"Mare. Come on. Let's work something out."

My boyfriend, wearing innocent, pleading eyes, smiles sweetly. His navy silk pajamas aren't helping. If only to romance me, Maven runs his hand through his curly hair a couple of times, leaving it all over the place.

In Julian's studio with an awakening city just through the windows, the Monopoly board is cast in morning light. With a firm vinyl floor beneath us, lovely mirrors across from the windows, and red brick wallpaper encompassing the studio, I feel at peace in the familiar setting. I was here only a few hours ago going through ballet technique at the barre.

The door to the hallway is locked tightly behind us.

Us, as in me, Maven, a female Soloist, and a Corps girl. As is one of the tournament's rules, we're all clad in pajamas. I have on a pair of red-and-black flannel pants, a grey henley, and crew socks with cat faces on them.

The first round of the Monopoly tournament started a half-hour ago. Julian, the official referee of today's final round, drew names from a hat, and Cal sketched out a tournament bracket on the gigantic movable whiteboard that he apparently owns. Maven happens to be in my first round.

"I'll give you New York Avenue to complete your colors," Maven says, eyeing my cards. If I make the trade, I'll gain a Monopoly. If I don't and instead bankrupt Maven—my boyfriend, having just paid a hefty housing repair fee, has landed on my Pacific Avenue, which currently bears three houses— his properties will be auctioned off by the bank.

At the moment, I don't have enough money to win that auction.

But Maven's dangerous.

Behind his charming grin lurks a boy that wants to win. He wants to make it to the finals and destroy his brother, however slim his chances are.

Maven's told me how Cal has taught him "the art of Monopoly" over the course of long lessons in his Hell's Kitchen apartment. Along with their hobbies of chess and watching Marvel movies, Maven and Cal play a whole lot of Monopoly together.

But I know Cal well enough to get that he's only revealed some of his tricks to Maven. To completely unveil his Monopoly strategy would be dangerous.

"Sorry, Maven," I tell him, shrugging unapologetically. "If you can't pay, you're out."

Maven's face falls.

For a moment, he looks a little annoyed that his trick didn't work.

The two ladies that we play with just pinch their lips together, holding back smiles. Neither of them is an actual threat to me. I don't have to worry about the auction. Every last ballerina in this building knows who's winning tonight, and they fully intend to help me get to the final round.

"Mare." Maven says my name again.

Patronizingly, I return my boyfriend's gaze.

"If anyone can take down Cal tonight, it's me. I've played Monopoly with him more than anyone. I know how he thinks. I can't be taken down in the first round because of a few rolls of bad luck."

I only blink. "No. You're out, Maven. Now stop arguing with me and text your brother."

In his father's office, Cal is currently lounging around in the Monopoly Winner's Robe. If I know anything about Cal, he's probably using his free day to watch Mets re-runs and old episodes of The Office, write out the choreography for our lessons and Julian's classes, and strategize against the players whose names make it up the brackets. Every time somebody loses, they text Cal, and he crosses their name off his whiteboard.

Getting annoyed with Maven, I glance at my nails. "Now, Maven. Text Cal that you lost."

Having quietly obliterated one of the Corps guys in the second round, I hop down the Academy stairs for the lobby.

As far as Maven knows, I have no strategy for Monopoly and am under the firm belief that I'm playing a game of chance. The Corps guy thinks the same.

I've pretended to forget that it's my turn, to not know how much rent on a property costs, and to actually consider a deal where Maven offered me two of his railroads in exchange for Boardwalk. Thus far, I haven't had to employ any crazy strategies or manipulate anyone to the point that they noticed.

Maven and Cal loiter near the revolving door at the front of the Academy's lobby. While Maven wears an annoyed frown, Cal wears a hysteric smirk as he leans against the glassy wall.

"You were the first person to lose in the first round, Maven. You texted me before anybody in any of the other games did. I trained you better than that. What happened?" Cal's voice edges on laughter.

