Free Romancing the Nerd by Leah Rae Miller Page B

the definition of unlucky, Z.”
    I don’t care about the note of concern in his voice. I still roll my eyes at him.
    I turn to Tommy and nod. “I cast it.”
    These types of moments don’t happen often during gameplay. This is potentially life or death. Everyone watches, breath held, as I toss a twenty-sided die onto the coffee table. The die tumbles, clicking its way across the glossy wood, then stops. We all lean in, my helmet bumping against Dan’s head, to see the outcome.
    It’s a ten. Bronla, the character I’ve been working on for months and months, is so dead.

Chapter Eight
     
    Dan
     
    Wow. Just wow. That was the most heartbreaking thing I believe I’ve ever seen. I felt so bad for Zelda earlier at the game that I didn’t even say, “I told you so.” When that ten fell, silence flattened the room. It took a good minute or two before Tommy spoke.
    “Okay, so let’s do the math.” He tapped away at his calculator, all the while mumbling, “maybe, just maybe,” but in the end that ten, even with some generous multipliers from Gregor’s vamp, didn’t get the job done. The sphinx knocked Zelda beyond incapacitation and into death the next round. But Zelda’s move did distract it long enough for the fairy to ping off the sphinx’s last few health points.
    I thought about trying to comfort Zelda, but for the first time in months I didn’t want to see her turn to me with vibrant fury in her eyes. I wanted her to be happy, to feel better, and I knew nothing I could say would accomplish that, no matter how sincere I sounded.
    After experience points were solemnly dealt out, Julie grabbed an in-shock Zelda by the shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll never forget what you did. Bronla will live on in my character’s mind for eternity.”
    “Thanks,” Zelda said in a timid voice.
    I recognized that voice. I heard it when we watched The Lion King together in ninth grade during the scene when Simba’s dad dies. I heard it when Zelda called to tell me about her dad forgetting to send her a birthday card. I knew what that tone of voice meant, and the sound of it made my cold, black heart turn to a pile of mush.
    The others left the room then, but Zelda didn’t seem to want to move. She just kind of stood there staring at that stupid ten, still hugging her character sheet to her chest.
    I couldn’t say anything, and I wouldn’t leave her there, so instead I put my hand on her upper back as lightly as I could. I steered her down the stairs, through the house, and into the backyard. People stared and whispered as we passed because news travels during a LARP game just like it does in a small town: quick and super exaggerated.
    I found Maddie and Logan sitting together on the porch swing. “Maddie?” I called.
    She looked up, a frown immediately taking over her face. “Oh, Zelda, I’m so sorry. Come with me.” They disappeared back into the house and I dropped onto the seat with Logan.
    “Dude…” he said.
    I rubbed the back of my neck to hopefully relieve some tension. “I know.”
    “That sucks.”
    “I know.”
    He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “I mean, people outside of this might think it’s silly to get all worked up over a fictional character, but when you create something, put time and effort into making it better, deal with it for months, then just like that”—he emphasized his words with a snap of his fingers—“it’s gone? That can really take a toll on a person.”
    “So true.”
    I didn’t see Zelda for the rest of the night, which is why I’m now staring at my phone debating on whether or not to give her a call to confer my condolences. There’s a quick one-knock on my door and Dad steps into my room. “How did everything go at the fund-raiser?”
    I’ve been dreading this. I flipping hate lying to my parents. “Great. Nothing crazy to report.”
    “Are you sure? Nothing at all?” What is he doing? He’s acting weird. He shuffles around my