Twelfth Knight

10. Mirror-Match

Cesario and I make it out of Galles, the land of a thousand enchantresses, around three in the morning. The next crusade, Gaunnes, is pure combat—so, nothing new, except for the tournament-style PvP arena. (Player versus player. See? I’m starting to get this.) Cesario grunts at me in the chat to remember to work on hotkeys and then eventually I pass out in my now-permanent dent in the sofa.

how was MagiCon?says Olivia, the buzz of my phone waking me sometime late morning.

It’s the first time she’s initiated a conversation in almost two months. I actually had a great time, I reply through my sleep-deprived haze. missed you though

yeah, bummed I couldn’t make it,Olivia says back. vi says she had fun!

One loud starburst of reality suggests I should laugh at that, because the idea that my maybe-girlfriend Olivia is telling me that my definitely-nemesis Vi Reyes had fun with me is so ridiculous it’s like we’ve all fallen into a black hole.

But another part of me feels a smaller, sharper bleed of memory, like a tiny puncture that leaks out in my chest. The moment I had with Vi in the car… that was more honest than I expected. More real, too, than anything I’ve felt in a long time.

yeah, it was fun,I say, because that’s the simplest response.

Just then, my dad raps on the end of the sofa. “Knock, knock.”

“You rang?” I ask him, contemplating a way to express something devilishly romantic to Olivia while also being thoughtful and understanding about her need for space. A real mind-twister.

“Ready for PT?” my dad prompts, and ah yes, he’s filling in for my mom today. “Maybe if all goes well you’ll be able to put weight on that knee again.”

God, and wouldn’t that be a miracle. It’s been my goal to be off crutches by homecoming, because I’ve got a feeling that if I can just get back to normal, Olivia will see that nothing’s really changed between us. That I’m still me, and we’re still us.

Briefly, the image of Vi’s profile floats through my head at that; not the usual scowl that says I’m an idiot, but the way she looked last night. Infinite versions, she said, the little fading stars beside her eyes mixing with the glints from passing streetlights.

I blink it away, because the important thing is being off crutches. “How soon would I be able to practice?”

Dad looks like he has to bite down on one possible answer, choosing instead the sensible and Mom-approved “One thing at a time. Let’s make sure that leg’s load-bearing first.” Then he offers me half a smile. “But it’d be a good first step to coming back for the postseason.”

For the first time in days, all thoughts of knights disappear. “Then let’s go get my life back,” I say, and my dad gives me a thump on the back.

It’s time to get back to normal.

“Whoa, slow down,” Eric tells me. “Last thing we need is that knee buckling on you. Remember, this is about balance and stability. We gotta strengthen that quad first, and then—”

“I got it.” I tore my knee, not my quad, and everything feels fine. “I got this.”

“Hey, kid, relax. It’s my job to keep you playing for the next five years, not the next five weeks.” He crouches down, eye level with my surgery scar. “How’s that feel?”

Fine. Perfect. “Great.”

“How’s it going with the team?”

“Just waiting on you,” I remind him, and he glances up at me with an arched look of Chill.

“There’s still a long way to go, kid.” He stands up. “Timeline hasn’t changed. You’re still looking at close to a year for a full repair.”

“I don’t have a year,” I grumble, frustrated.

His glance at me is serious. “Either you will give yourself the time you need, Jack, or your knee will do it for you. The risk of reinjuring yourself if you go back to practice too soon is incredibly high.”

“But you said—”

“I said you’d be weight-bearing, but football puts your body through hell, Jack. Trust me, I would know.” He flashes me his own knee scars. “How’d you think I ended up here?”

When I say nothing, he sighs. “Look. All that time in training facilities helped me realize I wanted to be able to do that—heal people. Take something broken and make it work again.” A shrug. “Sometimes life happens the way it does for a reason.”

A more bitter part of me wants to point out that a physical therapy job wouldn’t make up for having a pro career stolen out from under me. (Vi would probably say it, but it’s for the best there’s only one of her.)

“Just something to think about,” Eric adds, standing up to make some notes.

My chest sinks. “So does that mean I’m not approved?”

“Nah, we can eighty-six the crutches.” He tosses them symbolically aside, and the sunken piece of me resurrects just slightly. “But you’re still coming in here every week. More often, if you and your parents can work it out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know—”

“We can get you running in another month or so. Maybe practicing with your team in time for the end of the season. As for playing—”

I grimace. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it?”

He points at me. “Bingo. Smart kid.”

