Dating and Dragons (Dungeons and Drama, #2) (13)

“You’d have to get in line for me, and it’s twenty girls deep nowadays,” Sanjiv adds.

Kashvi snorts. Logan is the only one to stay silent. When I look over, his eyes are on the table.

“No snarky comments from you?” I ask.

His eyes dart up to mine and my stomach flips over. “Not this time.”

For a moment I forget the annoying know-it-all in front of me and remember the boy I first saw from the passenger side of Grandma’s car. The one with kind eyes and a ready smile that made my pulse quicken. Is it possible that this rule is the reason he’s been so rude and reluctant to have me join—because it means we could never date?

But as soon as the thought enters my mind, I push it away. Honestly, we barely know each other, so it’s wildly arrogant to assume that’s the reason. More likely he’s just annoyed that I’m coming in and disrupting the group dynamics he’s gotten used to. It was clear from the livestream that Logan is the group leader, and he probably isn’t excited about change.

I roll my shoulders and turn away from him. The charming boy I met before this D&D game is gone, and I have no interest in the one sitting across from me now. But what I do want is a community. Friends.

“The rules sound fine to me,” I tell the group. “When do we start?”





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’s up?”

“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.”