Twelfth Knight

8. Do Not Drop Your Weapon

Over the next few nights I proceed to almost die about five dozen times, a few of which take place in the Orkney woods before we make our way to Dumnonia, a seafaring kingdom weakened by a plague of the Black Knight’s evil sorcerer’s invention. (“For the last time, the sorcerer’s name is Mordred,” Cesario tells me. “Do you ever learn anyone’s names?”) There I manage not to die a few more times, despite being targeted by other players who show up out of nowhere to attack us, sometimes one directly after another. Under other circumstances I would call this alarming, but Cesario doesn’t get alarmed by much.

C354R10:you get that the relics we have are live, right?

C354R10:we’re walking around with stuff other people want, and they’re gonna come for us because of it

Oh sure, because I’ve never had things other people wanted. Popularity, a school record, a hot girlfriend…

DUKEORSINO12:uh, I’m kind of a big deal? I’m used to it

I’m joking, but Cesario’s reply is scathing.

C354R10:used to be

C354R10:not everything is football, brah

I make a face.

DUKEORSINO12:don’t “brah” me

DUKEORSINO12:and I’ll be back to it soon. this is all just temporary

Cesario says nothing for a couple of seconds.

C354R10:maybe you should consider the possibility that there’s more to life than football.

DUKEORSINO12:duh

DUKEORSINO12:there’s also knights

C354R10:I’m serious

C354R10:injuries like yours take a long time to heal

DUKEORSINO12:you’re an expert in ACL tears now?

C354R10:it happens sometimes in muay thai

DUKEORSINO12:muay thai??

That’s intense. No wonder he loves combat games.

C354R10:the point is you should probably start thinking about what you’re going to do if you’re not eligible to play this year. or next.

Wow. That stings.

DUKEORSINO12:I thought we were leaving real life out of this????

C354R10:true

But he doesn’t apologize.

C354R10:just a thought

I’ve never thought of Social Committee Kayla as a chill person, but damn. I had no idea someone could get so worked up about a homecoming ticket.

“I don’t think hiring a graphic designer is a very, uh. Good use of funds,” I tell her, which is exactly the sort of thing I try not to say, because it makes Kayla’s smile warp into something extremely less than pleased.

I mean honestly, it should be obvious to anyone that most of the things involved in planning a dance are pointless wastes of money. But I can’t say that, out loud, ever. The secret to not being hated is to just never tell someone they can’t have what they want, which is exactly why I’ve always considered this task better left to someone else.

Like, say, Vi Reyes, who is currently sitting at her usual lab table typing some report to the admins.

“The ticket is everyone’s first impression,” Kayla tells me with a sharpness I’ve been hearing from her more and more often these days. “Doesn’t that matter to you?”

“Of course it matters.” (It doesn’t.)

“Okay, then I don’t see why we wouldn’t be able t—”

“It’s not like anyone saves them to wallpaper their bedroom with,” I say helplessly, and Kayla draws upright like I just insulted her mother.

“Excuse me?” she demands, though before she can launch into her forthcoming rant, someone else interrupts.

“We don’t use paper tickets,” Vi says, apparently to me but also to no one, and she does it without looking up from something that looks even more mind-numbing than the conversation I’m having. “Waste of paper. Student Carbon Footprint Initiative,” she adds, as if this is something I should care about.

Okay, so this isn’t even a real ticket? It’s basically an Instagram post. Aren’t there about twenty aspiring influencers who could easily throw something together? And don’t even get me started on whatever that “initiative” is. All I know is it’s yet another example of kids at this school caring more about being vegan than talking about police shootings. I’m never more aware of what color my skin is than when people are suddenly asking me how they can be a better ally. Uh, don’t call me an Oreo or tell me I sound white like it’s impressive? Everyone wants racism to be this bomb they can disarm rather than what it is, which is… fluid. Usually it’s so small it’s not even worth explaining. And even if I could, I wouldn’t, because nobody wants to listen to the ways they failed, period, much less how they might have failed me.

It’s all about smiles and compromise, baby.

“I’m sure there’s someone who can design it. Mackenzie,” I say, startling her from where she’s struggling with posters for the game on Friday. “You can sketch something out, can’t you?”

