by Emilia Finn
No longer speaking to the hosts, those arctic blue eyes come to us, to her audience, to Will, like she’s speaking directly to him. “Sign up, come to us, and help us create something new. I got my invitation to fight in the standard circuit purely because of my last name, and though I’m thankful, I also know it’s not fair for those of you without that kind of privilege. At Stacked Deck, I don’t give a damn what your name is. We don’t choose by popularity. We don’t choose at all. You come, you fight, and you either win, or you lose. Join us.”
Will turns to me with something bordering on hope in his eyes. “She doesn’t care about names.”
For weeks after the announcement that would forever change our lives, Will and I work extra time. In school, at the boatyard, at the supermarket. I pick up as many shifts as Mr. Han is willing to give me, and Will works until nine or ten at night more often than not. He skips dinner in favor of overtime pay, and because he does, I stop cooking, and instead swap my meat and potatoes diet out for cereal and beans.
Our grocery bill becomes cheaper, and those savings go toward our road trip fund.
Soon, we’ll be driving to a state that neither of us have ever visited before – though, of course, that doesn’t mean much, considering neither of us have traveled more than a hundred miles from our home. The lives we live consist of going to work, going to school, then going the hell to bed and starting all over again the next day. There’s been no need for long distance travel until now.
I walk aisle three of Mr. Han’s supermarket, and tidy the shelves after the after-work rush. I pull empty boxes, re-stack things that the hordes have messed up, and snatch a sucker from the shelf when it catches my eye. Instead of returning it where it’s supposed to go, I tear the wrapping off and shove it into my mouth.
With my phone pressed to my ear, I work, eat, and push to my toes every few steps, since this is the closest I’ll get to practice for a little while. “What time will you be home tonight?”
Will’s breath comes out on a pant, exertion as he works and tries to talk. It’s kind of tragic that we live in the same home, but barely see each other for more than a minute a day. So instead, we call each other, we discuss our plans, we plan the rest of our lives, and aim for the stars.
“I’ll be home by nine.”
His words make me check my watch. “You’ll be home before me.”
“What time are you finishing? Han isn’t supposed to roster you on for close, Bubbles. Those were the damn rules.”
“They were the rules before,” I counter. “But now we have to make money.”
“I’m gonna win,” he declares on a low murmur. “I swear I will. Then we don’t have to scrape by anymore.”
“It’s okay.” I tuck my phone between my ear and shoulder, and reach up for a box of chips to restock the section that’s basically empty. “We’re a team, right? You don’t have to win. You just have to be safe and happy. The rest…” I shrug and take my phone back in my hand. “The rest is gravy.”
“You’re too understanding,” he murmurs. “Most girls would be throwing tantrums about this shit.”
“What shit?” I crush bags of chips into the shelf and feel mildly guilty about the person who’ll buy them and get mad that they’re all broken. “What’s there to whine about?”
“Working when you should be concentrating on school, for starters.”
I scoff. “Most of the kids in my grade have jobs.”
“Yeah, for one or two days a week,” he counters. “At fancy places. Not seven days a week at a dirty store. The kids in your grade also have nice homes and no pet rats. They get to eat proper food, and don’t have to cook it first, since their mommy does it for them. For graduation, their folks buy them fancy cars as gifts for being so fucking spoiled.”
I laugh and move along to the Pringles. “We chose this, remember? I don’t want to be like them, and I don’t want to whine about our circumstances. We’re happy, right?” I pull the sucker from between my lips. “Are you happy, Will?”
“I’m…” He hesitates. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to say yes, when I’m forcing you to live in a fucking dump. But I’m not unhappy, ya know? We’re warm at night. We eat. We don’t get rain on us when we’re inside. And shit could definitely be worse.”
“Exactly.” I toss the sucker back in and keep working. “It’s not so bad. It’s okay to appreciate what we have, rather than be mad about what we don’t.”
“You’re too perfect,” he breathes out. “Seriously, Bubbles. Why are you so perfect?”
