Even If We Break

by Marieke Nijkamp

Carter kicks his suitcase. “Yeah, I know.”

  I smile thinly. Parents and expectations. We both have to deal with them.

  “C’mon,” I say. “Let’s go see what Ever did with the living room.”

  Inside is like a whole different world, as if we crossed the threshold and truly entered Gonfalon, city of mages. Ever took the normal aesthetics of the cabin and expanded on them.

  As a creator myself, I appreciate that. They have an eye for detail. It’s everywhere: in the signs that hang over the doors, indicating they’re still locked; the chalk markings on the floor; the locks strewn across the table. They took a wooden staff and a wooden sword and mounted them on a plaque above the fireplace. It frankly looks a lot better than the deer head that usually hangs there, the one accessory that Dad never let me get rid of, because he shot it himself and he wanted it to be a reminder of the fragility of life or something like that.

  Small mechanics and wind-up toys clutter the windowsills. The chairs are draped in covers I made years ago: mossy green with the seal of the Gonfalon city council cross-stitched along the edges. It’s the same seal I’ve included in all of our costumes: a parchment scroll with a stylized, golden G, the same kind I have drawn on my nails. The G signifies we all belong together, at least for a few more days.

  It can’t last. I know that. I know that. It’s a miracle it lasted so long. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to give it up yet. This group of friends has taught me so much about myself, about who I am and where I fit in.

  Dad would tell me attachment is a weakness, but they made me stronger.

  And until I have to let go, we’re together, like we were when it started.

  Finn leans his crutches against a chair. “Wow, Ever.”

  “You like it?” Ever whispers.

  I turn to them. “Yer a wizard, Ev.”

  Finn nods in agreement, and I see the sparkle that used to always be in his stormy-blue eyes. His hesitant smile is bright enough to light up the room, even if the rest of him is still cautious and uncomfortable around me. I can’t help but feel a disconnect too. Before Maddy, Finn was my best friend, but I didn’t have access to the cabin yet. Seeing him here feels like two worlds colliding, and it leaves me unsettled.

  Next to Finn, Ever’s trepidation makes them look small as they stare at me. “I hope you don’t mind my messing with the décor this much.”

  “Of course not.” Even after three years of playing together, I don’t know how to make them feel more at ease about my family’s money. I know the differences between our situations are stark, but that’s hardly my fault. I share what I have whenever I can—isn’t that enough? A familiar sense of impatience gnaws at me. “I told you to make yourself at home here.”

  My words have hit their mark, and Ever flinches at the frost in my tone. Then they square their shoulders and plaster on a smile. They know as well as I do that I can’t help that we live in different worlds. “Can you believe it’s been three years?”

  “No.” Well… “Yes.”

  We were young and naïve when we started playing together. I was nervous when I walked into the school theater on our first day, and I never had anything to be nervous about in school…except, perhaps, making the best decisions for my social status. Joining a role-playing group wasn’t necessarily one of those decisions, but there were reasons I did it.

  The joy of playing.

  The people. Family.

  Finn. We were still close. When he extended the invite to me, how could I say no?

  He looked so different then. All angles and anxiety. He was the quiet middle school kid who might be a math genius, might be a programming mogul one day. In the years since, he’s come into his own. All of us have.

  Maybe that’s part of what makes it so hard to keep the group together; when we were just starting, the lines were easier. The conversations less uncomfortable.

  Ever designed our Gonfalon adventures and pulled the group together. They created a world where they were powerful, while living in a town that would do everything to drain that power.

  That day in the theater, they welcomed us with a story and a flourish. I was hooked from the moment they started describing Gonfalon. “It’s the biggest city on this side of the Scarlet Sea, where ships from all the seafaring nations dock, so merchants can sell their wares. Where education and medicine are respected and thrive. Where the council works hard every day to make the city safer, more prosperous, and able to withstand any disaster or war.

  “They call it the city of mages, and many think there is magic itself in the air. It’s a safe haven for magic users who were shunned or turned away from their homes, which means Gonfalon is rich with cultures and stories from all across the continent. Still, the city is far from perfect. The crime rate is low, but not nonexistent. Powerful factions strive to gain influence, and the underbelly of Gonfalon is rife with corruption. The council does all it can to keep the peace, but despite their dedication, it’s proven impossible to keep the city safe entirely. And that’s where you come in. You’re the inquisitors of the council, sent out when there are crimes and mysteries to be solved.”

  They leveled us all with a stare and a smile. “Your journey always starts with a murder.”

  There were six of us, then. Carter, who got dragged into the game by Maddy, whose younger sister happened to be good friends with Ever’s sister. Something like that, anyway. I didn’t know Maddy yet, but I knew of Maddy. A bit different, and an athletic star on the rise. We became friends through the game, despite her being a freshman to my sophomore.

  Me. Finn. Ever.

  And Zac. Because Zac did everything I did, and I did everything Zac did. We should’ve been too young to be the “it” couple of Stardust High, but somehow we were. He was a rich kid, like me, with generations of oil money in his family, like the insurance money in mine. He wasn’t athletic enough to be a jock, but he more than made up for that with his parties. Pool parties. Dance parties. That time his family rented the whole Stardust Diner for his birthday and he invited our entire grade. He loved being the center of attention, and his generosity made up for most of his other flaws.

