Chapter Six

I arrive at my English class a few minutes earlier than usual on Thursday and see Sloane in the back of the class, crocheting. The tips of their newly dyed neon-green hair poke out from under a hat—this one with purple and yellow stripes. Sloane’s hunched over slightly, eyes focused entirely on their project, and I hesitate. It feels a little weird to be in a class together and not talk to them, but they’re concentrating so hard it might be rude to interrupt. At the same time, if I want my D&D group members to become real friends then I need to make an effort.

“Hi?” I say, the word coming out like a question.

It takes a second, but Sloane raises their eyes. Slight irritation changes to happiness when they see me. “Hey, what’sup?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. “Just wanted to come say hi. What are you working on?”

They lift the crochet project slightly. “My latest hat. I’ve become a bit obsessed with making them—I love crocheting. It’s very relaxing.”

“That’s cool. I’ve never tried it before, but I love making jewelry.” I shake my wrist so that my five beaded bracelets clink together. “I also get a little obsessed.”

Sloane nods approvingly. “At least the stuff you make is small enough it’s easy to store. I’ve got an enormous pile of hats in my room, and an even bigger pile of yarn. I don’t know what I’ll do with them. I need three more heads to wear them all.”

“I’d take one,” I blurt out, and then immediately regret it. What am I doing, asking for people’s stuff? It’s not like Sloane and I are close. “I mean, not that you need to give me one or anything. But I’d buy one from you if you’re willing to sell them.”

Sloane balks. “You don’t need to give me any money. I’m happy to give you one—I figured no one would want my wonky little hats.”

“If you didn’t notice, it’s freezing today.” I gesture to the classroom window, where frost has formed on the inside—not a great sign. “I’d happily wear one.”

I shift to the side as a few students push around me to get to their seats. It’s clear from the noise and shuffling that class is about to start. Sloane shoves their yarn and hook back in their bag.

“I’ll bring some to the game Saturday and you can choose one, okay?”

“Awesome!”

It’s small, this conversation with Sloane, but it’s something. Already I feel a little lighter today. Not everyone in this classroom is a stranger now.

On Saturday, I pile into the back seat of our SUV next to Andrew and his smelly bags of soccer stuff. I wish I could drive myself to the game, but my parents are getting the tires replaced on the other car, so I’m stuck back here. Mom’s driving, her usual travel mug filled with coffee even though it’s one-thirty in the afternoon.

“All right, listen up before I lose you to your phones,” Dad calls from the passenger seat. “We need to talk about something.”

I glance at Andrew nervously but he’s already scrolling through his phone. I elbow him. “Dad’s talking.”

“What?”

“Grandma fell last night,” Dad replies solemnly. There are bags under his eyes and his button-up is wrinkly. I noticed both Mom and Dad were quiet and exhausted this morning, but I figured it was just the stress of the move getting to them.

“Oh my god, is she okay?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

“She’s fine now. And Mom and I wanted to talk about some things first,” Dad says, and pauses to glance at Mom. She gives the smallest nod, as if giving him permission. “We think Grandma’s getting too old to live by herself.”

“Wait, are you going to move her into our house and make me and Quinn share a bedroom?” Andrew asks. “Because I can barely sit next to her on a short drive.”

“I’d rather live in the basement with the spiders than sleep next to you.”

“Stop. I don’t have the energy today,” Mom warns, glaring at us in the rearview mirror.

Guilt lodges in my ribs. She does sound especially tired—I’m not sure she’s even remembered to brush her hair.

“No, we aren’t moving her into our house. That wouldn’t help, since all of our bedrooms are on the second floor and we’re trying to get her away from stairs. We’re thinking a retirement community would be good. It wasn’t a bad fall this time, but we might not be that lucky in the future.”

I snort. Grandma move into a retirement home? With her piles of stuff and social schedule? I can’t imagine her living somewhere with mashed potatoes and removable teeth.

“No way. She’ll flip when she hears,” Andrew argues.

“Actually, for once I agree with Andrew.”

“You two aren’t being supportive at all,” Mom complains. She pats Dad on the leg. “We need to be united as a family throughout this to support your father. This isn’t going to be an easy time for anyone.”

“I’m on Grandma’s side on this one. Plus, my birthday is coming up, so I have to keep my priorities in mind.” Andrew grabs his bag from the floor of the SUV. “Right up there.” He points to the sidewalk outside the recreational center where his league has their winter practices and games.

Mom pulls over with a sigh, and Andrew climbs over me.

“We aren’t finished talking about this,” Dad calls out the door. But I’m sure we are. They hardly ever make Andrew do something he doesn’t want to do. Andrew holds up a hand to say goodbye.