“I’m cute too,” I laugh, then add seriously, “I’m a realist, Will. We know where we come from, which means it’s logical we’re not destined for greatness. This is our lot in life, and it could be worse, so, whatever. For as long as it could be worse, then we aren’t doing too bad.”
“Well, I’m gonna make it better. Your new standard of living is gonna raise a little. Get ready.”
“Careful what you wish for,” I tease. “The higher you lift us, the more visible we become, and the further we have to fall again. Keeping the status quo means we don’t get too banged up when folks come along to fuck us up.”
“Stop swearing.” He grunts while he works. “And that’s a really sick mentality.” But I hear the smile in his voice. “To aspire to always be this broke, just so we can’t get broke later… so fucked up.”
I move along the aisle and continue working while shoppers scowl at my laughter. “You just swore. You always swear.”
“I’m also a grown-ass man. You’re a child. I’m the boss.”
“If you were truly the boss, you wouldn’t feel the need to remind me you’re the boss so often.” I toss an empty box on the floor and jump on it to crush it flat. “Anyway, I just wanted to know what time you’d be home. But since you’ll get back before me, the point is moot.”
“What time are you off?”
My voice catches in my throat, because I either have to lie, or I have to tolerate a caveman. “Um…”
“Dammit! I’ll be waiting outside at midnight to walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that, Will! We have to drive all day tomorrow – you have to drive – so you need to sleep tonight. I can sleep on the road.”
“I’ll be waiting out front,” he grits out. “Don’t be late, don’t work a minute longer. Then tomorrow, you can sleep in the morning while I drive. I’ll sleep in the afternoon while you drive.”
“Wait.” My eyes widen with surprise. “You’d trust me to drive you while you sleep? Seriously?”
He laughs. “It’ll be fine. I’ll sleep with one eye open. Go,” he prods. “Work. Get your shit done, then you come out the front doors and don’t move a damn step unless you’re with me.”
“I can walk home alone, ya know? I’ve done it a million times.”
“Walking home at seven is way different than walking home at midnight.”
“Seven in the winter is pitch black, Will. You’re overreacting.”
“You’re still a pain in my ass. I’ll see you in six hours.”
“Hey, wait,” I call out before he hangs up. I stop in the middle of the aisle with a stolen sucker in my mouth, and ignore annoyed customers as they maneuver around me. “Will? You still there?”
His breath whispers into my ear for a moment. Hesitant, wary. “I’m here.”
“Love your face. Always and forever.”
He sighs. “You must have seriously low self-esteem to love me. But sure. Whatever. Love yours too. More than anything else on this planet. See you tonight.”
Six hours and one stolen pizza pocket later, I step into the midnight cold and find him huddled in a thick coat, a beanie with the Indians logo embroidered onto the front, dark jeans, and with enough fuzz on his jaw to prove he skipped two days of shaving.
“Hey, handsome.”
I swear I have no clue how such a tall fighter badass could blush in the dark, but he does.
Will opens his coat and waits for m
e to step in, then he hugs me close and begins our trip back to our place. “You smell like pizza.”
“That’s because I stole some.” The cold air makes our breath come out in white fog ahead of us, but Will’s warm coat fights most of the chill as we cuddle inside it. “Stolen food tastes better than food we paid for. It’s like… a cardinal rule.”
“You need to stop stealing.” He chuckles. “That’s my job.”
I shrug and make the ‘eh’ sound in the back of my throat. “I learned from the best. How was work?”
We’ve lived together for too damn long, because he makes the same ‘eh’ sound in response. “Same as always, but a little extra, since Sal wants to punish me for taking off.”
“He’s mad you’re taking vacation time?”
“Busy time of year. He doesn’t wanna train other dudes, and he’s so fucking cheap, he doesn’t keep extra staff on hand for when someone calls out. The other guys are gonna have to work my share for the next two weeks.”
“They’re gonna be pissed when we get back.”
