A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(30)

“I brought your books and stuff. And the assignments you missed.”

Her eyelids look like balloons that got blown up, stretched to the limit, and then emptied again. They’re not red, though. She just looks exhausted.

Seeing her books seems to alarm her. She glances left and right. “Where’s Connor?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t bring me.”

“How’d you get in my locker?”

“Oh, he just opened it—he didn’t tell me your combination.” I swallow. “He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. Is there anything I can do?”

“Just leave it.”

She closes the door.

I set her books and binders down on the porch bench, up against the armrest nearest the door. I sit next to them. I don’t want to leave her like this.

My hand reaches out to a dark stain on the bench. When we were fourteen, Zumi put a pumpkin here. Her brother Eddie carved it to look like Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Zumi loved it so much she wouldn’t let anyone touch it after Halloween ended. A week later it collapsed into a puddle of furry goo and she still blocked any cleanup. It surprised me her parents went along—it was gross and probably toxic—and over many months it shrunk, dried, hardened, and eroded away, finally leaving only this stain.

The door opens. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here.

“You can go.” Zumi’s voice is flat.

“Do you want me to?”

She doesn’t answer.

I scoot over on the bench to make room for her.

She hesitates, and then she picks up her books.

“Mom went to Santa Cruz to get Eddie. Next week is his spring break, too. They’ll be here any minute.” She heads back into the house.

I don’t know what Zumi’s family thinks about why I don’t come around anymore. I stand and lean over toward the doorway. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

She glances at me and closes the door.

She didn’t say no.

*

Dr. Oswald called to tell me she couldn’t get to her office in time for our session. She works clinic hours on Fridays and it’s sometimes hard to get away. We arranged to start meeting on Mondays instead. It surprised me that I felt a little disappointed about not seeing her today. In her honor, after dinner, I got a game of Hold’em going at the Silver Sands.

I told Dr. Jordan we’d fleece Dr. Oswald in poker, but really I meant he could. So could anyone else at the table: Mr. Terrance Knight, even the new additions, Ms. Li and David. I have a decent poker face but a terrible poker body.

Good cards push adrenaline into my blood. It accelerates my breathing, which I can sort of fix, but it also makes my hands shake. Since I can’t stop these tremors, and I can’t fake them to bluff with bad cards, it’s pretty much hopeless.

The cards I have now add a new symptom: sweat. It doesn’t make sense, really. We’re only playing for chips. I don’t even have a good hand, just a remote possibility … but still …

Mr. Terrance Knight dealt me the five and seven of clubs and I called, hoping for a flush. A novice move, but it’s just for fun. Next came another club, the nine, and then the six of clubs. That’s when the trembling began, plus sweating around my temples. I still have nothing, and the odds that the last card will give me the club flush are still low, and the odds I’ll get the straight are tiny … but you can’t reason with adrenaline.

Mr. Terrance Knight dominates, like in every game we play. Ms. Li and Dr. Jordan fold, leaving me and David. We both call Mr. Terrance Knight’s bet.

He deals—holy shit—the eight of clubs, filling my odds-defying five-nine straight flush! I guess I was only perspiring before—now I’m sweating.

Mr. Terrance Knight bets big. I’d be happy to take the pot as is. Might as well go all the way, since … I stare at the community cards … there’s literally no way I can lose.

“All in.”

David exhales loudly and tosses down his cards.

Mr. Terrance Knight watches me stoically. I can’t hide that I have a good hand … Maybe if I ham it up, he’ll think I’m trying to make it out better than it is.

I grin. “You should probably fold.”

He watches me, uncharacteristically stony—his poker face. Then he drops his cards on the pile.

“Damn it!” I cry. “Where’s your gumption?”

Mr. Terrance Knight smiles and starts collecting the discards. “Gumption’s a ticket to the poorhouse.”

“What’d you have?” David asks me.

I grab my cards to show my triumph but Mr. Terrance Knight catches my eye. In real poker, when everyone else folds, your cards are like a magician’s secrets, never to be revealed.

But this hand’s too good! A rare and wondrous thing!

Damn it.

I slide my cards into the pile. “Guess you should’ve paid to see ’em.”

“Sha-ZAM!” Mr. Terrance Knight laughs. “Our little Mel is growin’ up!”

Ms. Li’s eyes crinkle.

*

Not surprisingly, I’m first out. I move to the couch and obey the rules of when to talk and not talk, and what to say and what not to say when out of the game. From here I can see David’s cards, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out his tell. He runs his fingers through the hair above his forehead when he’s bluffing. I think Mr. Terrance Knight figured it out, too, because he always calls David’s bluffs, and soon David’s also out of the game.