Her eyes widen, which I think is probably a yes. Given her position as Kayla’s lieutenant, I’m guessing she already tried and got shot down. “Oh,” she says, flushing. “Sure. I mean, I could definitely try to—”

“Ugh. Ugh,” Kayla says, emphasizing her scorn for good measure before stomping away, leaving me alone with a conspicuously inattentive Vi.

“This,” I inform her in an undertone, “is the worst job ever.”

She says nothing, apathetically clicking her mouse.

“I hope you have some news for me,” I add, referencing our deal.

“Nope,” Vi replies with another mouse click.

“Seriously?”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, Orsino.” Two clicks.

“Well, this sucks,” I tell her. She’s had at least two weeks to get something out of Olivia. Don’t girls talk about this sort of thing while they travel in packs to the bathroom? “I’m not sure this is turning out to be an equal bargain.”

“Okay.” She glances at me. “Then call it off.”

She is such a thorn in my side, I swear. I glare at her, and she simpers snidely back.

“You’re in a pleasant mood,” she observes, resuming whatever she’s typing.

“I’m always in a pleasant mood,” I retort with a growl, which only makes her inattentive smile twitch. “Just… give me something, okay? Please, I just—”

Nope, no way. This isn’t the time or place to talk about how much it drives me crazy not to know what Olivia’s thinking. And Vi Reyes is certainly not the person to care how my knee feels today. (It’s irking me, like an itchy tag.)

“Forget it,” I exhale, and turn away on my crutches only to trip on a chair, banging my injured knee into the edge of a desk.

A few choice expletives escape me. Vi doesn’t notice, which is kind of a weird, mixed blessing. I don’t need her to look at me like I’m less than I was before the way everyone else does, though I would like her to acknowledge that just because she thinks my life is easy doesn’t mean it is. Hard to say whether I’m more frustrated with her or just… everything.

“I’m doing what you wanted,” I remind her.

“Yes. Your job,” she replies.

“No, I mean—”

“I know what you meant.” She flicks her gaze up to mine from the screen. “You really want me to feel bad about this, don’t you? Sorry. I don’t.” She purses her lips. “When you’ve held up your end of the bargain, it’ll just revert back to me doing everything anyway, so why am I supposed to care? You and Olivia will work things out, you’ll win your little sportball game—”

“Oh, nice, Viola,” I say with a groan. “That’s definitely what the state championship is called—”

“—and when I’m the one dealing with Miss Society Pages again,” she continues, unfazed, “where will you be? Not here. Not listening to me, or even remotely giving me the time of day. So no,” she informs me, clicking again and whirring the printer to life. “I do not feel sorry for you.”

I open my mouth to point out that I’ve never been nearly as much of a dick to her as she is to me, but instead what comes out is, “What makes you so sure things will ever go back to normal for me? Maybe I’ll just be miserable forever,” I point out bitterly, “and then you’ll get your wish.”

The room falls silent, like a record scratch, and she pauses with her finger poised on the mouse. Part of me wants to shrivel up in horror. The other part of me thinks it serves her right. A third part of me, quiet and small, hopes she doesn’t try to apologize. Her pity would only make this worse.

But eventually she shrugs. “You’re not dead, Orsino. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be cult leader for the jock squad once again.”

God, she is impossible.

“Okay, first of all, stop calling me that,” I say, which she ignores, “and you know what else?” She’s still not listening. “It kinda seems like a scam to worry about our carbon footprint considering that none of us are billionaires with private jets,” I half-heartedly snap, furiously shoving the desk out of my way with the edge of my crutch.

From the corner of my eye I see Vi’s mouth quirk when I turn away, though she doesn’t bother replying.

Impossible. Unbearable.

But at least she didn’t make things worse.

While Vi’s lack of intel about Olivia continues to be very Vi of her, I do find it increasingly stressful. By the end of the week, the first elaborate homecoming invitation has been delivered: one of the ASB newscasters asks his girlfriend over the morning announcements, and just like that the season of bizarre flash mobs, bad scavenger hunts, and painful songwriting has begun.

If Olivia and I were still… Olivia and me, I’d do something flashy. Last year I had every member of the freshman team deliver a rose to her throughout the day, ending with them spelling out her name on their bare chests as I swanned in with a full bouquet. This is the kind of thing that’s expected of me, and I know she loves it.

Olivia’s a romantic at heart; she tears up at the end of every sappy romance. Part of me wants to text her every time I’m watching War of Thorns—she’d love the Liliana and Cesario plot. It’s right up her alley: forbidden love on opposite sides, like Romeo and Juliet.