I walk a few steps, just to do it.

“Take it easy,” Eric reminds me.

I bristle a little. “It’s just walking. Been an expert my whole life, give or take.”

“Hey.” He pauses me, reaching into the empty space between us like he’d prefer to take me by the shoulder. “Listen, I know you’re pissed about all this—”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He actually has no idea how angry I haven’t gotten about all this, but fine. I say nothing.

“Anyone can take a bad hit,” he tells me. “The end of a career is never totally out of sight. You’re young and healthy,” he assures me, “and you’ll heal. But you can’t rush this.”

“I know.”

“And it doesn’t hurt to consider other possibilities,” he says again.

“Oh, are there other possibilities?” I joke without thinking, slipping back into my double act with Vi, but since she’s not here to play along, Eric just shakes his head at me.

“All right, smart guy,” he says. “See you back here on Tuesday.”

For the first few days after MagiCon, Vi conspicuously avoids me—probably so I won’t accidentally think we’re friends or something—but by mid-week, I can’t avoid seeking her out. When it comes to homecoming stuff, she really does know more than the rest of ASB combined, so I shoot her a text just after school. She curtly replies that she’s still on campus; specifically the small gym, though weird as that answer is, it’s nothing compared to what I walk in to find.

“Whoa,” I say, spotting her alone in the corner, pacing tensely around one of the wrestling team’s heavy punching bags. She doesn’t hear me come in and launches into a series of kicks; I count ten quick ones in a row before she spots me and removes her headphones. “What is this, fight club?”

“First rule of fight club,” she replies, breathing hard, then purses her lips at me, more puzzled than rude. “What exactly did you need?” she asks, shoving her headphones into the inner pocket of what I’m shocked to see are athletic shorts. (She’s also wearing a tank top, loose-fitted, but conspicuously lacking any satanic feminist slogans. Oddly, I almost miss them.) “Your text was mystifying.”

“Oh, sorry, um.” I dig through my bag for my notes. “You know that index of forms in the leadership room?”

“Uh-huh.” She slides me a tiny smirk and I sigh, pausing my attempt to organize myself.

“You made it, didn’t you?”

She shrugs in tacit confirmation, glancing at the weighted bag like she longs to kick it again, but turns back to me instead. “You needed a form?”

“Yeah, for financial approval, but one of the binders is missing, so—”

“Ah, got it, sorry.” She turns away, walking over to her own backpack, which is on the floor. She’s obviously dressed for a workout, her wrists and hands done up in black wraps that look extremely complicated, and it’s… hard not to notice that it suits her. This, whatever it is.

Briefly, it occurs to me that I might enjoy stumbling on these weird little pieces of who she is. It makes the sum of her less puzzling—or more surprising. I’m not technically sure which.

“Is this, like, stress relief or something?” I ask her, and she looks up, startled.

“What?”

“This.” I gesture over my shoulder to the bag she was just pummeling. “Something wrong?”

“No.” Yes, I interpret clearly, though she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Is this… Tae Kwon Do? Or something?”

She digs out what is apparently the wrong binder, frowns, and reaches in for a different one, answering absent-mindedly, “No, Muay Thai.”

“Oh, that’s—” I blink. “Wait, do you do that with your brother?”

She looks up sharply and I realize: Shit. Oops.

“Yes,” she says, her voice wary. “We train together.”

Amazing that Bash can do all that. Vi’s the only person I know with that kind of superhuman time management, but I guess it makes sense. They are twins.

“I didn’t know you knew that about Bash,” Vi adds in a voice that’s carefully measured.

“Yeah, I just… heard it somewhere, I think. It’s not like it’s that common, so yeah. Anyway, why are you here?” I ask, trying to play this off like it’s a normal thing to know. I crouch beside her, waiting, and she freezes a little, visibly going tense.

“My studio is closed for the week, and—” She glances at me and swallows, suddenly awkward. “Bowen let me in. He’s the girls’ volleyball coach, so—” Another break. “Anyway. Is this the form you need?” she asks brusquely.

“Oh.” I glance down at my notes, relieved for an excuse to look away. “Yeah, it’s this one, for administrative approval…?”

“Right. Here you go.” She hands it to me, and I notice that the binder in her hands is labeled ASB TREASURER.

“You know, I asked Ryan if there was something like this. He said no,” I comment, and she gives me a bark of a laugh.

