Aces Up by Lauren Barnholdt
Cole lounges back on the couch and pulls a cigarette from the pack in front of him. “It’s not an idea,” he says. “And I don’t want us underestimating how hard it’s going to be, either.”
“I wasn’t,” Logan says. He looks nervous. “I was just asking a question.”
“Yeah, well, a little more listening, a little less asking.” Wow. Cole’s in a mood tonight. But I guess you have to be when you’re in charge.
“Okay,” Joe says. “We’re listening.”
“Yeah,” Michelle says. “I’m listening.” She pulls a lighter out of nowhere and reaches over to give Cole a light. He leans into her fingers, lights the cigarette, and then blows a ring of smoke lazily toward the ceiling.
“Thanks,” Cole says, giving her a sexy smile. Hmmm.
“You’re welcome,” she says, beaming at the attention.
“Signaling and dumping what?” I ask.
Michelle rolls her eyes and doesn’t answer me.
“So is it just going to be us?” Joe asks, also ignoring me. “Because if we’re going to get JC and Carey involved, I think we should wait until we talk to them.”
I wonder if Carey’s nicer than Michelle.
“Not Carey,” Cole says. “He has a big mouth, and he’s even worse than Carter.” Oh. So Carey’s a boy. So much for girl bonding. “And JC is going to be in Vegas.” He reaches over and taps his cigarette on the ashtray. Michelle reaches into the pack and lights up, too. I have nothing to do with my hands, so I settle for folding them in my lap. I feel like a little kid who’s been allowed to sit at the grown-up table and is waiting for someone to let her in on the conversation.
“So what are we doing?” I ask, louder this time, trying my best to insert myself into the conversation.
“Fixing the tournament,” Joe says. He must notice the look of confusion on my face, because he leans forward and says to Cole. “Shit, Cole. I thought you said she was cool.”
“She is,” Cole says. He moves to the other end of the couch, reaches over, and touches my knee. “Aren’t you, Shannon Card?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “I’m cool.” They can’t really be talking about fixing the tournament, can they? I mean, that’s ridiculous. First of all, you can’t just fix a tournament. You need corrupt dealers or someone on the inside. That’s what always happens in the movies, anyway—the cops are always going on and on, trying to figure out who the perps were working with on the inside.
“So we’ll all be entering,” Cole says. “And it’s going to be a rough couple of weeks, getting the signals down, and figuring out how to dump.” Everyone’s looking at him seriously now, and he seems to relish being in the spotlight. He looks at each of us carefully. “It’s going to be hard work, and I don’t want anyone taking anything for granted.”
“Wait,” I say dumbly. “Are you guys really talking about fixing the tournament?”
“Well, not exactly,” Cole says. He’s still rubbing my knee. “It’s impossible to fix the tournament unless you have someone working for you on the inside.” Aha! I knew it. I shoot Michelle a triumphant look, even though she can’t possibly know that’s what I was thinking. Plus chances are she already knew that part about the inside.
“But you can give yourself the best chance,” Cole says. “You can bend the odds in your favor.”
“How?” I ask.
“By dumping chips to one person,” Logan says. “And by signaling to each other what you have.”
“And even then,” Cole says, “we have to keep our wits about us and make sure we last until we all end up at the same table. And there will be other people there, other people who are working with us, although we think it’s best that you don’t know who those people are until later.”
I’m starting to get it. By using a system of signaling to each other to tell each other what cards we have, we’ll be better able to figure out what might come on the board and whether we should fold or stay in the hand. If we’re playing at the same table (which probably won’t happen until later on in the tournament), we’ll lose on purpose and dump all our chips to one person so that person has a good chance of winning. And then we’ll all split the money at the end.
“So wait,” I say. “How many people are going to be playing from Aces Up?”
“Don’t worry, Shannon Card,” Cole says. “If one of us wins the grand prize, you’ll be guaranteed at least fifty grand.”
Fifty grand? Um, that’s great and everything (don’t get me wrong, fifty grand is amazing, actually), but when you put that up against the fact that the grand prize is thirteen million dollars, it seems a little paltry. What happened to “I have a secret. Me and you are going to be very rich”?
“Actually,” I say, “if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to take my chances by myself.”
They all stare at me.
“Shannon, you can’t just pick and choose when you want to be in Aces,” Cole says. “We’re paying your way into the tournament, so you’re either in or you’re out.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry, then I’m in. Definitely in.” He visibly relaxes, and everyone starts talking and semi-arguing about who would be the best person to dump the chips to. And then I realize why I’ve never met any of the other members before now. It’s easier for them to get away with cheating if they’re not seen together—that way, no one can really prove they’re all connected and working together.
A cold feeling of dread rises inside me.
“Um, Cole,” I say, “can I talk to you for a second?”
“Of course,” he says. He reaches out and rubs my leg again, only this time it feels a little … wrong. He’s looking at me expectantly, and I realize he wants me to talk in front of everyone.