Which is why I fall prey to desperation and attempt, unwisely and certainly without chill, to talk to her again, despite my promises to give her space. I manage to catch her alone at lunch, by some miracle. Volio’s been spending a lot of time around her lately, though she never looks like she’s enjoying it.

“Hey,” I say, struggling to sit down at the tiny outdoor tables without wrenching my knee in two separate directions. Before I lose my nerve, I offer, “What do you think about having an us day on Saturday?”

“Oh, Jack.” She softens, and for a second she looks at me like she used to. “We haven’t had one of those in ages.”

An “us day” is what we used to do when we first started dating. We took turns planning out a day where we both put our phones away and just spent some time hanging out, though they got less frequent over time. I had football, then she had the SATs, then she was gone for most of summer… But I’m hoping she’ll feel nostalgic enough to say yes.

“I’ll plan it out,” I promise her, thinking maybe I was right that she was feeling neglected. “We can do a marathon of those movies you love, or—”

“I actually can’t Saturday,” she tells me, looking apologetic the way Olivia does, where you’re not sure if she’s actually sorry about what she’s saying or just sorry that she has to say it. Unlike, say, Vi Reyes, Olivia is a nice person who tends to feel bad about disappointing people, which… does make her harder to read.

“I have plans,” she explains.

“All day?” I ask, ignoring the little divot of disappointment in my chest.

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you up to?” I ask, hoping to sound casually interested. After all, this is the closest thing we’ve had to real conversation in almost a month.

“Oh, you’ll laugh,” she says. “Seriously.”

“Try me,” I insist.

“It’s just… I’m volunteering at MagiCon? You know, the fantasy convention in the city,” she says, as I blink, extremely taken aback.

“Isn’t that for, like… comic book geeks? Gamers?” Oh god, like all the other people who play Twelfth Knight. Which I guess includes me now, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“The way I hear it, it’s for everyone,” Olivia says with a sudden coolness, and just like that there’s distance between us again. “A friend asked me if I wanted to go volunteer for the day, so yeah. Other plans.”

“Well—” I rack my brain for a way to save this. “I’ve always wanted to go to one of those. I mean, they seem so interesting, right?” I say, which seems to be the right track, because she doesn’t immediately try to exit the conversation. “What if I got a ticket?”

She frowns. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be busy with volunteer work for most of the day—”

“Just to see what it’s like, I mean,” I say hastily. “I’ve been kind of getting into that War of Thorns show—”

“Really?” she asks, looking at me like I took a hard blow to the head.

“Well, just a normal amount. I’m not obsessed with it or anything.” This is getting worse, isn’t it? “And then maybe we could get something to eat? Or something.” Someone save me. A storm, a bolt of lightning. A casual sorcerer plague. “Or I could bring you something to eat, in case you’re not supposed to leave your post. Or whatever. Maybe we could drive up together!” God, it’s like I lost all of my cool when I tore my ACL. “Just a thought. I mean, who knows if I can even get tickets,” I finish with an awkward gulp of laughter.

“I hear they’re hard to get,” she agrees, and glances at my knee. “And it might be a lot of walking,” she adds, sounding… concerned? That’s promising, at least. She still cares about whether I can move around in public, which is… something.

“Oh, it’s fine,” I lie. “I barely even feel it. So I’ll just let you know, if that’s cool?” I ask, noticing that other people are about to join us. I don’t think I can live down a public conversation about MagiCon right now.

“Yeah, that’s fine. That works.” She nods, slowly and then quicker. “Yeah, that sounds good, Jack. We can do that.”

“Cool. Well, I’ll leave you to it,” I say, bolstered by the presence of a plan. The goal line’s back in sight, thank god, and it doesn’t even matter that the table’s flooded with people before I can fully get up. “I’ll text you.”