“Figures. Luckily, now that I’m no longer so concerned with your job, I have time to do his unencumbered.” I can see there’s some festering agitation there, which makes sense—I’ve never actually seen Ryan do anything.

“I always thought his job was just signing checks.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s supposed to manage all the club budgets, plus our ASB budget. This is for senior gift,” she explains, showing me the binder page with her notes on it.

“Ah.”

We both start to rise at the same time and then stop, like we might accidentally collide.

“Sorry.” She takes a deep breath. I’m not sure what she’s apologizing for, but I think I would have said it too, if she hadn’t. Something does feel distinctly… present between us. “Anything else?”

“Not unless you want to teach me some Muay Thai,” I say, half-jokingly.

She, meanwhile, reaches for her water bottle, glancing at my knee. “Not sure that’s a good idea, champ. You’ve been off crutches for what, five minutes?”

“Three days, but thanks for noticing.” I scrutinize the punching bag, since that seems safer than meeting her eye at the moment. “Can’t say I’ve got the instincts for it, anyway.”

“Never been in a fight?” She looks amused.

“You know, funnily enough, I don’t really have enemies.”

“God, how boring for you.” She reaches one arm over, stretching, and I notice the definition in her shoulders before abruptly reminding myself that’s not for me to notice. “Could teach you some other time, though, if you actually wanted.”

“How to have enemies?” I joke.

“Nah, that’s just a natural talent.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was teasing me. “I’m honestly not sure I could hit you.”

“Why?” Instantly, her amusement falters. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who refuses to hit girls. Even the ones who are”—she pauses, turning to kick high on the bag—“trained for this.”

That undercurrent of frustration I noticed in her earlier is back. She might be lying about it, but she clearly is stressed. There’s something else here that bothers her, which I hope isn’t me.

“No. I just couldn’t hit you,” I clarify, and though she’s been gearing up for some kind of change-up between her feet, she pauses mid-step. “Pretty sure you’d do some serious damage to my pretty face.”

I watch her fight a laugh. “Scared, Orsino?”

“Of you? Absolutely,” I assure her. “Terrified. I consider it a massive relief that you’re not a linebacker.”

“Not yet, at least.” She permits half a smirk before hiding it to glance at me. “So, got everything you need?”

“Hm?” Ah, she wants me to leave. Part of me flinches at the dismissal, but in fairness, I did interrupt her. “Oh, yeah, definitely. Thanks again.” I hold up the page before tucking it into my notebook, and then I stop. “Hey, are you… okay?” I ask, hesitating.

It’s not like I expect her to open up to me. Part of me thinks she might, given the last conversation we had, and an even stranger part of me wants overwhelmingly, for just a moment, to be given a reason to stay.

Still, it doesn’t surprise me when she shrugs me off. “Don’t worry about me, Duke Orsino,” she says, gearing up to go another round against whatever she doesn’t want me to see. “You’ve got your old life to get back to,” she says, putting her headphones in and glancing at my knee before tuning me out altogether.

Unfortunately, within days it becomes very clear that being off crutches doesn’t actually return me to my old life. I’m still nowhere near being allowed to run at practice, plus Olivia stays out sick from school all week, declining my offers to bring her soup (or some other boyfriend-y thing). Better you just stay home where it’s safe, she says. At this point, I think her concept of my priorities is pretty off. I’d gladly catch her cold if it meant winning back some of that precious space she’s so intent on keeping between us.

But, since that’s not happening, it’s back to knights.

DUKEORSINO12:this sucks

C354R10:hello sunshine

DUKEORSINO12:when do we get to move on

DUKEORSINO12:we’ve been on this level forever

C354R10:we literally just got here

DUKEORSINO12:I can’t remember a time before lambourc

C354R10:excuse me, we’re about to fight thirty knights at the same time

C354R10:spare me the hysterics

Oddly enough, this does make me feel better, though it’s hard to believe Cesario is actually this way in real life. When I walked by Bash Reyes the other day, he was with Vi, talking animatedly with his hands. She didn’t see me, but he did. He frowned when I nodded to him, so I guess he really takes this whole separation of identities thing very seriously.

DUKEORSINO12:don’t you ever have shit to complain about

DUKEORSINO12:I feel like all I do is rant

C354R10:correct

C354R10:you do

DUKEORSINO12:well it’d be a lot more fun if it was mutual

DUKEORSINO12:personally I love a good rant

DUKEORSINO12:and considering you’re also awake at 2:30 am, I’m thinking your life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows either

Cesario pauses for a second before typing.

