Zenon's Game Chapter 190

"Fine, go ahead," Bianca backed off, recognizing that Cynthia wasn't joking, "But Candace, don't be naïve and think that Zenon isn't going to rethink how he spends New Years' when he sees me looking like a ten and you looking like a-"

Cynthia stepped onto Bianca's ballerina shoe. Her black boot pressed down, hard.

"B*tch!" Bianca exclaimed, hopping backwards and staring down at the red mark on her skin, "What's wrong with you?"

"Me?" Cynthia laughed, "We're trying to diagnose your level of crazy."

And then the worst thing happened.

Axel, who had been in the same hallway, came running over. All he witnessed was Cynthia's aggression.

Bianca reached out to him as he stared at us, "Why did you do that?"

I watched her rest her arms around Axel's shoulders.

"She's crazy!" Bianca pointed at Cynthia, using our own words against us.

Cynthia, who's usually so bold, went so quiet. She didn't know how to respond to Axel. I didn't know how to respond to Axel. As close as we were getting to him, Axel and Bianca have known each other for years. Why would he take our side?

Bianca stared me right in the eyes as she said her next words:

"Zenon and I have slept together. And by the look on your face, you haven't."

Do I go running to my boyfriend about some girl who was mean to me?

Do I go running to my boyfriend if that girl happens to be his ex-girlfriend and happens to think they're destined to be together?

Do I go running at all? Because I hate the gym and I can't remember the last time I bought workout clothes.

"Candace," Cynthia shook me out of it, "We should go to class."

I guess Bianca wasn't playing nice anymore. Not that she ever was. We turned away from Axel, Bianca and all the other spectators.

"I'm coming to Dubai," Cynthia told me.

"For Axel?" I asked, wondering how their ship was doing after that storm.

"For you," Cynthia answered, "You need backup to deal with that b*tch."

~Computer labs~

Joe was having the time of his life. He was working on a new math quiz as if there'd be a magical experience at the end of it.

I want whatever he's on.

"Hey Joe," I said, with my pen in my hand.

I was still puzzling through question number one and my brain was not feeling it. The computer labs felt isolated from the madness outside. Meanwhile, Joe was scribbling numbers across the page like he was painting art.

"I lost my job," I said.

I hadn't been able to say it to anyone yet. It was embarrassing to admit, but I felt like Joe wouldn't judge. I also felt like there was a good chance Joe wouldn't even hear.

But he looked up from his beloved math quiz and asked, "Did you want it?"

I never thought of that.

"No," I admitted, "Not the job, but I wanted the salary."

"Then apply for a new one," he said, practical as ever.

I didn't have any references and it was the middle of the year. Who would hire me?

"Math tutor," he suggested, pointing at the work we were doing, "Then you could do this every day and it'd be good practice for the next competition."

I never thought of that. I never thought I'd be good enough for that. "How?"

"You're a mathlete and I'm guessing you have good math grades. You could teach freshman," he added, "Become a student math teacher. I can recommend you."

I thanked him for his kindness. But Joe didn't think he was being kind. He thought he was being fair.

~Dupont Avenue~

I was studying at Zenon's desk. His room was empty, with no distractions. His desk was under a window that overlooked the backyard. I kept it open, despite the cold winter air, just so I could hear him play.

He was in his backyard, playing basketball solo. I'd hear the occasional swoosh of the net or bounce on the backboard. Sometimes his sneakers would skid against the ground.

I tried hard to focus. It took a lot of restraining my urges from climbing over the desk and staring down at him playing. I liked listening to him exercise. The sounds he made...

Instead, I stared down at the white page in front of me. I don't know why I thought I'd do this better with paper than a laptop. I was trying to channel Shakespeare for my English essay, but the closest I got was my doodle of a cauldron.

Where does he keep his eraser? I looked in the desk drawers for his stationary.

"Zenon!" I yelled out the window, "Eraser?"

I pressed my hands onto the desk and leaned over, looking out. He stood with the ball in one arm, staring up, shirtless. He raised a hand to cover his eyes from the sun. I watched his abs contract with the movement.

"Desk drawer," he answered, waiting to make sure I heard it.

I blew him a kiss and forced myself away from the tempting view.

"Drawer?" I repeated to myself. I'd already checked his desk drawer.

I stretched myself and reached for the drawer on his bedside table. I opened it and slammed it shut. Oh. No.

I should've seen it coming. I should've expected that.

Little shiny packets scattered within the drawer.

Little, shiny, square packets.

Condoms.

How do I unsee?

The door opened and Zenon came in. "Did you...?" he saw me sitting guiltily in the chair, halfway between the bed and the desk.

He must have run upstairs after I asked him for the erasers.

"Wrong drawer," I said.

"I figured."