“No!” Harper says, her expression bright again. “We’re short a player on our team. Jack, you’re with us.”
I don’t know how this has happened. Maybe I have a concussion after all, and this is all some trauma-induced hallucination. But the next thing I know, I’m standing in the center of the group and Marci is handing me a bowl with a bunch of folded slips of paper. I take one and stare at it so long that someone laughs and asks, “You know how to play charades, right?”
Everyone’s watching me expectantly, and I don’t know the names of at least half the people in the room. And for once, I feel bad about it. I’ve resented them because I’ve resented being here, but right now, as they’re huddled around and clearly having fun together, I can see they’re not all the blank robots I assumed they were. They aren’t co-opting this experience. If anything, I’ve been spoiling my own experience by not getting to know them. We’re all trying to do a job. They’re just more committed to enjoying themselves than I have been.
“I know how to play.”
I glance at David. I hold out four fingers.
“Hey.” Harper snaps her fingers. “Wrong team. Eyes over here.”
They try. I’ll give them that much. But knowing how to play charades doesn’t mean I’m any good at it. They get the first word pretty easily, but after that it falls apart pretty quickly.
“Me Tarzan, you Jane!” Harper shouts.
“I’ll be back!” someone else calls.
“That’s not four words.” A young woman—maybe her name is Nadine? I guess I should know this—says.
“Sure it is. I will be back.”
“That’s not how he says it.”
“Can we focus, please?” I say as they all start repeating “I’ll be back” in terrible accents, then laughing.
“No talking,” Harper says. She’s staring at me so intently it’s like she’s trying to see inside my brain since clearly none of my acting is helping.
My blood pressure is rising, and the side of my head aches. I can’t help myself when I check over my shoulder. David’s watching me, lips pressed tight together to contain his smile or his laughter or both.
This is humiliating.
But everyone around me appears to be having a great time, regardless of how I’m doing.
“Thirty seconds!” Marci calls from her spot by the flip chart.
I square my posture. My team leans in like I’m about to make a great revelation.
Instead, I hold up four fingers again.
“Four words,” they say in unison.
I point at my chest.
“Me,” they all shout.
And that’s where I get stuck again. I try my best, waving my hands at the floor trying to show them what I mean, but they all start shouting random words again.
“Splatter.”
“Tail.”
“Fart!” Harper shouts it so loud she nearly falls off the couch, and then everyone is laughing again. I grind my teeth in frustration.
“Time!” Marci calls. Everyone around me groans while the other team whoops.
“That was awful,” Nadine laughs.
“It was really hard,” I say. I’m out of breath. “The last word especially was—”