C354R10:would it make you stop whining if I told you one (1) problem

DUKEORSINO12:!! yes

DUKEORSINO12:this is the basis of friendship, fyi

DUKEORSINO12:mutual give and take, supportive comments like “spare me the hysterics,” etc etc

C354R10:we’re not friends

DUKEORSINO12:true, add that to my list of problems

C354R10:ugh

I wait, and he types some more.

C354R10:my mom is dating someone, ok?

Oof, been there. The first time my mom went on a date I was pretty messed up about it, but my brother Cam forced me to go to the gym with him, so I ended up sweating out of my eyeballs and forgetting the whole thing.

C354R10:and now she thinks I need to be more “forgiving”

C354R10:or something

C354R10:he’s infecting her brain

I wonder if this is what’s been bothering Vi, too.

(Not that I care.)

DUKEORSINO12:I did not anticipate zombie boyfriend being on the list of possible problems, but tbh I’m not mad

C354R10:hey, you asked for this

C354R10:you get what you get

DUKEORSINO12:is he some kind of health guru? a therapist?

C354R10:worse

C354R10:a youth pastor

I burst out laughing, which thankfully is fine, since I’m back in my bedroom and no longer occupying a common space in the living room.

DUKEORSINO12:your mom is dating a man of the cloth??? is that even allowed??

C354R10:it shouldn’t be

C354R10:for my sanity

DUKEORSINO12:right

C354R10:we’re not even protestant

C354R10:I mean sure, the vatican has its problems OBVIOUSLY but martin luther was paid off by german princes to rewrite the bible so like institutionally the whole foundation is cracked

DUKEORSINO12:no idea what you’re talking about but go off king

C354R10:ugh

He sends me an eye roll emoji.

C354R10:you’re enjoying this aren’t you

C354R10:the devolution of my psyche

DUKEORSINO12:kinda yeah

DUKEORSINO12:wish I had some useful advice, but you already know “spare me the hysterics,” so…

C354R10:you’re very helpful

DUKEORSINO12:I know right it’s a curse

He doesn’t say anything, so I decide it’s safe to change the subject.

DUKEORSINO12:on another note

DUKEORSINO12:this new girl cesario’s working with on WoT

C354R10:her name is crescentia

DUKEORSINO12:I am literally never going to learn her name

DUKEORSINO12:she’s just a stopover to liliana anyway

C354R10:omg are you a crescentia anti

DUKEORSINO12:I have no idea what you’re talking about but I am not a fan

C354R10:omg

DUKEORSINO12:she’s wasting our time

DUKEORSINO12:she and rodrigo should just go mushroom hunting together or something idk

DUKEORSINO12:go be boring somewhere else

C354R10:wowwwwwww

C354R10:you REALLY ship cesario and liliana huh

DUKEORSINO12:???

C354R10:they’re totally your otp

DUKEORSINO12:??????????

C354R10:it means “one true pairing”

C354R10:dumb phrase but basically if you go on tumblr right now there’ll be edits all over the place

C354R10:google “cesario x liliana”

I open a new window and am instantly flooded with YouTube videos set to sad pop songs and a bunch of lengthy Twitter rants.

DUKEORSINO12:WELL THANK GOD NOT EVERYONE’S AN IDIOT

C354R10:omg lol forever

C354R10:I can’t believe it

C354R10:baby’s first non-canon ship

DUKEORSINO12:idk what that means

C354R10:don’t worry about it

C354R10:the point is I had no idea you were such a *~rOmAnTiC~*

DUKEORSINO12:dude yes this is my whole thing

DUKEORSINO12:I’m actively trying to get my girlfriend back

DUKEORSINO12:hello

DUKEORSINO12:I am a romance king

C354R10:you should hang out with my mom’s zombie boyfriend pastor isaac

DUKEORSINO12:oh hey that’s my pastor

C354R10:OMG YOU’RE JOKING

DUKEORSINO12:yes lol definitely joking my pastor is sixty and loves dad jokes and motown

C354R10:I would honestly take that over “love thy neighbor” ike

DUKEORSINO12:well you’re welcome to hate on ike anytime

DUKEORSINO12:this is a safe space

He goes quiet again for a second.

C354R10:can we please just kill some knights now

I stifle another laugh.