She nods, looking a little dazed, and I struggle to get out my phone before sitting at the adjacent table, ignoring Curio’s worried flash of a glance.

yo, please help me get tickets to magicon,I text to Nick. seriously, this is urgent.

uhhhhh I’m not a wizard, he says. don’t you know those things sell out way in advance??

can I get one on ebay or something?I ask desperately.

unlikely. they’re registered to the specific user and you have to get one that’s legit

Wait a minute. have you been to one???

look, my sister loves it okay?he says, and then follows up with, oh hang on

I wait a few minutes, jiggling my left knee while trying not to think about my right one.

good news. ant’s not going this year so you can go in her place. it’s a volunteer pass though so you’ll have to help out and stuff

With Olivia? I pause for a second to count my lucky stars.

even better,I type back with relief. dude thank you, you’re saving my life

don’t forget to take breaks from twelfth knight my guy, he says. I know it’s addictive but I never thought you’d go this far

oh, come on. it’s not like I’ll be one of those weirdos in costumes.And anyway it’s not about me. It’s for Olivia, which is legit. Romantic, even.

bro,Nick says with one of those forehead-smacking emojis. trust me. you have NO idea what you’re in for.

“Weird thing happened today,” Bash says in the car after school.

“Weird things happen to you every day,” I remind him, flicking on the turn signal.

“True,” he agrees. “Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”

“I assume you’re going to tell me.”

“It’s more fun if you ask me.”

I hum along to my usual alt-pop, saying nothing.

“Fine,” Bash says, caving within seconds as I knew he would. “Jack Orsino nodded to me.”

I freeze for a second, nearly choking. “What?”

“You can stop pretending, I know you can hear me—”

I manage to elbow him without removing my hands from the wheel. “Shut up. What do you mean he nodded at you?”

“He nodded to me,” Bash corrects me. “Like, you know—” He mimics the universal sportzboi gesture for ’sup. “Like that.”

Oh god. What part of “keep real life out of it” doesn’t Jack understand? Though I guess the last violation of that agreement was technically mine.

Despite how it might look, my feelings on Jack haven’t changed. I still don’t care what’s going on with him or his life, but when I’m Cesario and he’s Duke Orsino, I can enjoy myself in a way that I can’t with anyone else. Somehow, despite pretending to be somebody different, I’m exactly as me as I want to be.

Which, as far as I can tell, he seems to need just as badly as I do.

But that’s not the point. “I’m sure you imagined it,” I say breezily. Bash is very imaginative, so that’s not a stretch, even for someone who already knows that Jack Orsino thinks he’s playing Twelfth Knight with Bash every night.

“Vi, please. Not even my inner life is that creative,” Bash assures me, fiddling with the vents. “By the way, how’d your scene go with Olivia?”

“As expected.” Meehan was thrilled with us, which I figured he would be. He told Olivia she had a “natural presence” and insisted she consider the spring musical. To me he said I made a very convincing pining gentleman, which was somewhat less flattering.

“I’m assuming she and Jack are still off,” Bash says thoughtfully, and at my sidelong glance, he shrugs. “Hello? She’s hanging out with you,” he points out, which might be rude coming from someone else (and is technically rude coming from him), but is also probably true. “Until she inevitably annoys you or something,” he adds in a very loaded tone.

He obviously means my falling-out with Antonia, but once again, Antonia and I are merely having a disagreement of conviction: she’s convinced that I suck, and I disagree.

“Olivia’s coming with me to MagiCon tomorrow,” I tell him. As in, see? I’m not incapable of human interaction.

Bash explodes in a snort of something incoherent. “She’s what?”

“What’s so funny? It’s a very popular event,” I remind him. He used to come with me before I started going with Antonia, but RenFaire is more his speed. He likes his pop culture to be centuries-old with fake accents. (Though there is plenty of that at MagiCon. For some reason—cough, imperialism—a person is free to dream up a world with mythical creatures and magical powers so long as it’s still mostly British.)

“Have you seen Olivia Hadid?” Bash asks rhetorically, and I shrug. “Though I suppose she does have period face,” he concedes.

“Ew, what?”

“Period face. Like Keira Knightley. And that other guy.” He gestures to his own face, which doesn’t help.

“Like she belongs in period dramas, you mean?”

“Yeah. Oh,” he adds with a snap of his fingers. “Rufus.”

“Rufus?”

“Rufus.” He nods, and I give up on trying to make any of this make sense.

“Why do you care about me hanging out with Olivia, anyway? Or whether or not Jack Orsino nods at you, for that matter,” I add, because for better or worse, Jack seems to be at the root of every conversation I have lately.

“He nodded to me,” Bash insists again, “and I don’t care, really. I just find it kind of funny.”

“Funny ha-ha?”

“No, funny odd.” He shrugs. “Olivia seems way too cool for you.”