“Yup.” He laughs. “Then they’re gonna beat my ass, but hey, we’ll come home with a title belt and cash in the bank, so whatever. Fuck them.”
We turn the corner at the end of the block, and head further into the shadows. “Are you nervous about the tournament?”
“About the actual fighting?” He shakes his head. “Nah, but I’m kinda nervous to take time off, spend money we don’t have, run into the wrong kind of people. And then if it was all for nothing and we walk away empty-handed…”
“So don’t lose.” I make it sound so simple, when we both know it’s not. “I’ll be there to cheer you on. I’ll be the loudest person in that place.”
“You need to be quiet,” he chastises. “I’ll be busy trying to not to lose, and you’re too cute for your own good. While we’re there, I want you to remember who you are. You’re seventeen and this close to finishing high school. Don’t fuck it up.”
“You afraid I’ll find myself a thirty-year-old fighter and get knocked up?”
“Well, it’s not like anyone could stop in the middle of a crowded room and shout ‘plot twist,’ huh? It’s the next logical step in this bullshit we’ve got going. Soon after that, you’ll become a junkie, and pop out four more. So how about you fuckin’ listen to my wisdom, and shut your trap while I’m fighting?”
“You’re cranky,” I snicker. “And bossy. I could just stay here, go to school, go to work, steal more pizza.”
“Then you’ll find a thirty-year-old criminal instead. If you’re gonna be a teen junkie mom, then I think I’d prefer it was with a fighter.”
“Well!” I throw my head back and laugh. “At least we know where the line is. What are your thoughts on tattoos and naughty piercings? I’ve always wondered what kind of thoughts run through a guy’s brain while he’s getting his dick pierced.”
“No. Just…” He grunts out his frustration, then releases me from his side hug and shoves me toward our front door. “Get inside. Go to bed. Set your alarm for five. We’re leaving at ten past.”
“That’s so early,” I whine. “Veto on five. Let’s do ten instead.”
“Veto on ten.” He follows me in and closes the door with a resounding thud. There’s no heating in here – too expensive to run, plus, there’s the hole in the floor to consider – so we keep our coats on and move through the living room. “But now I’m saying set your alarm for three. Let’s get a kickstart on the day and arrive there in the daylight.”
“Five it is.” I drop my keys and cell on the kitchen counter and blow warm air into my hands. “When you win and we get rich, can we buy electric blankets?”
He moves to the opposite side of the counter and sits on the rusted stool with an exhausted grunt. “You could have asked for a mansion. Cars. Heating. Anything. But what you want is an electric blanket?”
“Two of them,” I clarify. “I don’t want one if you don’t get one. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy mine if you go without.”
“Ya know, Bubbles. There’s this set of scales in—”
“Oh lawd.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Professor Will from the school of philosophy is here.”
“No, hear me out. There are scales, Bubbles. There has to be.”
I set an empty cup by his elbow, a second for me, and begin pouring chilled water.
“I believe in the scales,” he continues, “because otherwise, this world is uglier than even we give it credit for.”
“Will, it’s not—”
“We’re all rationed out our good, our bad, our good luck and bad luck.”
“Well, so far we have a pretty good handle on the bad.”
“Exactly!” He looks right into my eyes. “That’s what I’m saying. We have all the bad. Someone else got our good, so now we’re stuck with the shit.”
“That was rude of them.” I set the pitcher on the counter and push his cup closer. “Greedy sons of bitches.”
“Bubbles…” He shakes his head in exasperation.
I reject this discussion every single time he brings it up. He has his beliefs, and I have mine. I tell him he’s stupid, and he tells me we’re doomed.
“We were due for some good,” he presses. “We were on the road to good, because we worked so fucking hard. You worked so hard, Bubbles.”
“Will, you didn’t—”
“And then things went down with Nate,” he rushes on, “so now we have the bad sliding all over us like soft serve shit.”