“Have a good practice,” Mom calls, and pulls back onto the road to take me to Kashvi’s house. We’re having our first session—which means my first livestream—and my stomach has been churning about it all day. (And yesterday, too, honestly.) But this news about Grandma has distracted me.

I lean forward so my head is between their seats. “Is Grandma actually going to be okay?”

Dad gives me a soft smile. He is Grandma’s only son and they’ve always been close, even though we didn’t see her a lot when we lived hours away.

“Yeah, she’s feeling well enough that she even went to play pickleball this morning, despite my asking her to skip it.” He gives me a good-natured eye roll. “She’s a trouper.”

“Do you think she’ll agree to move?”

“Well…not at first.” He chuckles. “She’s never been one to do anything if it wasn’t her idea. But with time, she’ll come to see it’s for the best. No more stairs, no house maintenance to worry about, and she’ll be surrounded by new friends. She’ll love it.”

I’m not as convinced. It seems pretty harsh to make Grandma move when she’s not ready. She is an adult. But it sounds like one way or another, this is happening.

A few minutes later, we arrive at Kashvi’s house. “Should I text when I’m done?” I ask.

“We promised Andrew we’d watch his games later today,” Mom says. She takes a big sip of her coffee. “He has a doubleheader. Do you think one of your new friends could drop you off?”

I push away a flash of jealousy that they’re too busy with Andrew to come pick me up. I guess if I wanted to, I could ask them to watch our livestream, but it’s terrifying enough knowing that random strangers will be watching me soon. I’d completely clam up if I knew my parents were watching as well.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can get a ride. Wish Andrew luck.”

“Okay, have fun!” Mom says with obvious relief.

I climb out and wave as they drive away. Logan walks toward me on the sidewalk but does nothing to acknowledge me other than bob his head in my direction. Ugh, so he’s sticking with the cold demeanor.

Maybe I shouldn’t let him get to me, but it irritates me that he’s switched to acting so unfriendly and aloof. How are we supposed to be a real group if he won’t even acknowledge my presence? And wasn’t he the one who said group dynamics were so important?

“Hey,” I say defiantly.

He stops and turns his focus entirely on me. It’s warmer today than the typical gray February day in Ohio, and rather than wearing a coat, Logan is wearing a blue flannel shirt over a T-shirt. The shirt is snug and does nothing to hide the definition in his arms and shoulders. His brown hair looks lighter in the sun, and it swoops just slightly over his left eye in a way that’s almost begging for me to reach out and brush it up onto his forehead.

Basically, Logan is too hot for his own good (or mine) and I should have let him ignore me.

“How are you, Quinn?” he says softly. His gaze pins me in place like I’m an insect he’s just stuck to a board for a science project.

“I’m…good. Fine.” I glare at him so he can’t guess the thoughts rolling around in my mind.

“Excited for this afternoon?”

“I am.”

“Good. So am I.”

We stand there another second, staring at each other with nothing to say, before he turns away and marches through the front door. He doesn’t bother to knock, nor does he announce himself walking into their house. It feels rude to me, but I follow him anyway. Downstairs, the others are speaking in hushed tones. A nervous energy vibrates through the room, or maybe that’s just vibrating out of me and filling the space.

Sanjiv looks up in surprise as we enter. “Did you two come together?”

“No,” I blurt out.

“We got here at the same time,” Logan explains.

“This is going to be an interesting campaign,” Sloane says, looking back and forth between us.

“Can you give us any hints about what you have coming up?” Mark asks Sloane. He’s already at his seat with a half-full two-liter of Mountain Dew next to him. “You’re not going to try killing off Rolo in the first session, are you?”

Sloane mimes zipping their lips. “It wouldn’t be a good session if you knew what was coming.”

“Well, whatever you have planned, it won’t work. My newest dice came in.” He holds them up for the group. “Completely clear acrylic this time. No bubbles.”

“Does that matter?” I ask while pulling out my manuals.

“Of course it does! My problem before was that my dice weren’t weighted evenly. But with these I know there’s no bias. I’m about to make my character name obsolete!”

I chuckle and pour out my favorite dice from their velvet bag. I have so many sets at this point that it’s hard to remember them all. I love to collect them—the way some people collect snow globes or shot glasses—and I always use a different set for each character I play. Though I have enough now that I can rotate between dice sets from one session to the next, as long as the dice match the vibes of my character. Given that Nasria, my character, is a dwarf, I’m going with dice made of precious gems. They weren’t cheap, but my amethyst dice are perfect for this game. I need good rolls this afternoon and I’m betting on these.

“Ooh, those are gorgeous, ” Kashvi says, and picks one up to inspect it. “I always judge people by their dice.”

“I love yours as well.” Hers are blood-red with gold stamped numbers.

