it, but I can’t take it.”
He lets out a low chuckle as I reluctantly place an E after a W for a measly five points.
“Nice move.” He stares down at his single tile and then lifts it dramatically, only to place an S after Huzzah, giving him thirty-one points. “But not good enough.” He leans back again and crosses his leg over his knee. “I win.”
I groan and flop backward onto the floor. Staring up at his model airplane, I say, “I had you.”
“Never celebrate too early. You never know what can happen at the end of a Scrabble game.”
“That’s such a cheap move by the way, holding on to an S to the very end.”
“How did you know I was holding on to it?”
“Because I watched you pick up the tile a while ago and set it to the side.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those players. The one who counts the tiles and knows what everyone could possibly have.”
“Not to that extent, but I watched you baby that tile and not touch it until now. You saved it on purpose.”
“When you’re trailing by eighty points, you have to be strategic, and I was. No shame in playing the game.”