Page 29 of Love is a Game
“That was an easy one,” Sadie said. “It’s mostly phonetic.”
“You do the next one,” Gracie said, looking at her eagerly.
The next contestant needed a definition for oubliette, which gave Sadie time to spell it out, “O-u-b-l-i-e-t-t-e. Oubliette,” before the correct spelling came up on the screen. All of the girls in the room cheered. Sadie smirked at Andrew, and a familiar sensation swelled in his chest. It was the same feeling he got every time they’d been pitted against each other in school: a powerful need to prove himself.
He stood. If she wanted to play, they would play.
“Okay, Shady, it’s on,” he replied.
Before the next contestant’s turn, the competition cut to a commercial, and he went to his desk for clipboards, scratch paper, and pens, and brought them back to the group. “Here’s the game,” he announced. “Try to spell the words before the contestants do. Whoever participates gets a free book from the Friends of the Library book sale over in the corner. The winner gets to pick three books. Who’s in?”
Everyone raised their hands and Andrew passed out supplies. Sadie shook her head and stepped toward the office, suddenly ready to get back to work. Andrew stopped her, holding out a pen and paper between them. A part of him knew how childish this was, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to let her walk away when the game had just begun. She considered him for a moment, then set her jaw, and took the supplies out of his hand.
“Honor code, everyone,” Andrew said loudly. “You have to write the word before they spell it out loud or it appears on the screen. If you don’t get it in time, it doesn’t count.”
As everyone got their pens ready for the next word, he sat down beside her and whispered, “No cheating, Shady.”
“I’m not the cheater here,” she hissed. “You are.”
“Just keep telling yourself that.”
When the next word appeared on the screen, almost everyone cheered, declaring their personal victories. By the next round, though, the words to start stumping everyone. Andrew tried to be encouraging, reminding them again that the kids in the competition had trained a long time to get there. When Sadie misspelled rapprochement, he did his best to hold in a victorious laugh. He didn’t want to set a bad example.
It didn’t take long for her to catch up though. He misspelled charcuterie in the next round and she leaned over to gloat. “That’s two you’ve missed, now, Price. Better not slip up again.”
“The first one doesn’t count; we weren’t playing yet,” he countered. “We’re tied.”
“Relying on a technicality in order to win?” She tutted. “How lawyerly of you.”
He didn’t respond, just focused his attention on the television. It was time to change tactics.
The next word was deleterious. As he spelled it out, he muttered loud enough for her to hear “Z-x-j-seven-r-o-v,” trying to throw her off.
“I’ve heard that one,” Gracie said. “What does it mean again?”
“Causing harm,” Sadie answered through gritted teeth. “For example, trying to sabotage your opponent is deleterious. And futile.” She showed him the correctly spelled word on her paper with a self-satisfied grin.
When the next word was announced, she crossed her legs in an exaggerated movement that knocked his clipboard to the floor. He barely had time to grab it and write his word before it appeared on the screen. He turned to shake his head at her, but she stared innocently at the television, avoiding eye contact.
By the time there were two contestants left, most of the participants in the library had given up. Only Gracie shared the same score as Sadie and Andrew, with just one misspelled word each. Andrew was surprised at the feeling of suspense the competition created. When the cameras scanned the audience, everyone was leaning forward eagerly. Everyone in the library seemed to feel it too.
One of the finalists, a young girl with a bright scarf wrapped around her dark braids, stepped up to the microphone and was given the word bordereaux. Sadie, Andrew, and Gracie bent over their papers and scribbled anxiously as the definition and language of origin were relayed to the contestant. The three of them spelled the word correctly; the contestant did not.
“This is it!” Andrew announced. “If he gets this next word, he wins.”
“And when you misspell it, you’ll lose,” Sadie told him.
Andrew was about to say something back to her, but he saw her eyes flash to Gracie, whose attention was now glued to the screen, waiting for the final word. His shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly. Gracie spent more time at the library than almost anyone, and he had come to know her as a very intelligent, very insecure girl. What would it mean to her if she could win this thing, silly as it might be?
“Your word is insouciant,” said the judge.
Andrew met Sadie’s steely gaze but could read nothing in those green eyes. If he let Gracie win, would he be handing victory to Sadie too? He wasn’t sure he could live with her gloating if that happened. He started to write but snuck a glance at Gracie. Her eyes were closed in concentration for several seconds, and then she opened them and scribbled something on her paper, biting her lip nervously when she finished. He peeked at Sadie as she wrote her word, and then he wrote his own.
“Insouciant,” the boy said, “I-n-s-o-u-c-i-a-n-t. Insouciant.”
The lights went up and the crowd began to cheer, both on the screen and in the library. Confetti cannons blasted brightly colored paper over the stage, and the boy pumped his arm in the air.
Sadie let out a heavy sigh, carefully folding her paper. “Missed that one.”