I’m trying to stay in the moment, but being back at the game table makes it impossible to keep away memories of my old gaming group. I met Paige in Spanish freshman year and we immediately became best friends. I’d never had a best friend before her. I’d had good friends, I’d been included in parties and group costumes for Halloween, but I’d never had someone I loved and trusted enough that I’d tell them everything. Paige knew every one of my insecurities, from the amount of freckles on my face to my sadness that Mom and Dad were always more excited about Andrew’s interests than they were about mine. I knew the details of Paige’s parents’ divorce and the fact that she’d gotten drunk with her cousins the summer before freshman year and told her parents it was food poisoning. We were inseparable, so when Caden asked Paige to play D&D, I joined too.

To Paige and Caden and the others, D&D was social time. Caden was our gaming clown—he’d do anything to make us laugh, doing crazy dances, eating nasty food, even mooning us (though I was quick to close my eyes for that). I’d never laughed as much as I laughed at D&D. Caden was also a huge flirt and constantly found ways to compliment me. He said he loved my long hair even when it was frizzy and unbrushed. He loved my jewelry and that I learned the D&D rules for my character and had opinions about the game. It was easy to be taken in by it. It was easy to flirt back because it felt like that was our pattern. He flirted, I flirted back, and we forgot about it as soon as we left the gaming table.

I’ve told myself over and over again to stop thinking about them. To stop wondering how they could have turned on me and what they say about me now. Do they have regrets? Does Paige ever think of me when she’s painting her nails or rewatching Stranger Things ? My brain won’t let the memories go, and they’re as painful as ever. Losing Paige, especially, is a wound I can’t stop scratching long enough for it to heal.

“Quinn,” Sloane says.

I jerk upright. I must have looked like I was in a trance.

“I brought those hats with me if you want to go through and find one you like?” They hold up a large tote bag.

“Oh, you remembered!” I push away the memories and shoot up from my chair. A quick look shows that the hats are all basically the same shape, but Sloane has made them in enough cool color combinations that it’s going to be hard to decide.

“What’s this? You’re giving away hats?” Kashvi asks.

“I guess? I’ve got more than enough, so take whatever you want.”

“We should all wear one,” I reply. I pull out a black and red hat that matches Mark’s shirt. “Here, try it on.”

“Sweet.” He pulls it down over his low ponytail.

“What do you think? I’m partial to purple, but this red one is pretty cool,” Kashvi says, holding up two options.

“I say…” I look at Sloane for confirmation.

They nod. “Both.”

Kashvi beams. “Awesome!”

Sanjiv takes a black and gray one from the top, and I’m immediately drawn to one with various gradients of green. It’ll go with so many of my clothes. I search deeper in the bag, not wanting to miss any, and come across one toward the bottom of the sack. It’s a little misshapen and big enough that it won’t fit me, which is too bad because I love the gray blue Sloane’s chosen. Much to my chagrin, it reminds me of Logan’s eye color. I can already imagine how much cuter he’d be with this beanie pulled low over his forehead. I bite my lip, wondering if I should shove it back to the bottom, but this little hat deserves to serve its life purpose.

“Here.” I drop it in front of Logan as I walk past him and back to my seat.

He looks up in surprise but doesn’t say anything.

“It’s time,” Sloane announces. “We’re good? Quinn, you’ve got this? Remember—try not to stare directly into the camera, don’t use your phone or start side conversations, and we try not to have a lot of dead air because it gets boring.”

“Dead air?”

“It’s when we’re all silent,” Kashvi explains, and puts a hand on my arm. “It’s just D&D. Play the way you have in the past and have fun. You’ve got this.”

I nod stiffly. I so don’t got this.

“It’s your first game with us,” Logan adds, and his expression is actually almost kind. “If you aren’t sure what to do, then it’s cool to hang back at the beginning while you get used to it. We’ll take the lead with the role-playing.”

Everyone nods. I give Sloane a nervous smile to say I’m ready.

“In three…two…one…” Sloane intones, and we all wait in silence. Then they sit up, looking more excited than they did a second ago, and I know we’re live.

My head swims and I force myself to keep a pleasant expression and focus on Sloane so that I don’t accidentally stare into the camera. The hope of the livestream is that viewers feel like they’re sitting in the room with us, experiencing the game just as we are, and if I’m calling attention to the camera or “breaking the fourth wall,” it ruins the illusion. That’s a lot easier said than done when all I want to do is check my hair and make sure I don’t suddenly have something large and green stuck in my teeth.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Don’t Split the Party. Today is the first session of our newest campaign, and I can’t wait to see what this group gets into. Particularly since we have a new player joining us.” Sloane smiles devilishly.