DUKEORSINO12:what a healthy outlook

DUKEORSINO12:in fairness I didn’t mean to hate on lambourc so much

DUKEORSINO12:it is cool how each of the levels are so different. keeps it interesting

C354R10:yeah that’s why I like it

C354R10:the lore is good and the gameplay is good too

They were talking about this at the MagiCon gaming expo. I hadn’t really thought about what made Twelfth Knight good since I obviously don’t have a lot of experience playing these types of games—nor do I discuss them with anyone—but I think the goal is to have an interesting story and a world that builds on itself. There was also a bunch of technical stuff about how the players move, though I don’t know anything about that. It was only after I heard people say things like “dynamic lighting” and “ray-traced reflections” that I realized oh yeah, they’re saying things I already noticed about how cool and realistic it looks—the way that water reflects back or lights that go on and off, or stuff about the non-player characters’ animation—but I didn’t know how to put all that into words.

DUKEORSINO12:must be a fun job

DUKEORSINO12:more fun than what my PT does

I don’t see how watching someone slowly walk on a treadmill could ever be as cool as bringing something to life from nothing. A few zeroes and ones. Wild.

C354R10:well

C354R10:fyi

C354R10:there are more jobs in the world than physical therapist and football player

C354R10:so I’ve heard anyway

DUKEORSINO12:my turn for the eyeroll emoji

C354R10:well listen, if you’re going to say something dumb idk what you want me to do about it

DUKEORSINO12:fair enough

DUKEORSINO12:what’s your plan

He types something, then deletes it. Then types again.

C354R10:do we need to have a plan? I have interests and hobbies and passions. Isn’t that enough?

C354R10:feels like kind of a scam tbh

C354R10:we have like fifty years to do nothing but make money, so I don’t see why I’d need to know right now what kind of job I want to work until I die

DUKEORSINO12:I like how you instantly take things to the darkest possible place

C354R10:thank you it’s a gift

But honestly, I can’t stop thinking about this. Interests? Hobbies? Passions?? Before now I thought football was a passion, but ever since I started playing Twelfth Knight, I guess I’ve realized it’s more than that. I love the sport, sure, but what I like about it isn’t the mechanics of how I move. It’s not the motion or the physics.

It’s the game.

Not that I know what to do with that information.

I don’t think I can go to the dance on Saturday,Olivia texts me the next day. I’m so sorry, Jack.

I won’t lie, it dampens things for me, though it’s not like I can hold it against her. Instead, I focus on all the mind-numbing minutiae I can find to fill my afternoon. I help Mackenzie hold up things she can’t reach. I sign things, paint things, and move things. When Kayla complains that we don’t have enough people working refreshments or taking tickets, I tell her I’ll do it.

“Seriously?” I hear from behind me, and turn to find Vi Reyes watching me.

We haven’t spoken since our encounter in the gym the other day. I wouldn’t mind talking to her now—weird as that is to admit—but I get the feeling our new friendly-ish dynamic isn’t ready to test-drive for an audience.

I turn back to Kayla. “Not like I’ll really be gettin’ down on the dance floor,” I joke with a reference to my knee, adding my name to her sheet below Vi’s. “Just let me know whatever you need me to do.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Kayla flashes me what has become a fairly rare smile before turning to bark orders at someone else; something about not abandoning the “gravitas” of the theme.

Behind me, though, Vi hasn’t moved.

“Actually attending a school event, I see,” I observe aloud.

“And apparently I’ll see you there,” she replies.

If she was trying for cold, it doesn’t hit that way.

It hits, though. Somewhere.

“Guess so,” I exhale, clearing my throat before we both turn quickly away.

On Friday afternoon I find myself knocking on the door of the biggest house I’ve ever personally been to. Which isn’t to say there aren’t enormous houses in Messaline Hills, but I usually don’t know the people who live inside them.

“Hey,” Olivia says when she opens the door. She’s wearing a blanket like a cape, her hair piled high on her head. “Thanks so much for doing this.”

“No problem. Should I…?” I gesture to my shoes, but she shakes her head.

“Up to you. Kick ’em off if you’re more comfortable.”

I can’t imagine feeling comfortable here, a place that gleams with things I’d probably break. But, since Olivia’s not wearing any shoes and I’m also terrified of tracking dirt inside, I slip out of my sneakers and leave them by the door.

“How are you feeling?” I ask when she gestures for me to follow.

“Better, thanks. Not contagious anymore, but let’s sit outside just in case.”

“It’s a nice day,” I contribute in agreement, looking at the family portraits on the wall. Olivia and her sisters make a clan of clean-cut princesses standing beside her regal-looking mother and father.

