By Your Side(20)

“I win because I’m the best,” I said lamely.

“You’ve had a lot of practice, I see.”

“I win all the time. I’m just humble about it.”

He let out a single laugh, then scooped his Slinky up off the floor. “Best two out of three?”

“Sure. It’s not like we don’t have all the time in the world.”

After my fifth win in a row he stood at the top of his set of stairs studying his Slinky. “Maybe mine is defective.”

“Is that the excuse you’re going with?”

He flipped it over and pulled on the end. “If I had a penny and some gum . . .”

I lowered my eyebrows. “What?”

“If one side was weighted I think it would go faster.”

“And what would the gum be used for?”

“I’d have to stick the penny on with something.”

“And gum was the go-to? Not tape or superglue?”

“I was trying to think of two things we might actually be able to find in this place.”

“Let’s move on to the next game before you start searching under tables.”

“Next game?”

“Follow me.”

I led him to the end of the hall, past a bronze bust of the president of the college the building used to house, then turned around. The other wrapped toys were in my pocket, and I brought out the two mini Frisbees I had found. Each had a plastic launcher.

“So you put the Frisbee in the launcher and you squeeze the end. Whichever one goes farthest wins.”

“Is there a secret to make it go farther?”

“I don’t know. You seem to be the one with all the secrets.” When I realized how that sounded I quickly added, “I mean, pennies, gum—maybe you have some modification for this as well.”

“I don’t,” he said.

“Well, I haven’t used one of these since I was little, so I have no idea. You want a few practice rounds?” I thought he’d say no, but as he opened the package and stared at the blue disc he held, he nodded his head. I stifled a laugh. He was taking this more seriously than I thought he would.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, it’s something. What?”

“You’re competitive.”

He smirked. “I’m not the one who pouted every time I lost a hand of poker.”

“I did not pout.”

“What do you call it, then?”

I launched my disc. “I call it showing emotions. You should try it.”

“What are emotions?” He sent his disc flying down the hall as well. His landed several feet past mine. How had he done that? “So, I won?”

“No! That was a practice round. You wanted a practice round.”

“Who’s competitive again?”

I shoved his shoulder. “I’m not. I just like to follow the pre-established rules.”

He laughed and collected our discs. “Whatever you want to call it.”

When he held up his hand readying his launcher, I pushed on his arm, sending the disc flying into the wall.

He gave me a grunt, but his eyes were smiling.

I held mine up and I hadn’t noticed that he’d moved around behind me until he picked me up by the waist and swung me to face the wrong direction.

“Cheater!” I called out as my disc ricocheted off the window behind us.

“I thought distractions were in the pre-established rules.”

“Okay, fine, no interference this time. We launch them together.”

As we held them up I kept looking at him, waiting for him to push me off balance or something. He didn’t, but I felt off balance and sent my mini Frisbee a little too high. His was aimed perfectly by a steady, unaffected hand. He won the round.

“Is it time for rule number two to go into effect yet?” Dax asked after totally dominating several rounds of the Frisbee game.

“Rule number two?”

“Reading.”

“Oh.” I laughed.

“Or rule number three would work fine too.”

“I vetoed rule number three. Last game.” I pulled him by his arm into the glass-enclosed walkway. The stained-glass window, the focal point of the hall, sparkled even brighter from the light reflecting off the snow-covered scenery outside. I handed him a sticky hand. “We need a tiebreaker.”

“What’s the game?”

“Whichever one stays stuck to the glass the longest is the winner.”

“The winner of what?” he asked.

“Did you want to play for something? Another truth?”

He pinched the hand between his fingers as if testing its sticking power, then nodded. “Sure.”

I counted to three and launched my hand over the rail. My red hand stuck a little higher on the curving arch of the window. His green one had a piece of the long string arm that hadn’t quite stuck. I was going to win. We just had to wait it out.

“How long do they stick for?” he asked.

“My brother once threw one on the ceiling and it stayed up there for two days.”

“Two days?”

“That’s not the norm, though. Didn’t you ever play with these as a kid?”