We start the third game, and she picks draw. I play first, with a fairly nice hand. However, from the start, I can tell by something in Mallory’s demeanor that something is wrong.

I disregard it, but after about five minutes of play, I start to feel a bit of sympathy. She looks dejected, almost like the look puppies give you when you yell at them, only she isn’t looking at me, but staring down into her lap. Her shoulders are hunched forwards, her hands in her lap.

As we play, I keep thinking I should ask, but I shake the thought again and again. I’m here to play a game, damn it!

As I pass turn, about twenty minutes in, she looks up, and her face just screams ‘I’ve lost’. I raise an eyebrow mockingly. “What is it?”

She flicks a card over at me, a forlorn look on her face. “I tap two mana to play Forbidden Number. I win.” She smiles, her eyes closed as she leans back calmly, complete change in a mtter of seconds.

I look up at her in shock. “No. Freaking. Way.” I look back down at the card, which states that “When played, if an opponent has a life total of thirteen (13), you may deal thirteen damage to that opponent.” I look at my notepad, which has the number 13 written on it, and then up at her, and she’s stood up already, hands on the table, leaning forwards, her face in mine, her hair veiling her shoulders like a black waterfall, her viridian eyes glittering like leaves waving in a summer sunset, a dazzlingly spirited grin slipping across her face. “You’ve lost.”

I sit back, dejected, as the crowd I didn’t notice had formed around us roars in celebration and amazement. Kade slaps my shoulder, but I barely feel it as the shock washes over me. I stare blankly at the wall as Mallory jumps up and down, laughing, pumping her fist in the air. I let my mouth gape open. “Eat my arse. No way.”

She points a finger in my face, the biggest smile possible on her face. “Yeah, boy~e! Roasted!”

Jamie puts his finger in my ear, and I jolt away. He looks down sympathetically. “Get up, you slack-jawed yokel. You’ve got some score handing in to do.”

I grab the sheet off the table, letting it crumple in my grip. I walk, crabby as all heck, over to Joseph Paul, who is laughing. “Dude, tough luck. Beaten by a new girl.”

I toss the sheet at him, a smile playing at the edges of my mouth. “Frick off. At least I’m second.”

Nathaniel calls everyone over, and then announces the rankings. Mallory is first, annoyingly, and I’m still second, although Kade was only one win away from tying me. The rest are as regular. I notice Mark’s name about halfway down. I narrow my eyes. “Wait...”

I look back to the table I had just so recently experienced true loss at, and eye the play mat on Mallory’s side. The lettering spells two words in striking white against the dark purple of the background picture: “World Finalist”.

I look back at Mallory. “You’re the world champ!”

She flips her hair triumphantly. “So I am. What’s the kerfuffle?”

I look for Mike, and I see him, sort of twiddling his thumbs. “Does that mean Mike lied to us?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well, not really. I never said I was a ‘world’ champion.”

I facepalm. “We misunderstood some local champion, and mistook him for a world-class player? I gotta get my eyes checked.”

Joe comes over, handing me around sixty-four booster packs from the latest expansion, and an invitation card. I stare at it. “What’s this?”

He points at it. “Top three are heading to regionals. This is the time and date stuff. You’re registered online, under that link.”

I nod. “Nice, thanks.” He heads off, handing out other prizes.

I turn around, and notice Nathaniel handing Mallory a trophy. She hoists it above her head, and the crowd cheers. I sigh. Kade, who has found his way next to me, does as well. “Looks like it’s not my name up there this time.”

I grab him around the shoulders with one hand. “At least you’re heading to regionals, right?”

Mallory comes weaving over to me, the trophy balanced on her hip. She leans into my face, mocking me. “Well, guess who’s my personal slave for a week?”

I sigh. “No stripping or other obviously detrimental activities. Also, my stuff stays mine.”

She waggles a finger. “You aren’t in a position to make demands, buster.”

I groan as she turns around and walks away. “What have I got myself into?”

About an hour after the tournament, the store has cleared out, and it’s just me, Jamie, Ben, and Mallory left. I nod to Jamie and Ben. “Looks like you two are heading out?”

They nod. “See you later, master baiter,” Jamie says with a coy wink.

I choke. “You’re an arsehole, James Ponak.”

He laughs, and him and Ben head off to their car. I turn to Mallory. “What are you still doing here?”

She holds the trophy in front of her with two hands, looking off I to the distance, her lips pursed. “Well. I figured I’d make good use of my newfound authority.”

I mock gagging. “Make it quick.”

She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Let me stay at your place.”

I do a double take. “Hold on, what?”

She sits down on the curb, and starts to twiddle her thumbs. “Let’s just say I only had enough money to book a hotel for a week, and I’ve been here for seven days.”

I wave my arms in disbelief. “You mean you’re flat broke?! How in heck do you think you’re going to survive?!”

She points at me cheekily. “You’re letting me stay over until I find a place.”

I look up, and slump backwards, letting my breath rise into the cold winter morning. “Well, you’re carrying the trophy.”

She nods. “And you’re carrying my bags.”

I fight to keep from sobbing. “Kill me.”

She laughs. “It’s not that bad, champ. Come on, it’s only a fifty minute walk, right?”

I grab the bags she points out and start walking. “You must be slow at walking as well.”

She falls into step behind me. “Was that a mental capacity joke?”

I sigh. “If you needed confirmation, it wasn’t a joke.”

She punches me in the shoulder, and it makes me stumble. “Hey,” she huffs, “shut your insolent mouth, and that’s an order.”

I hum a ‘mm-hmm’ her way, and follow the streetlights down the sidewalk towards my apartment building, a girl following me, and the feeling deep inside my chest that something’s been instantly and irreversibly changed.