“My family’s out, by the way,” Olivia says, catching my glance around. The foyer leads to a corridor that gives way to an open-plan living area, the back half of which reveals an expansive lawn, pool, hot tub, and charmingly unexpected gazebo. “So no need to worry about running into anyone.”

I follow her as she takes a few steps outside, barefoot. I tiptoe in my socks until we reach a sunken fire pit that I hadn’t seen from the living area of the house.

“This is…” Nice won’t cut it.

Olivia laughs. “I know.”

“I wasn’t expecting—”

“Nobody does. But the more impressive the house, the more people are inclined to think we’re ‘nice neighbors’ instead of, I don’t know, terrorists.” She says this like it’s nothing.

“Has that ever… been an issue?”

She smiles thinly. “Sometimes. But my dad’s a very good oncologist, and you’d be surprised how much nicer people can be when they’re scared of a slow, painful death.”

Oof, I bet. “What about your mom?”

“Mm, she’s kind of like a Middle Eastern socialite.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Beauty queen and all that. She and my aunties spend most of their time together at the spa.”

“Are your cousins mostly on her side?” I feel dwarfed by grandeur, hence the superficial chatter.

“Both sides have big families, but I prefer the ones on her side, yes. My dad’s cousins are more conservative, less… cosmopolitan. I have a portion of my closet dedicated to when we see them.” She sits down snuggled in the blanket, shading her eyes. “Lots of turtlenecks,” she explains. “And long skirts.”

“Gotcha.” I settle on the opposite side of the fire pit’s corner, digging through my backpack for my notebook. “Same with my grandma.” Who, coincidentally, I just saw, as every now and then Lola fears for our heathen souls and insists we attend church events with her. Normally these are not noteworthy occasions, as I’m sorry to report there’s been no sign of any Pentecostal tongues of fire, but she’s now convinced I have a secret boyfriend, having caught me smiling at the MagiCon blog on my phone. (She thinks I’m swooning over sentimental texts when really, I was just remembering something that… well, never mind.)

“Not that my wardrobe ever gets terribly exciting,” I add to Olivia, clearing my throat and hoping to change the subject.

Olivia arches a brow, gesturing to my T-shirt. It’s one of those retro designs with a bunch of cartoon children holding daggers that says LET’S SACRIFICE TOBY!

“Okay, this one’s mildly exciting,” I acknowledge, “but my usual nerd apparel was dirty. And for the record, I don’t harbor vengeful fantasies against any Tobys. Bash got it for me because it was, quote, so random.”

“It is. I like it.” Olivia smiles at me, then turns her attention to the notes in my hands. “Thanks again for doing all this.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. You can keep them,” I add, handing her the notes. “I made copies.”

“Wow, these are thorough.” She sifts through them. “I mean, I knew you took good notes, but these… are these annotated outlines? For each lesson?”

I shrug. “Easier to study with come test time.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” She looks up, still smiling. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I also brought you something else,” I add, sliding a page out of my notebook. “It’s kind of dumb, though—just warning you.”

“Perfect.” She dimples with pleasure. “I love dumb.”

“You say that now…”

“Just show me!”

I pull out the page and scoot a little closer. “I was thinking while I was watching the live ConQuest game at MagiCon that I could simplify the process for you,” I tell her, handing her the worksheet I put together. “I basically turned it into a questionnaire.”

“For my character?” Her voice quickens with excitement. “What kinds of questions?”

“Well, basic stuff. How old are they, who raised them, do they have siblings—”

“What kind of music do they like?” she reads off the page with surprise.

“I mean—” I can feel my cheeks flush. “It’s relevant to the whole character development process, so—”

“Wait, can we do this? Like, right now?” She looks up at me hopefully.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I told my mom I’d be home right after school, but I don’t think she’ll mind if I stay out of the house. We’re not exactly on the same page at the moment. “I thought maybe you’d want to do it alone, but yeah. Honestly, I love this part,” I admit.

“I can see why.” She scans the page. “This is going to be waybetter than getting my hair done for the dance,” she comments idly.

“So you’re really not going to homecoming?” I figured not, given that Jack offered to volunteer instead of wandering around like a golden god, which is what I expected him to do.

(Okay, maybe it’s not fair of me to keep saying things like that, but I didn’t know this version of Jack Orsino existed. I’m still not accustomed to the idea that maybe he isn’t the person I imagined him to be, which is a strange thing to try to trust.)

(About anyone, I mean. Not him specifically.)