  Everyone wanted him, and I had him, at least for a while. Zac and my presence meant no one could look down on our game, even if the food chain at our small high school still structured the world according to ancient tradition: athletic students, rich students, straight white students, everyone else.

  The six of us spent every Friday afternoon together, and we fell deeper and deeper into the secrets of Gonfalon. We’d pause in the hallways at school to discuss theories. We met up in the diner. We lived in two worlds at once.

  Zac never quite fit, though. The game didn’t include as many battles as he wanted. He had to share the spotlight. Ever and Finn didn’t take kindly to his biting humor, calling him out on his not-so-politically-correct remarks, even when the rest of us shrugged it off. He became increasingly possessive.

  We inevitably broke up at the beginning of our senior year, just after last summer. He didn’t take it gracefully.

  “Are you saying you’d rather spent time with those losers than with me?” he’d demanded, though he was the one who’d spent the summer doing community service because he’d drunkenly totaled his mother’s car, and he’d already been suspended for a week when he got caught cheating on a test, the real sign of a loser.

  “They’re not losers, they’re my friends,” I told him.

  He snarled and slammed his hand into the locker behind me. “You don’t have friends. You have pet projects.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You don’t belong there.”

  “I do, and we’re good together. They’re talented, all of them. They’re creative. They’re interesting.” Even though my heart was racing, I reached out and patted his cheek. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong, Z.”

&
nbsp; He shook his head in disgust. “You’re truly your father’s daughter. One of these days, you’ll find out that life can’t be organized to your preferences, and the choices you make come with consequences. When that happens, don’t come crying to me, because I will enjoy every minute of it.”

  He was wrong, of course. In the game and out, we were far better off without him, though it took several months to adjust to the new normal. I didn’t even consider inviting him here. I did rub it in his face that we’d be reuniting this weekend and celebrating three years of the game.

  When Ever suggested bringing in another player after Zac left, I cut them off before they’d finished speaking. I knew what they meant—they correctly pointed out our group was Wonder Bread white, and they knew some people who might be a good fit if they felt comfortable at the table—but we’d finally gotten the balance right. Why fix what wasn’t broken?

  It was perfect at the start, and it will be perfect again.

  One last time. I repeat that to myself as I part with Finn and Ever and head to my room upstairs. Subtle theme: storybook love. Everything in my room reminds me of the stories I built—posters from WyvernCon, a quilt made from costume pieces, and an old-fashioned storage trunk full of drawings, designs, and dreams (and one of Zac’s shirts) that I dare not show anyone.

  I unpack my heavy backpack and ignore the shadows that dance around me. I have nothing to worry about. It’ll all work out the way it should.

  I just have to make sure the group stays together, including Finn, who very nearly bowed out twice already. I can’t help but admire that he showed up. Finn was there when it started. He should be here now, when it ends.

  Because Zac was wrong: I can and will design life exactly to my preferences.

  Four

  Carter

  “Everyone, listen up,” Ever shouts down the hall, leaning out of their room. “If you haven’t changed yet, do so now. I want to make the most of the time we have.”

  “Suit up!” Liva calls, following Ever’s declaration.

  In my room, aptly themed “haunted mansion,” I deposit my suitcase on my bed and massage my arms, then begin to unpack. I know it’s important to keep up appearances, but this was blatantly ridiculous. If my parents want to show off wealth, they could’ve bought me a fancy backpack too. But no, they said, traveling around with a backpack looks cheap and vulgar. I’m staying at the Konigs’ cabin, aren’t I? I shouldn’t look out of place.

  I wish I could’ve told them I was going to look out of place regardless. Liva’s style is effortlessly elegant. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, no matter how much I try, I’m always going to look tacky in comparison. Even this room, done in subtle shades of black and gray, is decorated to understated perfection. If Liva wanted to hurt me, this would be the perfect way to do it—invite me to this cabin and remind me of everything her family has and mine doesn’t.

  She wouldn’t care—doesn’t care—about something as small as a suitcase. But try explaining that to my parents. It was hard enough explaining that I couldn’t skip this weekend. They didn’t want me to make a bad impression at work by taking vacation time. No matter that it’s technically only an after-school job and I’m not supposed to work full-time. “You reap what you sow,” as my mother is fond of saying. “Work hard, keep your head high, and you’ll get what you deserve.”

  If those words were true, we’d have a cabin of our own, and the status to go with it. My parents work as hard as Liva’s father. I work harder than she does. And it’s not like we have it bad, at all. Not like Ever.

  But we don’t count in any way that matters. Liva’s after-school job is as her father’s assistant. I work in the same office, but all I’m tasked with is pushing papers.

  Once I get to college, I’ll find a way to change that, by any means necessary. A flicker of guilt pulses in my mind, but I push it down. I’ll show them all.

  “Don’t you have any passions you want to pursue?” Ever asked me not too long ago.

  I laughed at them. “Passions don’t pay the rent, Ev.”