“Why, because I’m not a cheerleader?”

“No. Because you hate everything and she willingly chooses to be positive in public several times a week.” He glances at me. “Go, fight, win! Et cetera.”

I grimace. “I do not hate everything. I like plenty of stuff.”

“Said like a robot trying to pass for a human. Or an alien anthropologist. Or a narc.”

“I have hobbies, Bash,” I remind him. “And interests.” Like my costume, which I rushed to finish the moment I realized that someone aside from me might pay attention. It came out even better than I’d hoped, though I’m trying to manage my expectations.

“You like fictional characters more than actual people,” Bash accuses.

“Why shouldn’t I? Real people harass me while I’m trying to drive.”

“And what’s the deal with you and Mom?” he asks tangentially. He seems to be getting at something, though I cannot imagine what. (I can. I’m simply choosing not to.)

“The deal? We’ve known each other about seventeen years, give or take—”

“Come on.” He nudges me. “I know all’s not well in the Viola-verse. You’ve been… mercurial.”

By “mercurial” he probably means bitchy, in that ever since our militantly feminist mother tried to give me a TED Talk about the value of human connection, I keep brushing her off.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her. I just feel like with this new guy in her life, I can’t quite trust her. There’s something about Mom’s sudden urgency to fix me that makes me feel like she’s forgotten who I am. No—who we are. After all, she’s supposed to be the one to tell me not to give some dumb boy an unnecessary chance and never to back down from something I believe in. My mom’s supposed to be the one who understands me best. If I were in the business of talking about my feelings, I might admit that what I’m feeling is lonely.

Which I don’t expect Bash, a consummately lovable person, to understand.

“Nothing. No deal. And remember what I said about harassing me?” I point out.

“Only faintly. And anyway, you love me.”

“Only because it’s genetic.”

“Cool. I figured.” He hesitates for a moment like he might say something else, but then reaches over and tugs my ponytail. “For the record, I think you’re weird, which is better than being cool. Anyone can be cool.”

“I disagree,” I reply drily.

“Well, maybe if we had more money. Or if you wore better clothes.”

“This,” I inform him, “is a great shirt.” It says Village Witch.

“Sure it is,” Bash says happily, making me circle the block twice until the song ends.

I’m about to transition from messing around on Tumblr to my nightly game of Twelfth Knight (next up is Galles, which is full of enchantress magic that we’ll need to recharge all our relics for) when I get an email from Stacey, one of the MagiCon volunteers.

Hey Viola! So excited to see you again tomorrow—can’t believe it’s been a year already! Unfortunately, we somehow got our wires crossed on our end. I know I promised you Olivia Hadid could take Antonia’s spot on our volunteer list, but it looks like Megha already gave it to someone else at Antonia’s request. I’m SOOOOO sorry about the mix-up! We can put Olivia down for next year, but unfortunately our list is full for this weekend.:(Hope it’s not too inconvenient.

Um, what? They double-booked Antonia’s spot? Is that a joke?

I inhale, then exhale.

Telling people they’re incompetent usually doesn’t end well.

Inhale, exhale.

After a brief email exchange (forcibly polite) during which we come to the conclusion that there’s nothing Stacey can do, I have no choice but to accept that I have to tell Olivia she can’t come. I glance over at my costume, disappointed all over again, which is probably stupid. Not that Olivia and I are actually friends, but at least showing her the ropes would have been a decent distraction from the reminder that I won’t be there with Antonia. I don’t mind going alone—easier that way, honestly, than worrying about if someone else is hungry or thirsty or if their feet hurt—but I feel bad. Olivia seemed like she really wanted to come.

I send her a text that I hope expresses how sorry I am, but she doesn’t reply.

Well, that’s probably another friendship over.

I sign in to the Twelfth Knight game client, soothed again by the picture filling the screen. It’s probably a bad sign that I like it here so much. Oh well. That’s for my future self to work out in therapy.

I’ve been on for about five seconds before my chat window blinks with a message.

DUKEORSINO12:is it just me or are some days just really good days to kill monsters

Speaking of people who need therapy.

C354R10:what happened? did the pep squad run out of pep

DUKEORSINO12:HILARIOUS

DUKEORSINO12:no

DUKEORSINO12:kind of

DUKEORSINO12:but no

C354R10:you know we don’t actually have a pep squad right

DUKEORSINO12:I am aware

Well, at least there’s that.

