Free The Game Player by Rafael Yglesias

It took a moment before I realized with shock that my pleasure was not sensible (that I had a good chance of getting into a fine university) but irrational—it might persuade Brian to go to Hills. “Well,” I said, “I’d rather go to a school here, as long as it won’t hurt me academically.”
    He smiled. “It might hurt you academically. You have to be a straight-A student at Hills. You wouldn’t at Staunton.” His eyes danced with pleasure as he measured his effect. “Besides, Staunton’s a better school, so it follows that you’re taught more.”
    â€œI’d still rather stay here. Besides, there are no girls at Staunton.”
    He made a scornful sound that was only barely a laugh. “You’d really be missing a lot, huh?”
    My mind worked frantically to determine what he was about to insult me with. “Wouldn’t you miss girls?” I asked, my voice hesitating.
    â€œI didn’t mean that.” His eyes pushed at me. “Do you expect to screw a lot at Hills?”
    â€œWell—I don’t—Yeah, I hope to!”
    He laughed for real now, rocking slowly back and forth, in time with his chuckles.
    â€œYou don’t think so, huh?”
    â€œYou know, you’re a Jew. Do you know that?” He stopped when he saw my look of genuine horror. “I’m not calling you a Jew, you idiot. Stop looking like that. I mean you are Jewish. None of the non-Jewish girls will go out with you and the Jewish girls will only take you if they can’t get a Wasp.”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œYes, what! Anyway, the best anyone will do is get laid once. Four years to get laid once. That’s idiocy, that’s not a reason for choosing a school.” He had been irritated and, catching himself at it, he suddenly relaxed and looked at me. I was speechless. “What’s the matter?”
    â€œYou really don’t know?”
    â€œOh. I wasn’t calling you a name. I meant: you are Jewish.”
    â€œThere’s nothing insulting about calling me a Jew! Goddamit, that wasn’t it. I am a Jew. That’s perfectly—” I searched for the word and remembered Fowler—“proper.”
    Brian was embarrassed. A novelty. “That’s what I thought, but you acted so funny that I thought I was wrong.”
    â€œOh, my God. I was upset by what you said about girls and me being Jewish.”
    â€œOf course.” Brian straightened his back and nodded wisely. His confidence had returned. “You didn’t know that’s the way it would be.”
    â€œWho the hell says it’s going to be like that? Your fucking father?”
    Brian turned his head suddenly in my direction and, for a moment, he appeared ready to argue, but he just looked and said nothing.
    I was frightened by his look and so made my next comment in a tone I hoped was disarming. “I know somebody must have told you that. What do you know about Jews? About Jewish girls?”
    â€œI thought it was the ambition of every Jewish girl to marry—”
    â€œTo marry, yes!” I interrupted. “But if they’re supposed to marry anyone, it’s a Jew.”
    Brian stood up. His movements were always instantaneous. He would seem utterly settled into a spot and then he would move from it with startling energy. “I have to go,” he said, not moving.
    â€œAll right.” My heart was emptying itself into this moment. I thought this was it for our friendship and, when he left, I spent the evening thinking of how many adjustments would have to be made when he disappeared. I knew, of course, that I could survive his going, but the loss of glamour would be too terrible.
    When I saw him the next day, he looked strange. It was a measure of his personality’s concentration and consistency that I had never seen him in a condition like that. He would begin listening to a story and then go off, his eyes