Monday morning, Charlie entered school, stunned to find his picture everywhere. Posters lined every hallway. Dozens and dozens. His face dominated the building.
The occasional posters of MARY FOR STUDENT BODY PRESIDENT were dwarfed by the posters for Charlie. All different styles and themes, as if a dozen elves had come in overnight and hammed away for hours. CHARLIE FOR PRESIDENT—BECAUSE HE’S THE SHIZ! CHARLIE FOR PRESIDENT—YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT! with his head superimposed over a shirtless bodybuilder in a Speedo. DON’T BE A CUCK—VOTE FOR CHUCK! with Pepe the Frog giving two thumbs-up.
Who the hell made these? Who had hung them? Charlie imagined Mary coming to school this morning, bright and early, ready to start her campaign. It must have been a smack in the face. Sure, they had set each other free. But this didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like malice.
Vanhi was in the Tech Lab. “Who did those posters?” he asked.
“Forget that. Listen to what happened to Kenny.” Kenny was there, looking worse for wear. He favored his right leg and had a vicious grass burn along his right arm.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“I would’ve told you if you answered my texts.”
“What texts?”
“I texted, I called. I even went by your house last night.”
“I was out. You left messages?”
“Home and cell.”
“I got nothing.”
“It cut us off from each other.”
He told them about going to see Eddie. The attack by the car.
“Jesus. What about you, Vanhi? Did anything happen?”
She could have told them about the brick. But Charlie had lied to her about his application. Or had he? Either way, the Game had made her an offer. She hadn’t said yes, but she hadn’t said no. If she told, it might go away.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
There was a knock at the door. They exchanged wary looks. Vanhi went to the door, and when she opened it, of all people Mr. Burklander was there. He looked way better than the last time Charlie saw him, after his car was destroyed—like Charlie’s father, he seemed to have a new lease on life.
“Good morning, guys. Charlie, can we talk for a second?”
Charlie wondered what it was about. He glanced at Vanhi and Kenny, who shrugged.
Charlie nodded at Mr. B. “Sure.”
Once they were alone in the hall, Mr. B. said, “Look, I feel bad about the other day. I shouldn’t have said those things in front of a student. You caught me at a bad moment.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“But maybe there’s a bright side, if it inspired you to prove me wrong with those posters.”
Mr. B. said it almost hopefully, as if he wanted Charlie to confirm that he’d had a teachable moment, that Mr. B. had finally cracked the code to redeeming him.
Charlie just managed to nod. He didn’t have the heart to tell Mr. B. he had no idea who put the posters up, but it wasn’t Charlie, and it wasn’t because Mr. B. was a miracle worker.
“Did you put those up today because I mentioned the Harvard recruiter would be here?”
Charlie didn’t even know how to answer. He shrugged. “Not exactly. I just … well, I put up that one poster last week, that you made.” That much was true. “Then the weekend came.…” That was also true: a weekend had occurred. Charlie decided to quit there.
Mr. Burklander nodded, happy to accept that his starter poster had been a key step in Charlie’s turnaround.
“Well, he is here today, and I want you to meet him. I think this could be the beginning of a new phase for you, Charlie. I’ve wanted that for a very long time.”
All Charlie could manage was “Thank you.”
When he came back into the lab, Vanhi said, “What was that about?”
“He wants me to meet the Harvard recruiter.”
Charlie thought she might be happy—after all, she had kept pushing their pact. But she didn’t look happy at all. “Why?”
“Well, I mean, the posters…”
“I thought you didn’t do those posters.”
“I didn’t.”
“You quit the Game. I did everything it asked. Why’s it helping you?”
“I don’t know.”
Vanhi shook her head. “It’s so unfair. I made a delivery. What have you risked in the Game?”
“What delivery?”
“Never mind. It obviously doesn’t even matter because now you’re meeting the recruiter and I’m not. And you lied to me about starting an application. And using your mom’s…” Vanhi stopped midsentence, but it was too late—the angry, hurtful words had already tumbled out.
Charlie knew what she was about to say—using his mom’s illness in his essay. Something he’d promised himself he’d never do. And it was true, he had started an application, late one night, just to see how it felt, to see if he might find a way back toward a future. But he’d closed the application—unfinished and unsubmitted—ashamed of his essay, and never opened it again.
But now she’d spied on that in the Game? And thrown it back in his face? He glared at her.
“Unfair?” he snapped. “You have a fucking mom, and a dad who hasn’t lost his mind. Why shouldn’t I have a little good luck? You really want to talk about fair?”
“Guys,” Kenny said softly, trying to pull them back.
“I didn’t mean…” A look of sorrow was on Vanhi’s face.
“I was first in our class. I was class president. Then that happened. Maybe I’m not ahead—maybe the Game just put me back where I belong. Ahead of you.”
“Charlie…” Kenny put a hand on Charlie’s wrist, but he shrugged it off.
“We were gonna go together…,” Vanhi said weakly.
“That was a fairy tale. Maybe it always you or me.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Vanhi said.
Kenny closed his eyes, feeling what the Game had done to them.
Charlie left without another word, slamming the door behind him.
Kenny started to say something, but Vanhi just held up her hand, staring at the door as if Charlie were still there.
She knew exactly what she had to do.
Charlie had just made the choice exceedingly easy.