(Although yes, him.)

“Just seems kind of pointless, you know? And I’m sick,” Olivia adds, though it sounds… convenient.

Once again, I grudgingly understand why Jack wanted me to find out what was going through Olivia’s head. I don’t condone it, but she isn’t very forthcoming with the truth.

“Well, here. I’ll write if you want,” I say, taking a pen out of my school bag. “You can just give me rapid-fire answers.”

“But what if I need to think about them?” she demands.

“Then we’ll be here all day,” I say. “You can make changes later.”

“Fine.” She relinquishes the page with a sigh, leaning back so that her legs are curled beneath her. “You’re not cold, are you?” she asks, offering me the spare corner of her blanket. “Or I can grab another one—”

“I’m good, actually. It’s nice out.” I click the pen, then sit with the tip poised above the page. “So. Name?”

“Ohmygod,” says Olivia, panicked.

“You’re right, we’ll come back to that. Let’s see… gender, age?”

“She’s a girl. Maybe, like, twenty? Far from home.”

I scribble that down. “Did someone force her out?”

“No, she chose to go. Oh!” She blinks. “She’s in exile.”

“Ooh, nice. So her family is powerful?”

“Yes, very. But she’s in disguise.”

“I love disguises.” I write some more before asking, “Does your character have enemies?”

“Yes. Definitely.” She nods firmly, like she’s pleased I asked.

“Who?”

“Um… an uncle. He wanted to marry her off to some noble for the good of the family but instead she ran, and now he’s hell-bent on finding her. Plus she has her own enemies now.”

“Love that. What does she do now?”

“She’s… a thief. A really good thief. No, a smuggler. A traitor to her country!”

“Whoa, slow down,” I say with a laugh. “Okay, a smuggler—”

“She’s famous, in a black-market scenario. Like Robin Hood.”

“So it’s about money?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “She rescues people.”

“People?”

“Times are bad in her kingdom. Women often run away.”

I pause, wondering if I should say something, and then nod. “Okay.”

“She and her mother and sisters used to help them. Sneak them in and out of the palace.”

“But then her uncle tried to marry her off… Oh,” I realize, “was he on to what she was doing?”

“Yes! Definitely. He was marrying her off to keep her quiet, and now he’s going to do the same thing to her sisters.”

“Oh shit,” I say.

“I know. So they’re the first people she smuggles out.”

“So she doesn’t work alone?”

“No, she would never.”

“But then she’s got a problem, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, her mother’s held captive, which is why she can’t leave the capital city. She’s right under her uncle’s nose.”

“What about her father?” I ask with a frown.

“Dead. No, presumed dead! She’s looking for him.” Olivia’s expression flames.

“This is so exciting,” I say, scribbling rapidly. “I’d totally watch this movie.”

“I know, right?” Olivia’s cheeks are pink, her eyes molten and alight, and it’s a weird time to notice how pretty she is, but I do. When she’s like this, it’s unavoidable. Inescapable, even. “This is so fun.”

I nudge aside an unproductive ray of warmth. “So, what are her strengths?”

“Ooh, um. She forced her father’s captain of the guards to teach her to fight. And she’s obviously very light-fingered.”

“Obviously. Anything witchy, magical, stuff like that?”

“She’s immune to some magic. Oh—she can see through illusions and stuff! That’s why she knows when her uncle is lying about her mother and father.”

“Ooh, nice, perfect—”

“She knows all the military moves. People think she’s ex-military.”

“Any personal items?”

“A locket. With a picture of her sisters. Oh, and she has an army of people she smuggles to safety who have nowhere else to go. She teaches them to fight.”

I give a low whistle. “Damn, she’s cool.”

“I know.” She pauses. “But sometimes people go back.”

I frown. “Go back?”

“Yeah. Some people can’t live like outlaws and they go back to their old lives, to being powerless. Her best friend, her cousin, goes back and marries the man she was supposed to.”

“No way,” I exhale, and Olivia nods.

“It breaks her heart. She’s always in danger because she trusts too easily.”

“That would suck.” I write it in. “Any other weaknesses?”

“She’s reckless. Brave, but it makes her careless sometimes.”

“Anything else?”

“She hates the cold. And—”

Olivia stops, though I’m still writing.

“She likes pretty girls,” Olivia says in a different voice. “Especially the ones who try to protect her. Even though she doesn’t need protecting.”

I blink, pausing.

Then, slowly, I look up.