“Uh,” I say. “Can we go outside for a second?”
“Sure.” He grins.
Once the door is shut behind us and we’re out in the hall, he pulls me close to him, and for a second, I almost convince myself that everything might be okay.
“Listen,” I say into the softness of his sweatshirt, “I really think we should do this on our own. Think about the millions we could make.”
“Shannon,” Cole says, stroking my hair, “you’re not ready.”
“Maybe not,” I say. “But I want to try. I’m getting better, and you’re definitely ready.”
“That’s not what’s been decided,” he says simply.
I pull away and look at him. “Not what’s been decided?” I ask incredulously. “What are you, a pod person?”
“No,” he says. “I’m a member of Aces Up, which is also what you’re supposed to be.”
“I am,” I say. “I just … I’m not sure if it makes the most sense. Fifty thousand dollars? That’s really not that much money.”
“It’s almost one whole year of school,” he says. “Without financial aid.” He pulls me close again and says, “It’s cute the way you ask so many questions. But honestly, Shannon Card, you need to just relax and trust me.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, and usually I find his whole mysterious vibe kind of sexy. But this time, it just seems … well, a little creepy.
“So are you in?” Cole asks. I hesitate for a second, because honestly, I’m not sure. And then, before I can stop him, Cole opens the door and steps back into the apartment. “Call me when you decide.” He closes the door, leaving me out in the hall.
? ? ? ?
Well. I guess it’s to be expected. I mean, all couples go through growing pains, right? It’s inevitable. Still. Usually those fights happen because the guy doesn’t want to commit, or there’ve been some sketchy pictures or comments on someone’s Facebook page. Not because your boyfriend wants to fix one of the biggest poker tournaments in the world and you’re trying to convince him not to. What is wrong with him, anyway? I think as I drive home.
I mean, besides it being totally and completely wrong, what if we get caught? They have cameras all over the casino. During my orientation, I had to watch a bunch of
If Aces Up gets caught … Actually, screw that, if I get caught, I won’t be allowed into Wellesley. I might go to jail. I might have a criminal record! My parents would have to come bail me out. Or maybe they’d just leave me in jail, since by the time I got a trial, I’d probably be eighteen. Can you imagine? Me, in jail for gambling fraud? I’m so caught up in figuring out the legal penalties for what Aces Up is talking about doing that when I get home, at first I don’t realize that every single light in the house is on.
And it takes me a while to process the fact that everyone in my family is awake when I open the door and find them all in the kitchen, staring at me.
“Oh, God,” I say when I see the stricken look on my mom’s face. “What happened?” Someone died. I just know it. Thank God I see Robyn and my dad there; otherwise I might just have assumed it was one of them. “Is it … is it Grandma Card?” I whisper.
My grandma Card is not in the best of health. Physically she’s okay, but mentally she gets a little sketchy. Like she ends up walking around in the street with her bathrobe on or calls up and orders lots of things from infomercials and then gets confused and accuses someone of taking her credit card when the things arrive.
“Shannon,” my mom says, “I think you should sit down.” And then I see my sister’s face. She’s standing up, leaning against the fridge, her arms crossed and her long hair hanging down, hiding her face. And then I know. She told them. That I’ve been staying out all night, that she thinks I was lying about being at Mackenzie’s, and that Leonardo saw me at the casino.
“You told them?” I demand. I wait for her to look up and say, “Told them what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is a meeting about the family finances,” or something like that, but all she does is look up at me and bite her lip.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “But they found out you weren’t at the Rusty Nail, and they … Shannon, I was worried.”
Worried! She was worried? I can’t freakin’ believe this. All those times she snuck out in the middle of the night to go meet Leonardo, all those times she came home drunk and I kept my mom from going into her room … And now Robyn was worried, and so she told on me?
Okay. I can’t let myself start getting caught up in that kind of thinking. It will do nothing but get me rattled, and besides, there will be plenty of time for revenge scenarios later. Still. I feel like screaming.
“Do you want to tell us what’s going on?” my dad asks.
“Can I have some tea first?” I ask, stalling. How the hell did everything become such a complete and total mess in the span of just a few hours?
My dad gets up from the table and starts to fill the teakettle. “Talk while it heats,” he commands. So much for stalling.
I look at my mom and give her a tentative smile, but she doesn’t return it. She’s been silent, which is actually kind of scary. Yelling would definitely be better. Then I could yell back, and we could have it all out and then make up.
“Well,” I say, “as I suppose you must have figured out because of information supplied by Robyn”—I shoot a pointed look at my sister—“I haven’t been working at the Rusty Nail.”
“And where have you been working?” my mom asks. Her voice is very … steely.
“Weeell,” I say. “I have been waitressing, just not at the Rusty Nail.”
“And where have you been waitressing?” my mom wants to know.