DUKEORSINO12:everything just sucks

DUKEORSINO12:I know that’s not strictly within the rules of leaving reality out of it but

C354R10:no

C354R10:it counts

Not sure why I said that. Or why I raced to say it before he finished typing.

C354R10:what happens in the game stays in the game

C354R10:which includes whatever the mascot did to you today

C354R10:which I assume was some kind of hostile takeover

DUKEORSINO12:the kid in the mascot has about 8 different kinds of asthma

C354R10:medically unlikely

DUKEORSINO12:aren’t we all

Ah. Okay. Sounds like “medical” hit close to home.

C354R10:is this about… you know

C354R10:the events of black friday

DUKEORSINO12:if that means the day I got hurt then yes

I feel like I probably shouldn’t push this.

I shouldn’t, right?

C354R10:are you ok?

DUKEORSINO12:not really

Of course he’s not okay, what a stupid question. And it’s not like he’s going to tell me, because pretty much all boys are programmed not to have feelings, so basically there’s no point in—

DUKEORSINO12:I feel like my power bar is red

DUKEORSINO12:or at least yellow

DUKEORSINO12:I haven’t been green in ages

That’s actually a pretty good metaphor.

DUKEORSINO12:I’ve got no relics

DUKEORSINO12:people keep coming for me and it keeps getting worse

DUKEORSINO12:I saw my PT again today and

He stops.

DUKEORSINO12:you might have been right

DUKEORSINO12:what you said the other day

I swallow.

DUKEORSINO12:idk if I can come back

DUKEORSINO12:I also don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t

Whoa.

DUKEORSINO12:sorry, I just

DUKEORSINO12:I don’t know who else I can talk to about this

DUKEORSINO12:my mom wants me to focus on school but I just took whatever I had to because I thought I was going to illyria

DUKEORSINO12:my dad and my brother think I’ve given up

DUKEORSINO12:my girlfriend is barely my girlfriend

DUKEORSINO12:my team doesn’t even need me

He stops, and suddenly I remember the look on his face when he was complaining to me about Kayla. He seemed genuinely frustrated, even a little confused, like he didn’t know how to handle all the anger he was feeling at the world. Which is definitely something I can relate to.

DUKEORSINO12:you don’t have to respond to any of this

DUKEORSINO12:and anyway we have other stuff to talk about

DUKEORSINO12:enchantresses and also last week’s WoT

DUKEORSINO12:bc I need cesario to kill rodrigo, like, yesterday

Okay, this is true, but—

C354R10:we can talk about it

C354R10:if you want to

I chew my lip, then try for a joke.

C354R10:undress to your comfort level

C354R10:(metaphorically)

DUKEORSINO12:lol

I wonder if I actually made him laugh.

DUKEORSINO12:there’s not much to tell really

DUKEORSINO12:I’m working on the girlfriend thing

He means his deal with me, presumably. Me-Vi, not me-Cesario.

(Weird thought.)

DUKEORSINO12:as for the other stuff, I think you might be right about that too

DUKEORSINO12:focusing on stuff that isn’t football

C354R10:if it helps you’re not terrible at this game

C354R10:you’re like pretty decent

DUKEORSINO12:“pretty decent”?

C354R10:mm

C354R10:fairly adequate

C354R10:marginally competent

DUKEORSINO12:stop, I’m blushing

Ugh, and I’m smiling. I shake it away because ew, no.

C354R10:the point is there’s other stuff out there

C354R10:maybe this is a good thing

C354R10:your life’s not over. you just have space now for other stuff

DUKEORSINO12:becoming toxically addicted to a computer game was not high on my list of achievements for the year

C354R10:stop whining

C354R10:make a new list

He types back in fits and starts.

DUKEORSINO12:I think secretly I might have really needed to hear that

DUKEORSINO12:not that you care obviously

C354R10:definitely not

C354R10:I just can’t have you moping around on a quest

DUKEORSINO12:obviously

C354R10:obviously

DUKEORSINO12:so. go time?

C354R10:you mean should we stop standing perfectly still on top of this weird fairy mole hill? ya

DUKEORSINO12:is that what this is??

It turns out this realm isn’t so bad. It kind of looks like the Shire. Also, enchantresses are usually really good, so the combat portions are intricate and fun. Their castings create a radius you have to work around to avoid falling under their control, so it’s all about tactical positioning, which Jack’s gotten much better at since I taught him how to use keybindings.

