Jason Hammond and Brent Cage from across the hall are already in the room when I arrive, but as we get ourselves situated and start passing around snacks, more and more people show up. Landon and another guy from the basketball team whose name I don’t catch. I meet Nick Ontiveros, whom Jenna’d suggested to set me up with, and wonder if that’s somehow her doing. Even Archie shows up, immediately gracing me with a scowl as he takes a seat across from me at the table. (Duncan, unfortunately, is nowhere to be found, which is a shame—I would’ve loved taking his money, even now that he keeps his mouth shut around me.)

We’re already three hands deep into Texas Hold’em by the time the girls show up and make themselves at home on Matt’s and Salem’s beds, and, in Ashleigh’s case, on Landon’s lap. None of them feign an interest in playing, but Isabel does perch over me and go, “Ooh, is having five aces good?”—which I can tell would piss the crap out of Archie if he weren’t torn between his annoyance at the joke and his gratitude for the view down her shirt.

Meanwhile, I’m keeping things low-key as I pick up everyone’s tells, because this is not a sophisticated group. Archie straight-up smiles and frowns, and tries to hide it quickly. Salem’s foot taps when he can’t wait to make his next move, but if he knows it’s going nowhere, he starts scratching his name into the table with his thumbnail, as if he’s already checked out of this hand. Landon compulsively checks his hole cards—there’s always someone who does, and depending on at what point they do it, it’s a dead giveaway—but even if he didn’t, Ash can’t stop herself from smiling when he has an obviously good hand. Brent can’t remember all the rules, so if he looks confused, he either doesn’t have anything or might have a flush but forgets that’s a thing. Matt always reaches for his chips too early when he’s got a good hand—rookie mistake. Jason’s the only one who’s halfway decent at bluffing, but unfortunately for him, he keeps tilting his cards so they reflect perfectly in his glasses.

I take the fourth hand with three jacks, then bluff my way to a win for the fifth.

“What’d you have?” Archie asks, trying and failing to keep his voice casual as I rake in the pile of chips, including a sizable contribution from him that makes me wonder what he was holding before he panicked after my second raise.

I stack up my winnings. “Your mom.”

“Real mature. Did it beat a straight?”

“Did you seriously fold with a straight?”