“Um, well,” I say, “I’ve been waitressing at the Collosio.” I deliberately leave out the casino part, because I really don’t think that’s very relevant. My dad has set the teakettle on the burner and is standing with his arms crossed. It’s very quiet in the kitchen, which feels all wrong given the fact that I’m in trouble and therefore should be getting yelled at.
“Shannon, you have to be twenty-one to work there,” my mom says.
“Well, yes, technically,” I say. “But you guys have always taught me not to let obstacles stand in the way of my dreams.” This is totally true. In fact, when I told my mom that Parvati was going to win the math award because she was smarter than me, my mom told me that wasn’t true and I just needed to work harder. Kind of ironic that I didn’t take her advice then and am now going to lose out on the math award, while her advice came in quite handy when it came to getting an illegal job.
“Not letting obstacles stand in the way of your dreams is far different than doing something that’s illegal,” my mom says. My dad and my sister are still quiet. “Getting a job that you’re too young for is one thing. Gambling is quite another.”
“I’m not gambling!” The lie slips out easily, before I can even think about it. “Robyn,” I demand, “what did you tell them?”
“The truth,” Robyn says. “That Leonardo saw you at the casino, late at night and on several occasions, all dressed up, and playing poker.” She sounds like a police report. My mouth drops open in shock.
“You’re going to believe Leonardo over me?” I ask my dad. “After all he’s done to you?” Leonardo really hasn’t done that much to my dad except annoy him, but still. Taking Leonardo’s word over his own daughter’s is completely unacceptable.
My dad stays silent. The teakettle chooses that moment to go off, so he reaches over the stove and pulls down a mug, drops a teabag into it, and fills it with steaming water. He sets it in front of me, and I wrap my fingers around it, letting the warmth fill my hands.
“Look,” I say, deciding to go for the truth, or at least part of it, “I’m sorry I lied to you guys about the job. But you know that I got into Wellesley. And there’s no way we can afford it. I was being proactive. I was taking control of my own destiny.”
“You lied,” my mom says simply. “You lied to us about where you were and what you were doing, and then you stayed out all night gambling.”
“I wasn’t gambling,” I say. “Poker is a skill-based game.” I decide it’s probably best not to mention that any money I used was given to me by Aces Up. I don’t think my parents would see that as a positive. I take a sip of my tea, and it’s bitter on my tongue, because with all the drama, I forgot to add sugar. I reach for the bowl in the middle of the table and dump three heaping spoonfuls in.
“It’s gambling,” my mom says. “And you lied.”
“It’s pretty much the same as playing the stock market,” I say, going for my ace in the hole. I try to make my voice sound bright, but my hand is shaking as I return the teaspoon to the sugar bowl. “Isn’t that what you always say, Dad? That the stock market is pretty much one big gamble.”
“It’s not the same,” my dad says. “And you’re underage.”
I look sulkily into my tea. My eyes fill up with tears, and I blink them back. Suddenly, I feel totally humiliated. My parents are acting like I’m some kind of delinquent. And I haven’t seen my dad this quiet and depressed-looking since the day he lost his job. I try to force a smile onto my face, but a little voice in the back of my head is starting to speak up. And that voice is saying that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. That it’s great to try and make money for school, but maybe I’m a little bit too deep into this, and maybe my parents are right.
I mean, let’s recap, shall we?
I have used a fake ID and a fake birth certificate to get a job in a casino, which is illegal and pretty shady.
I know nothing, really, about the guy I am hooking up with.
Said guy just told me that he is going to fix a poker tournament. Fix it! Like cheat.
And then I start to get mad. Really, really mad. My parents are the ones who put me in this
“Well,” I say, my fists tightening around my tea mug, “maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation if some people had been a little more careful with their money.” It comes out even sharper than I intended it, and my dad looks like he’s been slapped. For a second, I want to take it back, but I don’t. I can’t.
I cross my arms and look at my mom. “So what’s my punishment?” I ask.
“You’re grounded,” my mom says simply. My dad looks at the floor, and my sister does the same. “And you’re to quit your job immediately.”
“Quit my job?” I screech. “What am I supposed to do for money?”
“You have permission to look for another job,” my mom says. “But you are not to return to the casino under any circumstances.” I don’t say anything.
And then my mom walks out of the kitchen, and my dad and my sister file out behind her.
When I get up to my room, my hands are shaking so bad that it takes forever to unbutton the shirt I’m wearing and change into a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt. Okay, I tell myself, just calm down. Think. All I need is a plan.
Step one, call Cole and try to talk him out of this ridiculous idea to fix the tournament. Step two, figure out a way to play in the tournament and win so that I can pay for Wellesley. Step three, quit. And when I say quit, I mean everything—Aces Up, playing poker, and the waitressing job. Although the job is probably going to have to go ASAP. Adrienne is not going to be too happy about me not giving her any notice, but I guess in the long run it will be better, since even though she won’t know it, she won’t be risking getting in trouble for employing a minor.