“Seriously,” I agree. “We have no chance.”
“Nah, we need to get rid of Ryan,” Kevin says, peering at me through his little round glasses.
My head rears back. “Hey! What did I do?”
“You’re being too moody. You need to be voted out.”
“I agree,” Marshall grumbles. “Get rid of the grumpy one.”
“Now that’s saying something,” Chase says under his breath.
I look pleadingly at Aaron. “Don’t vote me out. I don’t need that.”
Aaron shrugs. “It’s all about the game, man.”
Whatever. I have an immunity card, so if they try to vote me out, I’m still safe. I’ll just play it after the votes are cast. We all shut our eyes and take turns dropping our vote cards in the slot of the box that represents the player we want out, while everyone else drums their hands on the table. It seems very childish, but for some reason, we all love it. Well, usually I love it. Today I’m just going through the motions.
“You may open your eyes,” Marshall says, and the drumming stops.
He asks if anyone wants to play an advantage or idol, and I proudly pull my card out, slapping it on the table. “Boom!”
Marshall picks up the card. “This is an immunity card. Any votes cast against Ryan will not count.”
“Double boom!” Chase says, slapping a card on the table. “Idol nullifier.”
My jaw drops. “What? Where did you even find that?” I want to slap the smug grin off his face.
“It was tucked in the box, hidden away. I added it to my deck when you all weren’t watching.”
“Dude, that’s totally cheating.”
“Is it? It’s Survivor. You can’t cheat. There really aren’t any rules.”
Marshall inspects the card and nods. “All right. All votes cast against Ryanwillcount.”
I throw my hands up in the air, my cards flying around me, and heave a giant sigh. Marshall counts the votes—four votes against me, and one against Chase. My vote.
I stand and stretch. “Cool, guys. Thanks for ruining my one night of fun.”
“Hey, you’re still on the jury!” Chase points out.
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Let’s take a break,” Aaron says, easing the tension. He grabs the empty chips bowl from the center of the table. “I think it’s time for a refill anyway.” He takes the container to the kitchen, Marshall heads to the restroom, and Kevin moves to the couch to scroll on his phone. He’s probably competing in some online poker tournament while we’ve been playing Survivor.
I pace over to the corner of the room and back to the table.
Chase points at my seat. “Dude. Sit. Chill.”
I take a seat, hitting the chair hard.
Chase shakes his head. “What’s gotten into you? You’re never this sore of a loser.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Is this really about Claire?”
I grimace, and he raises his brows. That’s enough of an answer for him. How pathetic.
