Chapter Four — Alex
I walk into what looks like an ordinary bar. Callum leads me towards the back, towards a dartboard.
“Do you know how to play?” he asks.
“I’m guessing you just try and hit the center?”
“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t actually know there were so many rules.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, it’s not complicated, but not as simple as most people think. Do you want a few practice shots first?”
I nod. He hands me a dart.
“Go ahead.”
I throw it, and I miss the board completely.
“Oops,” I say. “Try again.”
I take a deep breath and focus.
“Fifteen points,” he says. “Not bad. Okay, try one more.”
I line it up, and it lands on the double ring.
“Okay, so that landed in the ten section, but then you would double it, so that’d be twenty points.”
I smile, pretty pleased with myself.
“Ready to start then?” he asks.
“Don’t you want to practice?” I ask.
He laughs. “I don’t need to.”
“Oh,” I say. “Someone’s feeling confident.”
He shrugs. “Ladies first.”
I throw my first shot.
“Seven points,” he says.
Then my second. “Three points.”
My third shot lands on the five, but on the double section.
“Ten points,” he says. “So that’s twenty points.”
I smile, feeling pretty good about myself.
But then Callum starts throwing. On his first shot, he gets thirty. On the second, forty. And on the third, he hits a bullseye.
“How much is that one?” I ask.
“Fifty points.”
“So you got one-twenty,” he says, before I’ve had time to calculate it.
“Oh,” I say. I was thinking this game would take a long time, but suddenly it doesn’t seem like that anymore.
The next few rounds go like that. After four rounds, I’m at 405 points and Callum is at 60.
On my turn, I throw 20, then 10, then 7.
“Very impressive,” Callum says.
“Actually?” I ask.
“Yeah. That’s really good for a beginner.”
I smile. “Yeah, but you’re smoking me.”
“I’ve played before,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows. “Played before? You kind of seem like a professional.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Just played a little bit here and there in college.”
“Are you good at everything?” I ask.
He laughs. “Absolutely not. Alright, my turn.” He grabs a dart.
“Wait, remind me of the rules again? Like, you can’t go under zero, right?”
He nods. “Correct. And I also have to land my last shot on a double,” he says, gesturing towards a ring.
“Hmm. Okay,” I say.
On his first throw, Callum hits the bullseye. “So that’s fifty,” I say. He nods. “You just need to get ten.”
He nods. “Yeah, and I have to land on a double.”
He lands on twenty.
“Well, that’s it,” he says.
“So what? I’m back at sixty. Your turn.”
I still feel like I have no chance, but at least the game’s not over yet. Although it doesn’t really matter.
I throw a few shots and score a total of 40.
“You’re getting better,” Callum says, nodding appreciatively.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m at 328, right?”
He nods.
Then it’s Callum’s turn. He throws a 60 but hits a triple.
He shrugs. “What can you do?”
I stare at him. “Did you do that on purpose?”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not.”
I can’t tell if he’s lying. He hands me the dart.
“Your turn.”
It continues like that for a few more rounds. I inch closer to zero, bit by bit, and Callum somehow messes up every single time. I mean, I get that it’s hard to land exactly on zero and on a double, but this is starting to feel a bit ridiculous.
“How many rounds are we at now?” I ask Callum.
“I think twelve,” he says.
“Hmm. I’m gonna go to the washroom,” I say.
I stand up and head to the ladies’ room. Unfortunately, there’s a line. As I wait, the woman in front of me turns around. She’s maybe ten years older than me, quite pretty, in cowboy boots and jeans, wearing a turquoise necklace.
“I hate lines,” she says. “How come there’s never any for the men’s room?”
“Good question,” I say.
After a few seconds, a thought comes to me.
“Hey, do you know anything about darts?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?”
“So I’m playing for the first time, and wondering, how normal is it for somebody to not be able to finish the game when they’re at sixty points?”
“What, for a beginner?” she asks.
“No. Like, somebody who’s really good.”
“Oh,” she says. “Probably two rounds. Three at most. Four would be really stretching it.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m playing with someone and I’m starting to think they’re throwing the game.”
“How many rounds has it been?”
“About twelve.”
“Okay,” she says. “And how many points did they get during the first few rounds?”
“Usually around fifty or so.”
She laughs. “Yeah, that person’s definitely throwing the game. My turn,” she says, as the line inches up.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Anytime.”
I knew it, I think to myself. I don’t know how to feel, though. Why is Callum throwing the game? Or is he even throwing the game? Does he just want me to think I have a chance, and then he’s going to pull the rug out from under me at the last second?
On the other hand, though, does it really matter? I mean, do I even care about the game at this point?
I don’t know what I think anymore.