Winning Hand

"Oh, hey, just wondering. Do you ever think about dating Elka again?"

Nils dropped his KitKat. When it hit the surface of the picnic bench, the candy broke into halves and fell between the cracks of the table. In his shock, he let the wrapper slip as well, and it was carried off by a gust of wind towards the bridge, which was quickly lost from his sight as he stared at Chops sitting across from him.

He slapped his hand over the deck of playing cards before the breeze could take them, too. Clearing his throat, Nils rubbed it as if that would help remove the lump that had suddenly formed. Puckering his lips, he furrowed his brows, agitation overcoming his initial surprise as Chops drummed his fingers on his knee.

"I thought you wanted to play cards," he said, emphasising the last word by snatching a card from the deck.

His smile faltered. Chops lowered his cards to the table and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I do, man, but I figured I might as well ask if-"

He shook his finger. "No, no, I'm gonna quote you." Nils cleared his throat again and put on his best impression of Chops by slightly lowering his voice. "'Hey, Nils, you got a deck and no opponent, eh? Wanna play a round of poker, eh?'"

He wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms. "I don't add 'eh' to the end of everything I say. Don't stereotype me, Nils."

"I thought you said you didn't care if people made fun of you for being Canadian."

"Not when you're being rude after I asked a simple question."

Snorting, Nils rolled his eyes. He thumbed through the cards, the quiet slapping of heavy paper on paper filling the silence. He ignored Chops' narrowed gaze and glared at the splinters rising off the table's corner. Facing Chops' own scowl was not something he wanted, especially when his own good mood had been sullied by his request. Placing his cards on the top of the deck, he scooped them up when Chops leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. Digging his heels into the choppy blades of grass as Chops sighed, Nils snatched the rest of the cards out of Chops' hand without any resistance and set them to the bottom.

"Okay, okay, look-" Chops fidgeted with his sleeves. "-don't go. Just hear me out."

"So you can try to convince me to date Elka?" Nils smirked. "Fat chance. I already wasted a whole summer with that nutcase. I really don't feel like going through that again when there are other single ladies here."

A chuckle slipped out of Chops, but he muffled it by rubbing his mouth. "Well, I'm glad we can agree that she's a nutcase. More like a…" He snickered under his breath. "...priss-case, am I right?"

Nils frowned. Chops' sneering only pinched a nerve. Hearing any other boy talk about Elka with the insults he lobbied at her earned his ire. Only he was allowed to call her names or fight with her. A wannabe acoustic guitarist who got dumped by Lili Zanotto last summer certainly did not have that right.

"Dude, shut up. Don't talk about Elka like that," Nils snapped, stuffing his cards into his pocket. He itched through his scalp, the sun beating down on him doing him no favors. He wished he had a hat to protect his scalp when he flicked away a few flakes of skin colored dandruff out of his thick tresses. Only the shampoo Elka got for him cured his dandruff troubles, and now that it had returned with a fury under the blistering sun rays, it worsened his mood when Chops gawked at him.

The surprise elongating Chops' face made the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. How his mouth had dropped open reminded him of a sad clown. But Chops quickly shook his head and shut his mouth, his cheeks tinting red and bringing out the deep turquoise of his hair.

"Uh, okay, then…" He trailed off, his eyes searching for something to catch his attention. Shimmying to the end of the bench, he fiddled with the hems of his shirts. He glanced at him up and down, Nils wondering what was going on in that concussion-prone head of his and wished he was better with telepathy, but the thought didn't hold his interest for long as he pivoted on his heels with every intention to leave.

"Do you still dig Elka?" Chops asked, the question like a knife to his back.

His shoulders twitched. Whirling back around, Nils pressed his tongue to the side of his mouth. He bobbed his head from side to side, his expression wrinkling in disgust. The calm grin Chops wore unnerved him, bringing back memories of last summer with the lingering taste of strawberry lip gloss and the pulsing headaches which would rattle his skull after a screaming match in the woods.

But as quickly as his anger surged through him, realization dawned on him. Looking Chops directly in the eyes, his motivation became clearer than the sky above them. A snide snicker bounced behind his closed lips. Digging his hand back into his pocket, he clutched his deck of cards so tightly that his knuckles popped and palm throbbed, understanding how his father would feel after finding a way to cut through the prosecution's argument.

Chops raised his eyebrows and dipped his chin. He played with the collar of his camp shirt and glanced back at the bridge. "Well?" he asked, a hint of smile creeping on his face. "If you still like her, then you should date her again."

"So, this is all about JT. Figures." He clicked his tongue as Chops stiffened. Cynicism coated his words as he added, "I guess Elka was right about you."

Chops' grin was wiped out in an instant. He shot to his feet and balled his fists, his rare surge of anger making the hairs on Nils' neck raise. "And what's that mean? What does Miss Priss think she knows about me?" he demanded, trying his best to sound level.

"Well, it's like she told me last summer." He shrugged, grandstanding without an audience. "You're nosy and jealous, and that makes you pretty damn ugly," he announced, and as Chops sucked down a breath, he grinned, satisfied with his victory.

Chops flexed his fingers inwards and stuffed them in his pockets. Nils knew he was hiding his fists. The agitation on his face formed lines on his brow and near his mouth. He looked off to the side, seemingly speechless from what Nils could discern, and he should have been. If Chops had played poker with him just to ask him to hook up with his ex-girlfriend, then he deserved Elka's bite.

Chops touched his cheek as if brushing off a mosquito. He smoothed back frizzy curls, which seemed to have come undone in a matter of seconds. Dragging his tongue across his teeth, Chops' mouth stretched into a tight smile, and he said, "You know what? Forget this. Forget I said anything. Since you wanna try and act like Elka's in the right-"

"I never said that," Nils clarified, the phantom pain of her fingernails pressing into his wrist pitching his voice.

"-then I'm gonna go." He stomped towards Nils, twisting his body to the side to avoid touching him. Over his shoulder, he added, "And you can forget about prowling the girl's cabin. No way I'm gonna be spotted hanging out with you."

His heart skipped a beat, and then, it squeezed in his chest. Nils gripped his playing cards and glared at his backside, one eye twitching. His vocal chords constricted, his own anger choking him. He felt it collect on his forehead, his head burning, his muscles tensing in his arms as he glared at Chops, who walked towards the bridge with his fists swinging by his hips and a swagger like Bobby Zilch's.

But he huffed out his negativity with a sigh. Rubbing his temples, he winced at the warmth and sweat, wiping the latter away on his sleeve. He felt his anger blow away like a dandelion in the wind as he took in a few breaths, doing what Elka had said her therapist suggested to calm down.

Getting angry wasn't worth it. His dad always said that remaining calm and collected was the way to win a case. It helped him poke holes through arguments, always rational, always distant from his clients even if they were guilty, and after what had happened last summer, he thought his dad was right.

Pulling out his playing cards, he picked his hand from the top of the deck. He flipped the five cards over and grinned. He had three of a kind with three eights, the remaining cards being a five and six. It was a decently strong hand, one he would have gladly bet a few arrowheads over.

But when he slipped out Chops' hand, he clicked his tongue.

"Four of a kind," he mumbled, scowling at the finely inked faces of the kings and lone seven. "No wonder he thought he was lucky enough to ask that."