Oops, not Jack. Duke. DukeOrsino12.

DUKEORSINO12:oh btw not sure when I’ll be free tomorrow

DUKEORSINO12:doing something all day

C354R10:me too actually

C354R10:probably won’t be on til late

DUKEORSINO12:cool see you then

He signs off first, and I lean back in my chair, exhaling.

Even though there’s all that weird stuff with Olivia and no Antonia tomorrow, I feel… strangely okay.

It’s a really fun game, I remind myself, and fall into bed with a yawn.

I wake up to my phone ringing and answer it groggily. “Hello?”

“Hey.” The voice on the other end is scratchy and almost unintelligible. “It’s Olivia.”

“Oh. Oh.” I rub my eyes. “Are you okay? You sound—”

“Sick,” she confirms in a mournful tone. “I’m sorry I missed your message. I passed out around six last night.”

“Oof, that sucks.”

“I know. It’s not great. But I guess it’s good news? The ticket isn’t being wasted.”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten about that. “Yeah, true.”

“I was feeling really guilty about bailing,” she admits. “I was hoping to sleep it off so that I could still go—”

“Oh, that’s—”

“What?”

“No, nothing, you finish.”

“Well, it’s kind of a short story.” She laughs, which sounds like a hacking cough. “But actually I was hoping to ask a favor. Someone else who’s going needs a ride and now I obviously can’t help, so… think you can take them instead?”

“Oh… yeah, sure. Sure, no problem.” It’s about an hour drive, so actually that sounds awful, but whatever. (Olivia’s not an easy person to say no to. I assume it’s all that niceness.) “Do I need to pick them up?”

“Yeah, but they live close to you. It’s Jack, actually.”

I choke on something I think is my own saliva. “What?”

My costume all but winks at me from where it’s hanging off the edge of my closet.

“You okay?” Olivia says while I cough. “You’re not sick too, are you? I didn’t have any symptoms until yesterday, but—”

“No, no, I’m—” I manage to catch my breath. “You want me to take Jack Orsino to MagiCon?”

Honestly, this might as well happen.

“Yeah, he’s volunteering, too. Funny coincidence, right?” Oh, hysterical. Somehow I have a guess who might have gotten Antonia’s ticket instead of Olivia. “Anyway yeah, if you don’t mind. I hope it’s not too inconvenient, but he can’t drive himself, so…”

Lola always says God laughs at our plans, and somewhere, distantly, I can hear it.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Olivia adds. “Movie night, your pick, my treat. Or, you know, whatever you like to do. Manicures?”

“Ha.” Oops. “I mean—”

“No, I get it. Bad guess.” She laughs. “Something else.”

“Food? I like food.”

“Oh my god, I love food,” she jokes, and coughs again. “Sorry, sorry—”

“No, you should drink some water. Get some sleep. Sounds like a battlefield over there.”

“Yeah,” she coughs. “It’s—I don’t—”

“Just text me Jack’s address, okay? I’ll try not to drive him directly into the bay or anything,” I offer generously.

She coughs some more in response.

“I’m going to assume that was a goodbye, so bye!” I say into the phone, hanging up to save her the effort of responding. Within seconds, she’s sent me Jack’s address.

I click to open a new message, half holding my breath to brace for dread.

But oddly, the intensity I expect to feel isn’t there. Maybe being repeatedly forced into the orbit of Jack’s life is starting to numb me? Sounds dangerous. Maybe I’m getting used to him? Sounds worse. Or maybe I don’t hate this idea so much as… feel strange about it. Surprised by it, the same way I’ve been consistently surprised by him in the world of Twelfth Knight.

Then again, whatever tenuous friendship Duke Orsino has with Cesario doesn’t remotely exist for Jack and Viola, and for all Jack knows, that’s all there is. My cautious optimism vanishes without a trace, and the guard I might have let down lurches safely back up as a message hovers at the top of my screen.

hey. apparently you’re my ride.

Damn. Could I pretend not to get the message? New phone, who dis? Maybe I’ll be doing us both a favor if I just ignore Olivia’s request altogether.

(Sigh.)

I’ll be there at 8,I tell him. don’t be late.

good morning to you too,he replies. I roll my eyes, God laughs.

It’s about to be a very weird day.