“Let’s leave the door open,” suggested Nick. He rested his chin on the back of the chair and peered hopefully into the canister of Pringles, but the chips had long departed to higher (or lower, depending on one’s perspective) dimensions.
“Why?” asked Mike from the floor, groaning softly as he tried to twist his arm into a position that did not remind the limb of its old injury.
“If people’re going to get drunk and celebrate,” agreed Zach, “I’ll rather not…you know…be there.”
“Oh com’on,” said Nick. “There’s hardly anyone back yet. It’s New Years!”
“I realized,” said Mike.
“We realized,” said Zach, at the same time. They looked at each other.
Someone knocked on the door.
“I’ll get it,” grumbled Nick finally, as that no one else had moved. He wondered who it could be.
“Yeah let’s not all volunteer at once now,” muttered Mike, as Nick opened the door.
“Hi,” said the guy standing there, to Nick. Then he peered around Nick. “Hey,” he said, to the other two occupants of the room.
“Um, hi,” said Nick.
“Hey,” said Mike.
Zach lifted a hand in acknowledgement.
The guy beamed at them, then left abruptly. Nick, left standing confusedly for a moment, let the door close and turned to face his friends.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“I thought you knew him,” said Zach, puzzled.
“I thought he knew you,” said Mike to Zach.
“Me?” asked Zach.
“You guys don’t know him?” asked Nick, bewildered.
“Are you sure you don’t know him?” asked Mike.
“This,” said Zach significantly, “is why we should leave the door closed.”
Someone knocked on the door again.
How was it that he could have all his relatives in a different country and all his friends in one room and still have people knocking, outside of his door on New Year’s Eve? Except Nick shouldn’t be surprised at all anymore, as that he was in an
However, certain knowledge, such as the statistical possibility of a potato knocking, did not encourage certain behaviours, such as opening the door.
“I’ll get it,” sighed Zach finally, completely free from any potato-induced paranoia, and carefully stepping over Mike’s feet, an empty popcorn bag, and an abandoned can of grape soda to reach the door.
“I wonder who it is,” Nick wandered out loud.
“Don’t we all,” Mike groaned again and rolled over, resting his head on his arms.
“Hi,” said a completely different strange guy, standing in front of the door. “We’re starting a game of Assassins and if you’d like to join…” he waved a vague hand that could’ve either indicated the air around him, the south side of the hall, or an invisible companion. “We’re meeting in the lounge right now.”
“Okay,” said Zach.
“The game starts in about ten minutes, I think,” said the completely different strange guy, beamed at them as done by the original strange guy, and disappeared around the corner.
“OOooh can we play?” asked Mike, who had, sometimes within the past few seconds, jumped to his feet. He looked excited which, Nick reflected, was a good reason for him to be nervous.
“What’s Assassins?” He asked.
“Good question,” said Zach, looking at Mike.
Mike gave them such a disgruntled look that Nick couldn’t help but smile.
“You guys,” Mike announced, as he tapped away at his laptop, “are absolutely hopeless. Here. Read.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Zach, skimming the screen.
“Aw, but you love us anyway, right, Michael?” Nick grinned at the expression on Mike’s face then bent, likewise, to read the googled explanation for the game. Or at least he assumed it was a game.
“Angh,” said Mike.
“No actual killing will be involved, right?” asked Zach.
“Our building has four floors,” said Nick.
“I know, it’s going to be awesome.”
“Hm,” said Zach, who, being raised in the English language, was the first to finish. He looked dubious. “We’re going to run around like maniacs on New Year’s Eve?”
“Lots of people run around like maniacs on New Year’s Eve,” Mike was reasonable.
“Sounds interesting,” concluded Nick.
“Com’on, Nick’ll do it,” pleaded Mike, when Zach looked dubious, and when that argument failed to work, he tried the Little Boy Look: lowering his eyes and looking up through his lashes. “Please?”
It looked ridiculous. It looked ridiculous and yet it worked for Mike in most cases, especially with females. As far as Nick knew Zach was the only person who appeared to be immune to it. He himself never managed to hold up under any sort of pleading, despite of having a younger sibling, and Mike, when he tried to be cute was…well, it worked for him.
“Come on, Zach,” he heard himself say. “It’s New Year’s.” Mike flashed him a sideways grin, knowing that his efforts were rewarded, even if not necessarily on the right person.
“Hm,” said Zach, again. “You know, as far as a logical argument goes, that’s the worst I’ve ever heard.” When they just continued to stare at him, he sighed and said, smiling helplessly. “This’s a loosing argument though, isn’t it? Despite of logic?”
“Oh yes,” said Nick cheerfully.
“Ya think?” said Mike. “Com’on, we’re going to miss the game!”
“Alright,” announced the guy, whose name was Brian. “Everyone’s introduced themselves already so…everyone knows who they’re supposed to assassinate?”
“There’re twenty-two of us and four floors. Individual rooms are off limits and bathrooms are safe zones. When you’re ‘dead’ you can either return to your room or go in any of the floor lounges but of course you can’t participate in the game anymore.”
“The time limit’s for the first game’s
A very pointed cough.
“Or best gal win. Let’s go.”
With a few giggles and a sudden rush of footsteps, they scattered throughout the floors, running, dodging, laughing through the lighted corridors on the eve of New Years.
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I think Susan wanted me to post parts 2 and 3 for her. Right? Sorry, Susan, the emails were a bit unclear on that.
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