I glanced behind me, my hands shaking at this invasion. I’d make a terrible spy. I slid it out and opened the cover.
My journal had an entire semester’s worth of cramped writing. Page after page filled with stories and nonsense.
Tristan’s journal, in contrast, had half-finished pages and places where the handwriting and ink color didn’t match. Maybe where he’d been revising the past for laughs.
A loose page slipped out, missing a corner—the entry I’d come for. I grabbed it and left, not wanting to be caught in the act of stealing. Even if I was only taking back what was mine.
Back at my desk, I flattened the page, adrenaline in my mouth from the double tension of having committed a nefarious act of espionage and of anticipating the words Tristan had read, the words that had hurt Alfie.
But none of those words were there.
What I’d journaled was in a way so much worse.
Long day. I’m a wee bit woozy from all the festivities, but with all my tests and—
Something illegible.
Went downtown and ran into the twins, Thad and Perry, who bought me a round. Who would say no? Some other kids from comm class showed up. Daphne, Sean, Alfie, and I hit some of the bars on Toomer’s Corner.
It was getting late, and my head was spinning, so maybe I dreamed the last thing that happened. Out of nowhere Tristan appeared. I practically swooned into him, and he caught me. I grabbed his shirt to steady myself, and next thing I knew, he was kissing me. Maybe he was drunk, too. Maybe I imagined it.
He’s not answering my texts, so maybe I did.
I remember I fell backward into a chair and missed. I may have broken my tailbone from hitting the floor. I guess I’ll know tomorrow.
It didn’t exactly absolve me, but at least I hadn’t been as evil as Tristan had painted me. Still, I’d chummed around with Alfie and then sailed on past him.
I turned the page over and there, in pencil, I found Tristan’s version of events. He’d melded together two recollections into one fiction with enough truth woven in to wreak havoc.
Had Alfie’s shared memory been real, or had Tristan made him recall things slightly differently?
I wanted to show it all to Alfie, but this was old news, letters from a battle we’d already waged. What I should have stolen were Tristan’s actual journal pages to deconstruct his revisionist history.
I stepped down the hall, but as soon as I neared Reynold’s doorway, Tristan swung around the corner.
“Hey, Sierra.”
For a beat, I considered telling him what I’d discovered, but it seemed prudent to keep it to myself. “So, are you working here, now?”
“They’re running the background check now. Reynold seems to like me.”
He paused, but one foot continued to point away from me.
“Are you going to do the demo in Germany?”
“I don’t know. I guess. If they asked me to, why wouldn’t I?”
I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “You know that’s the whole reason I entered the contest. I needed to prove I could do that demo. It’s my only chance to go to the con.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I entered the contest to win the money so I could seed my comic book, but you didn’t seem to care.”
“But you’re getting a job here, right?”
“No thanks to you. I begged you to get me in here, and this guy Reynold had no trouble finding me a position.”
He’d used me. He’d totally used me. I pointed from him to me. “So what was all this about?”
“I like you, Sierra. I really do.” His earnest expression gave way to that competitive smirk I knew all too well from contest nights. “And I’ll still like you when I win the contest, and when I start working here. And when I demo your game in Germany.”
I had to get away before I punched him in the eye. How had I ever found him remotely attractive?
“Fuck you, Tristan.”
“I’d still be open to that.”
“You’re never going to work here.”
At least that wiped the smug smile off his face before I turned and stormed back to my office.
I stewed for an entire day, considering threatening to quit if Reynold hired Tristan, but after battling demonic hordes in Diablo, my anger began to dissipate. A cold plan began to form in its place.
I kept letting Tristan off the hook for everything he’d done. He’d behaved way worse than Alfie toward me since forever, so why had I kept forgiving him when I couldn’t forgive Alfie for one misstep, literally the same transgression I’d given Tristan a pass on?
In a fit of rage, I’d told Alfie it was because I didn’t care about Tristan—which nobody would have believed based on history. And yet it was true. I’d been fascinated by him, but how could I care about him when I never really knew him? He’d always been more like a computer simulation than a real person. How could I get mad at artificial intelligence? Might as well hold a grudge against a computer-generated Donkey Kong.
Whenever he hurt me, I shook it off because it was the way the game had been programmed. His behavior was as predictable as code. I’d never truly cared for him because I knew he could never care for me.
Tristan had always done what was best for Tristan.
When Alfie hurt me, it was real. When Alfie hurt me, I bled.
* * *
By Wednesday, I knew what I needed to do, so I texted Reynold and asked him to meet me. As Marco and I drove in, I asked, “Who’s running the background check on Tristan?”
“Actually”—he grinned—“Aida handed the reins over to me. She’s registered her vote of no confidence. I’m assuming you’re opposed. Reynold’s got a bug up his ass about that boy for some reason. That leaves me to take a side.”
“Put me out of my misery. Are we hiring him?”
A little smile played at his lips as he parked. “What do we look for in our employees?”
“The quest for the Holy Grail?” We sought talent, experience, and some indefinable quality that couldn’t be captured on paper. A work ethic. A passion for the games. But above all, no assholes.
He nodded and slipped a paper out of his leather messenger bag. “Tell me what you see?”
I scanned down Tristan’s work history and looked back at Marco. “He’s a shoe salesman?”
“Yes. This paper doesn’t reveal what an asshole he is, but I can prove Tristan lacks the experience to work in our graphic arts department.”
“He really was a salesman.” I started to laugh, but then realized what that meant. “Reynold may still hire him for the demo based on this.”
Marco winced. “I guess that part is up to you.”
An hour later, I tapped on Reynold’s door. He waved me in. “What did you need, Sierra?”
“Another chance.” I crossed the office to approach his desk, more confident than I felt. “You threw me off my game by bringing Tristan in.”
He shrugged. “I did give you a chance, but you fumbled it.”
“I know the game. I can do this. What would convince you, Reynold?”
He banged his fist into the desk. “Fire, Sierra. I need to see some passion. Sell. The. Game.”
“I can do that.” I wasn’t sure I could, but I couldn’t let him see me blink. “Please give me another chance.”