“Only that I cannot extrapolate from that data.”
“Sorry to be complicated.”
“You are complex,” he said, and absently ate a marshmallow before frowning.
“There’s a difference?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“One is annoying. One is fascinating.”
“Are you comparing me to a computer code right now?”
He turned bright red and stuffed his mouth again, then immediately grimaced and tried to swallow. It was the strongest reaction she’d managed to get out of him aside from the moment she met him.
She didn’t know why she felt such an urge to provoke him, or to get to know him. They were never going to see each other again.
They played more hands, winning marshmallows back and forth. She didn’t notice at first that he was getting better and she was losing more until she got the most promising hand she’d had yet and went all in.
“You don’t have it,” he said.
She froze. “What are you talking about?”
“Given my cards and the ones we’ve played, you’re looking for a full house, or two pair. But they’re already gone.”
“Wait, are you counting cards?” she asked.
“How the hell else do you play this game?”
“That’s cheating!”
He snorted. “No one can outlaw the ability to do math.” He examined their spread of marshmallows. “You went way further than you should.”
“‘Cause I’m bluffing. I’m not playing the cards. I’m playing you. And you, sir, are an open book.”
“My pack freaks out because they don’t know what the hell I’m thinking. They say I have a great poker face.”
“Maybe they don’t know you like I do,” she said as a throwaway line, and they both froze.
“You really can read my face?” he asked.
“Well, that, and you play it straight. The only way to win this game, aside from the blast of luck that you might get once when the stars align, is to win the hands you shouldn’t.”
“Or you calculate the likelihood of that gigantic stroke of luck so you’re ready for it,” he said and lay down a straight.
“Why didn’t you go all in?” she asked, staring at the perfect little row of numbers.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Because you make no sense. You risk when you should hold, and you bluff when you have nothing.”
“That is the definition of a bluff.”
“But not when I know you have nothing!”
“Because you’re not supposed to be counting cards!” She laughed, and after a second, he did too.
“I should probably get to work,” he said slowly.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but we don’t have the internet. Or a computer.”
He grinned. “Since I can’t call a helicopter, I need some way to get out of here that isn’t your snowshoes.”