  They narrowed their eyes. “Humor me. What would you do if you had the choice? If you didn’t do it for the money?” There was something else they didn’t say, but they clamped their mouth shut.

  I’d never truly considered that before. And maybe it was because we’d just solved another case in our game—the murder of a jeweler—but one answer immediately came to mind. I’d major in journalism. I’d still be an inquisitor, but I’d travel the real world. I’d go everywhere and uncover secrets and find truth and challenge the lies we tell one another.

  I’d be brave.

  Still. “Does it matter? I don’t have that choice. And don’t tell me you would do anything different in my shoes.”

  They smiled, and it cut straight through me. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. I’d take your job. I’d go to college and learn everything I could get my hands on. I’d make sure Elle would never have to worry about food and heat again. And I would eat fresh pears every day.”

  With that, they’d gotten to their feet, and I didn’t know if I’d won the argument or lost it.

  I kick my shoes under the bed. I take out the various pieces of my costume and dig up my coin-slash-dice purse from my suitcase. Inside are my trusted twenty-sided and thirty-sided dice, in various blues and purples, and a handful of Gonfalon coins, fake golds and silvers and coppers.

  I toss it onto the bed and start to peel off my T-shirt, when a loud shattering echoes to my left. Not in here—the adjacent room. Like something—or someone?—crashed to the floor. I pull my shirt back on and dash out.

  All the other bedroom doors are closed, and no one else seems to react to the sound, though I can’t imagine I’m the only one who heard it. But the door next to mine is ajar.

  I knock and push it farther open. “Hello? Anyone here?”

  The door swings open. It’s the bathroom, and it’s empty.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, I see movement.

  A figure. Watching me.

  My heart slams in my throat, and I swirl.

  No one’s there.

  Just the door of the medicine cabinet. It’s swaying above the sink. When it falls back in place, I laugh nervously. The person I thought I saw was just my own reflection in the mirrored door. But then the reflection fragments into a dozen smaller ones, like my face is cut to pieces, and I realize the mirror’s been shattered. The only thing holding the shards together is the frame surrounding them.

  I reach out to touch it, and the reflection of my finger fragments into half a dozen pieces too. Three pairs of eyes stare back at me.

  “Bad luck to break a mirror.”

  I nearly jump out of my skin. Maddy leans around the door. She’s already dressed and pulls an opera cape around herself. It’s dark green, lush and rippling. Her brown eyes are focused on the mirror.

  “I didn’t—” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “I didn’t break it. I found it like this.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she hums, as if she doesn’t believe me. “Get dressed, Carter. You’re late.”

  I want to argue that I really didn’t do it, but she’s right. I’ll have to tell Liva about the mirror later.

  I push past her and back into my room. Despite the summer warmth, the rooms are uncomfortably chilly, and I make short work of changing into my Gonfalon outfit. I strip down to the linen pants I wore on the way up—they double as fairly fantasy-looking—and pull a moss-green tunic over my head. It’s long, reaching almost to my knees, and it’s worn and faded a bit. But lived in, not old.

  Liva made these tunics for us two years ago, for our annual WyvernCon trip. It was the first time we all dressed up, and as our own characters, no less. I told my parents we were going to a convention, but I didn’t give any other details. I didn’t change until I got to Maddy’s house to pick her up, to
avoid awkward questions. I didn’t relish the idea of explaining any of this to my parents—and my mother would be certain the tunic was a dress, and then we’d get into an argument about that.

  Next up, a leather cuirass that I bought at the following WyvernCon. It goes over my tunic like a breastplate. Although our summers get hot and there’s no way I’ll wear this for long, it’s surprisingly comfortable. More importantly, it looks very cool.

  Nothing wrong with keeping up appearances and caring about your appearance, right? Some days, they feel like two sides of the same coin anyway.

  Now all I need is my cape. Liva made new overclothes for all of us for the occasion. She texted us the designs a week or so ago. Half capes for Ever and me. Hooded cloaks for Maddy and herself—though apparently that’s changed, given Maddy’s opera cape. And an overcoat for Finn, one that fits comfortably around his binder and won’t get in the way of his crutches.

  I purposefully didn’t take a look inside the wardrobe until I’d finished the rest of the outfit, but as I go to reach for the door, it’s already unlocked. I tug at it, and the door swings open, the cape hanging from a hanger.

  I swallow a gasp. It’s stunning. Liva has truly outdone herself.

  The cape is made from glorious green fabric, shimmery and light to the touch. When I pull it on, it fits around my shoulders perfectly and falls gracefully over my arms.

  I straighten, lift my chin, and stare at myself in the mirror. I look—I feel—like some kind of fantasy noble in this outfit.

  One last detail left. I turn around and reach for my coin purse, only to find it isn’t on the bed where I left it. With a frown, I scan the room and find it on the very edge of the nightstand. It looks different, heavier. Did I move it without thinking? I carefully reach for it and tug at the string to pull it closer.

  When I do, the whole purse comes apart at the seams, and dice and dozens of Gonfalon coins scatter across the floor. Some bronze, some gold, but most of them tin—or rather, silver. They’re the exact same coins as the ones we use in the game, except they’re all still shiny. New and never used. Not mine.