“It wasn’t you, Will! We’re gonna prove it. And implying your actions in any way affect my scales is total bullshit. That ain’t fair. Each of us get our own set of scales. It’s not one set per family. It’s not one set per state or president. It’s called karma, and we all have to be good people.”
“Right.” He looks up from beneath heavy brows. “But I think my karma scales have been smashed. And you’re over here stealing pizza pockets, which means your scales are gonna rot away too. It’s all because of me.”
“I’d say that depends on perspective, then.” I lean against the counter and rest on my elbows. “You say I’ve been given an unfair deal. I say I’m damn lucky I have you. You say our life sucks. But look at us! We’re here, we’re together. They didn’t separate us, and they have no clue where we are.”
“Ya know, back when we were kids, I honestly thought the worst thing that could happen to us was being separated. But now I wonder if you might be better off if they had.” Bitterness slides though his every word. Anger. Regret.
But we’ve had this talk before, so I roll my eyes and sigh. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve told today, asswipe. We get to live together, I get to talk to you face-to-face every single day, and we get to eat pizza pockets we didn’t pay for. You’re so focused on the bad luck, you completely ignore the pizza.”
“You’re too good for this.” He looks around our shitty kitchen, and stops with a lifted brow when a cockroach the size of a small rat dashes across the floor and under the stove. His gaze comes back to mine. “You deserve so much more.”
“I deserve you,” I counter. “And I wouldn’t trade you for anything. I don’t want anything else unless you’re there with me, and there’s nothing I would trade you for.”
“I oughta ground your ass.”
I laugh, because this concludes this evening’s episode of ‘My name is William Quinn, and I’m a bad person.’ “You lost that privilege years ago.”
“I never had that privilege! Name one single time I grounded you and you listened.”
“Never. Because you’re not the boss around here.” I pick up my cup of water and drink it in one fast chug. I set the heavy cup down, swipe a sleeve over my lips, and grin. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you at five sharp.”
“Pack your things tonight.” Following my lead, he chugs his water, drops the cup with a thud, and pushes up from the stool. “If you make us late because you can’t find your lip gloss, I’m gonna lose my shit.”
“Stop swearing at me.” I head through the living room, into the hall, and stop at the bathroom door. “I’m going to shower. I’ll pack my lip gloss tonight, then tomorrow, I just have to stumble into my jeans, and we’ll be good to go.”
“Leave your dance shit at home.”
“Blasphemy!” I step into the bathroom and switch on the lights. This is about as good as it gets for us, because the lights have a little heater in them. “Go to bed, Will. Sleep well. Pour me a coffee in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Bubbles.” He chucks my chin and shakes his head. He’s still thinking about how he’s a monster or some such thing. “Be fast. Don’t use up all the hot water.”
“Yeah, it’d be a damn shame for me to use it all and leave none for the rodents.”
“For me, dummy. I’m gonna shower in the morning.” He turns away and digs his hands into his pockets. Shoulders hunched, head dropping low.
“Will?”
Exhausted, he turns and lifts a brow. “Mm?”
“Get ready.”
Frowning now, he lifts his head a little higher. “For what?”
“Tomorrow is the start of something new. It’s gonna be amazing.”
He stares for a moment – skeptical, doubtful – but he’s never been able to tell me no before, so after a minute, he draws a long breath and gives a gentle nod. “Yes, it will be. I’ll make sure of it.”
Part I
Jamie
Where For Art Thou?
“Can you keep a count of the bodies that come through the door?” Evie Kincaid – “Smalls” – is my cousin, and the evil mastermind behind what the world now knows as Stacked Deck: a tournament for those who have the heart to fight. Not the money, not the prestige, not the fame. But the heart.
She hands over a little clicker, and looks up to catch my eyes. “Click for each person that comes through. We have, like…” She flounders for the right words, “I don’t even know. Fire codes or some shit to uphold. Uncle Alex will shut us down if too many folks come in. So keep count, let me know when we’re close to illegal, and we’ll bump some folks out.”