"I hit a patch of bad luck, and I lost," Maven states. Hearing my feet pad down the steps, he shifts his gaze so that he can glare at me. Next, he raises an accusing finger. "To her."

Following the direction of Maven's finger, Cal turns around so that he can lay eyes on me just as I hit the landing.

Cal raises a brow. Then he laughs a little, finding the fact that I took down Maven in a game of Monopoly to be funny.

But I have every reason myself to laugh at Cal. In flannel pants that unfortunately match my own, a typically black T-shirt, and the Monopoly Winner's Robe, Cal looks the most ridiculous I've ever seen him.

"You made a big mistake," Maven hisses. He points at me again. "You should've let me win, Mare. I was the Academy's only hope of ousting Cal."

Looking nonchalant, as though I don't care that I've won two rounds of Monopoly, I shrug. "So you've said." I stop before the brothers, surveying each of them. Maven's changed back into his street clothes, and he looks at me as though he's already considering a break-up. I spend a little too long gawking at Cal's robe.

The cherry-colored silken fabric extends to his knees. In essence, what Cal wears is a luxurious bathrobe with black accents on the lapels, cuffs, and belt. The silk looks unimaginably soft, yet at the same time, I realize that I'd drown in it. It was obviously made for Cal, considering that in black thread, the three-letter name Cal is monogrammed across the left breast of the robe.

The broad back of Cal's robe is reflected in the window glass. The elegant, bombastic text of 'MONOPOLY KING' runs across the cherry fabric in all-caps, black serif font. It wouldn't make for a bad wrestling robe.

I finally gather the sense to look at my contemporary teacher. A smirk graces my lips. "I love the robe, Cal."

"Thank you, Mare," he returns, offering me a nod of his head. "I'm going to pretend that you're not being sarcastic. And congratulations on winning two rounds of Monopoly. You only have three more to go before you get to me."

I return his words with a little laugh. "It's all chance, Cal."

As offended as he was on Wednesday night, Cal crosses his arms. Cal finds it deeply agitating that I think Monopoly is all chance and no strategy. He feels invalidated when I tell him that his businessman strategies only work half of the time when he rolls the dice right. We even wasted a solid thirty minutes arguing why or why not Monopoly is all about luck before our lesson on Wednesday.

Fortunately and unfortunately for Cal, everything that I said was a lie. I was only plying him for information on how he thinks. I've also now convinced him that I have no real Monopoly strategy.

After the Academy women saw how I played on Monday evening, they decided that I was their only hope of replacing the Monopoly King with a queen. The ballerinas have since made a pact to help me get to the final round, even when that means taking themselves out in the process. They've also agreed to circulate lies throughout the Academy about my Monopoly strategy and how I don't have one. It's all common sense and chance for Miss Barrow.

Nobody trusts the boys. Apparently, they enjoy having alpha-male Cal as their Monopoly King and would hate to see him lose to a girl.

Having nothing left to argue, Cal just closes his mouth in a tight-lipped smile. He's made his points already, and he can't get through to me.

"Well." I turn back to Maven. Still in my pajamas with a pair of Converse on, I smile. "If you're not about to break up with me because you can't handle losing a game of Monopoly, you know why I'm down here."

Try as he might, Maven can't keep his lips from dissolving into an eager smile. He seems to forget how I wronged him in an instant, and something inside of me gets a little excited as I watch warmth bleed into his vivid blue eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, Maven reaches for my hand.

"Mare and I are going on our first official date as girlfriend and boyfriend," Maven announces to his brother proudly. Knowing full-well how Cal feels about my relationship with his brother, I only smile.

We've been planning our first date all week via text. In the end, Maven and I decided on coffee and a long walk through Central Park. We want to make it up to the Great Lawn, but we'll see how far we get before I have to turn around for my next round.

Without another look at Cal, Maven tugs me towards the doors.

The weather in Manhattan is just perfect this time of year.

On the Great Lawn of Central Park, which indeed features a pristine green lawn as big as forty football fields, Maven and I lie.

