“Aw, look at the E-man all tuckered out,” Jay said during halftime. Roman glanced over to find Ezra curled up in his favorite chair, fast asleep, with one knee tucked into his chest and the other only slightly less bent. His hands were folded underneath his cheek as a pillow, the headphones still covering his perfect, elfin ears. The stress of preparing and executing the party had likely exhausted him. Roman grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and tucked it around him tightly, the way Ezra liked to be “burritofied,” then took up a seat on the ottoman in front of him, just in case he woke up later and was disoriented.
When he turned his attention back to his friends, they were all staring at him with varying degrees of amusement and delight.
“What?” he asked, defensive.
Naturally, Jay was the first one to speak. “That. Is. Precious. Better wake him up, though. He promised to wear my jersey for the second half.”
“I dare you to try it,” Roman said with a snarl. Wisely enough, Jay didn’t.
8
Fun and Games
Ezra was in a Bad Mood. “Hate” was a strong word but it was safe to say heseverelydisliked Preston Robertson. He came home Saturday night after gaming club with what his mother would call a bee in his bonnet, went straight to his bedroom, and slammed the door. He sat the middle of his quadrilateral island and hugged his knees to his chest. When he was upset like this, he liked to be rolled up in a ball and squeezed tightly, like a Bakugan. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock and Roman’s muffled voice calling, “Ezra?”
“Yes?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.” If it had been anyone else, the answer would be no, but Roman was special. Ezra liked having Roman in his personal space, even when he was upset. Roman came in and sat down across from him on the carpet, tucking himself up like Ezra just to make him smile. Ezra shoved him a little so that he rolled onto his side and had to catch himself with his hands. He was wearing a tight gray shirt that outlined his pectoral muscles and, as Ezra noted, his nipples were hard. Ezra looked away. He couldnothandle a biological response right now.
“What’s up, cutie? You seem upset.”
“I am extremely upset at a friend, noacquaintanceof mine named Preston Robertson.”
“What did he do?” Roman’s big hands curled into fists, and he looked like he wanted to “smash some skulls.”
“He cheated in Risk,” Ezra said. “It was an epic game. Dev and Indira had been eliminated hours earlier, and I was close to completing my mission of conquering Asia and Africa, which is not at all easy, but Preston cheated.”
“How did he cheat?”
“He did this thing with the dice.” Ezra simulated dropping dice on the rug. “You’re supposed torollthe dice, notdropthe dice. He kept getting sixes, which is highly advantageous in Risk. It’s statistically impossible for him to get as many sixes as he did. And he was so…jerkyabout it.”
“I hate it when people cheat,” Roman said.
“Me too.”
“Were you at gaming club all day?”
“Yes, I’m the president. I’m in charge of making sure the games are put away and the room is locked when we leave. Why?”
“I missed you.”
Ezra rolled his eyes and smiled. “But Ilivehere.”
“I know, but I like it when you spend your diversionary days with me.”
It wasn’t possible to do very often, since their diversions were so different. Roman played football on Saturdays while Ezra met with his gaming club. It didn’t usually take up the entire day, but you really couldn’t start a game of Risk without clearing your schedule.
“What is Risk anyway?” Roman asked.
Ezra stared at his roommate in disbelief. “You’ve never heard of Risk?”
“No.”
“It’s a game of diplomacy, conflict, and conquest, and the goal is global domination.”
“Sounds intense.” Roman glanced over at Ezra’s bookshelf and scanned his collection of board games, of which Risk was one of them. “You could teach me,” he said. “We could play it here. I promise I won’t cheat.”
