“Are you paying attention, Nina?” barked Leah. “They’re handing out the quiz sheets.”
“Yes, yes.”
She took the sheet from the quizmaster, who leaned over and said, “Ten dollars Quizzard beats the crap out of you.”
Nina frowned at him. “Howard, get a grip. We’re already one round ahead. It’ll be hard for them to catch up.”
Leah leaned over and poked the guy in the chest. “Hey, just because I wouldn’t go out with you, there is no need to drag trivia into it. This is an honorable sport, played by honorable people.”
“In honorable bars,” chimed in Carter.
“At honorable times,” concluded Lauren.
They all knew Howard because he traveled from bar to bar, running quiz nights. He called himself the King of Questions but was referred to by everyone else as QuizDick. He loved to wield his power, which was solely based on his having all the answers, and the team suspected he was responsible for getting them banned from the last place. “You guys are drunk. They’re going to wipe the floor with you.”
“I am not drunk,” said Nina. “I am stone cold sober, and I am going to take your bet and then I am going to take your money.”
Howard sneered, which was even less attractive than you might think, and sauntered away.
Over at the Quizzard table, the girl member of the team, Lisa, was making fun of Tom, the tall guy who Nina thought was dumb as a stump.
“You like that girl, don’t you?” She inclined her head half an inch in Nina’s direction.
Tom shook his head. “Not at all. She’s full of herself. And she’s really short.” He could have gone on to say she had skin like a peach and hair the color of an Irish setter and a mouth that was higher at one corner than the other and ankles that tapered just so . . . but he thought it might undermine his position.
Jack, another Quizzard, made a face. “You’re jealous because she knows more than you do.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Yes, she does. She seems to know everything.”
“No one knows everything.”
“I heard she works at a bookstore,” said Paul, the final member of the Quizzard team.
“Isn’t that cheating?” said Jack.
Tom looked at him. “I don’t think having a job is cheating, Jack. Lots of people have jobs.”
“Not me,” said Jack proudly. There was a pause while he considered whether or not that was something to boast about, but ultimately decided he was cool with it. “I’m an artist.”
“You’re a vandal,” said Lisa. “You write your name on the sides of buildings.”
“I’m exercising my right to political protest,” said Jack.
“You’ll be exercising your right to do community service,” replied Paul. He was a lawyer; he couldn’t help it.
Lisa, who had known Tom since high school, watched his face. He definitely liked that girl, the Book ’Em team leader. She looked over at the girl, who really was pretty in an unusual and interesting way, and wondered if they knew anyone in common. It was time Tom started dating again; enough time had passed since the last . . . disaster. She made a note to ask Jack which bookstore it was.
Howard tapped the microphone again. “Teams, let the battle commence. Pencils at the ready; the time starts . . . now.”
Three
In which Nina is surprised,
not necessarily in a good way.
Mornings were a bit of a challenge at Nina’s house.
In Nina’s imaginary life, which was the one she wished she were leading, rather than the one she’d been handed at birth, she would get up, wash her face with a variety of responsibly sourced products, shower in one of those showers with multiple heads (though she often wondered what happened when you bent down for the shampoo—Did you get a blast of water full in the face? That seemed rude), and then dress herself in comfortable but stylish clothes made of natural fibers picked by well-paid workers. Are you following all this? Then she would breakfast on fresh fruit and whole grains and yogurt made from milk freely donated by goats who had more than they needed for themselves. She would be grateful and mindful and not in any way blemished.
It was actually more like this: Nina would get up and her head would hurt because she drank wine that was at least 30 percent sulfites or whatever it is that causes headaches. Her mouth would feel like the inside of one of those single socks you see on the street sometimes, and her hair would be depressed. She would stand slightly crouched by the coffee maker and shiver until the coffee was done. Sometimes her glassy eyes would rest on her visualization corner and she would resent the steady way the planet whirled around the sun without consulting her at all. Day after day, night after night, rinse and repeat. Basically, until the first slug of caffeine hit her system, she was essentially in suspended animation, and she’d been known to drool.
Once she was caffeinated and showered, she was a whole new person. That person would take a second cup of coffee to the big armchair and pull out her planner and pencil box. She would decide what to eat and how she was going to exercise. She would make a shopping list. She would feel like her life was controlled and organized and heading in the right direction. It was the most satisfying part of her day.
Today she had a book club meeting, after which her plan was to come home and read until bedtime. She laid out some extra-fluffy pajama pants and socks in preparation. She made a note to get popcorn. She made a note to get mini marshmallows to go in her cocoa. And then she made a note to get cocoa. And milk. And then she looked on eBay for an interesting vintage cocoa mug, but then she noticed the time and closed everything and rushed off to work.
On the way to work, Nina felt pretty chirpy, and put in her earbuds and pretended she was in a movie, smiling at all the people who passed her and saying hello to the dogs. She had this fantasy a lot, that her life was like The Truman Show, that audiences all over the world were enjoying her playlist and hairstyle as much as she was. She would angle her face to the sun to help the lighting guy, or look over her shoulder to give the camera back there something to do. In public Nina was a quiet, reserved person; in private she was an all-singing, all-dancing cavalcade of light and motion. Unless she was a quivering ball of anxiety, because that was also a frequently selected option. She was very good at hiding it, but anxiety was like her anti-superpower, the one that came out unbidden in a crisis. The Hulk gets angry; Nina got anxious. Nina had a lot of sympathy for Bruce Banner, particularly the version played by Mark Ruffalo, and at least she had Xanax. He only had Thor.
Nina reached Larchmont Boulevard, with its artisanal hat and cheese shops (two different shops; that would be a weird combination, especially in warm weather), and turned into her favorite café to grab a gluten-free low-fat bran muffin. Just kidding, it was a chocolate croissant.
“Hi, Nina,” said Vanessa, a friend of hers who worked there. “What’s new?”
“Surprisingly little,” Nina said. “I’ll have a chocolate croissant.”
“The breakfast of champions.”
“French champions.”
“Champignons?”
Nina said, “I think that means mushrooms.” She sounded more confident than she was.