“Sorry,” Olivia says, watching me like she’s waiting for my reaction. “Probably a weird way to say that.”

I’m not quite sure how to react. It’s hard not to read into that comment, but I’m also not sure if I’m supposed to.

“It doesn’t have to be you if you don’t want it to be,” I remind her. “It’s… just your character. Not real life.”

She exhales. “I appreciate the out, but I don’t need to be rescued.” She smiles a little faintly. “Ironically, that’s what I like about you.”

“Me?” I blink.

“You were Romeo to save me.”

“I—”

“You did all this for me. More than I asked.”

“Olivia—”

“This,” she says softly. “This is why… with Jack, it’s not…”

She trails off, swallowing hard, and I realize I’m finding out something really personal.

Specifically, the truth that Olivia Hadid has been keeping to herself all year.

“There was a girl, this summer. In New York,” she says, and then adds quickly, “Nothing happened. Nothing… physical. But I’d never felt anything like that. It was… so right, you know? And I knew it wasn’t just friendship—it was her smile, her laugh. The way she’d drag me into a bodega for some water if I looked even remotely dehydrated—”

She stops.

“And it was other things,” she admits, glancing at her hands. “And I think about her a lot. All the time.”

“Do you still talk,” I ask, “or…?”

“No, no, nothing like that. On my last night I told her I had a boyfriend, that I had to think about things. She’s… her family is like mine. Strict, and much more religious than mine. The risk for her was way bigger. But she—” Olivia hugs the blanket tighter around her. “She said what I felt. She made me feel like it wasn’t just my feeling. But I didn’t say anything back.” She swallows hard. “I… couldn’t. Not at the time.”

“Oh.” The wind escapes me, because I know how private this is, how vulnerable. I’ve never really considered myself the kind of person people open up to, and I don’t want to do it wrong.

“It must be lonely,” I say. “Not being able to tell anyone.”

“It is.” She blinks. “It is.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s…” She shakes her head. “It’s not like I don’t have support, or that I couldn’t if I wanted. It’s not like I can’t. It’s…”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t.”

“I just want to be sure.” She exhales swiftly. “I have a really good thing with Jack. Had.” She winces, and turns to me. “It’s not the same between us now that I’m keeping all these secrets. And whatever he feels for me—”

“You don’t feel the same way?”

“Not anymore. Not after I realized I could feel what I felt for Razia.” She exhales heavily, like air deflating from a balloon. “But I’m afraid that I’m, like, too different now, you know? And as long as I’m with him, I’m still… safe.” She grimaces. “God. And to think I told you I didn’t need to be rescued.”

“I don’t blame you.” I shake my head. “It must feel scary.”

She winces. “I don’t know how my friends would take it if they knew.”

Understandable. I’m not sure I’d want a pack of cheerleaders knowing something that private about me either, though I hope they’re better friends to her than that.

“And with you…” She gives me an apologetic look. “You remind me of her.”

Oh. Hm.

“Not that I’m expecting you to say anything,” Olivia adds in a rush. “I’m not… I don’t even know how you… whether you…”

“Me? For… you?” Is she saying what I think she’s saying?

I think she is.

Her cheeks are flushed now. “You don’t have to say anything. In fact, don’t.”

On that, I’m happy to oblige her. Although the question does linger in my head: Why me?

“I guess I just wanted to tell you,” Olivia admits in a soft voice, “because… I don’t know. You make me feel safe.”

I inhale. Exhale. I conserve my expressions, my concerns.

And then, about an hour later, I burst into Bash’s bedroom and let it all explode.

“HELP ME,” I shout at his back, and he jumps, removing his headphones.

“Yeesh, about time,” he comments when he recovers from the surprise, patting the spot next to him on his bed. “You’ve been weird for weeks now—I’d nearly given up hope that you’d remember I exist. So, did you finally want to talk about Antonia?” he prompts knowingly. “Something you’d like to tell me about why you’re picking fights with Mom every chance you get and refusing to have any friends?”

“What? No.” I haven’t the faintest idea what he’s talking about and I’m too busy with a far more pressing crisis to try to sort it out.

God. Where to start?

Regrettably, and with alarming ease, my mind leaps—once again—to Jack.

“Jack Orsino thinks I’m you,” I blurt out in a panic.

Bash blinks.

Blinks again.

Blink, blink, blink, until it’s clear he’s not understanding this. At all.

“Okay,” Bash exhales while I collapse backward beside him. “Clearly this is going to be even weirder than I thought.”