It's a world apart from Midtown, even as I see the highrises of Billionaires' Row pierce the sky south of us like needles of the rich. They stick out from pine oaks and European lindens dyed by the colors of autumn, encircling us from every side. Paved pathways and green lakes stand off in the shadows of trees, and the sky above us is a crystalline, fairytale blue. Harmless clouds dot it here and there, and a rainbow-striped hot-air balloon, of all things, floats over the trees from a few blocks away.

It's as close to the country as you can get in New York. This place is like nature's last stand in the midst of a concrete jungle. The songs of birds mix with the chatter of New Yorkers, but it's generally quiet. Nobody plays loud music, and the honks of taxis are far-off, almost dreamlike noises.

Maven and I both have our coats laid out on the grass, our coffee cups discarded at our feet. I probably look a little stupid wearing my flannel pants in broad daylight, but I don't especially care.

I have my head resting against Maven's shoulder, and his arm is wrapped around me, hand splayed across my shoulder. The steady rise and fall of his chest, something so steady it seems as though he could be sleeping, is as constant as the slow-moving clouds above us. I even have an alarm set on my phone lest I fall asleep.

We've never cuddled before. It's just me and Maven, staring up at the sky. It's kind of nice.

"So," Maven starts, breaking the calm, daydreaming-like quiet that's settled over us. "What's your mom thinking of me these days?"

I laugh against his shoulder. With a glance ahead, I'd see the very highrise that the Calores live in on Fifty-Seventh Street. Sleek and modern, its pellucid windows blend in with the sky. It's one of the tallest buildings on Billionaires' Row, and I can only imagine what Manhattan looks like from up there.

"My mom doesn't know what to think of you," I tell my boyfriend. Eying him, I smirk. "I'm sorry she slapped you. She's never slapped anyone before."

"It was good practice, then," Maven returns.

But the steadiness of his chest reminds me to be serious. I shift, pulling myself far enough away so that I can look at him with craning my neck. "Aside from all of the normal reasons? She doesn't know what to think of you because . . . you're . . . you know."

Shamelessly, Maven nods towards the skyline. "Because my family's loaded, right?"

Chuckling, I nod my head. "Yeah."

A cool breeze comes along, carrying the chill of a far-off winter. I threw on a sweatshirt over my henley, though, so it doesn't bother much other than my ears.

"It doesn't matter to us," I say. "I like you, you like me. Money doesn't have anything to do with it. But my family, my dad, especially, isn't a fan of . . . loaded people."

Maven watches me with careful eyes. I know he's trying to dissect my expression. I never talk about Dad. Over the weeks that we've known each other, I've mentioned only a handful of things about Dad to Maven.

Dad's a retired police officer. Dad collects a pension—it's technically social security and disability payments, but Maven doesn't need to know that. Dad never cared about ballet. Dad loves the Mets. Dad's around.

Dad can't walk.

That's one thing I haven't been able to tell Maven.

It's a sob story that I don't want his pity for.

Moreover, it's a story that involves a couple of rich kids—who paralyzed an innocent man—getting off scot-free because their daddies had money. It's going to make Maven wonder if I've ever hated him for what he is, even though he can't help that his last name is Calore.

I used to hate people just like Maven. My boyfriend fits the stereotype of everything that those college boys were. Rich, rich, rich. But he isn't them. He would never do what those boys did.

"I need to tell my dad and my brothers," I mutter. Mom will only hold onto my secret for so long.

"Are Bree and Tramy going to hurt me?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

I don't sugarcoat it. If Mom slapped Maven, then that means that Bree and Tramy will come for my boyfriend with baseball bats. I might not be especially close with either of them, but when it comes to boyfriends, Bree and Tramy have always told me that they'd be dedicated to "beating the hell out of" and "messing up" my boyfriend when it came time. They also said that if he stayed throughout all of the shit they pulled on him, then that meant he's a good guy. I'll have to see how Maven fares.

"How bad, do you think?"

I tilt my head back and forth. "It depends on whether they hear about the hot tub. If they know about the hot tub, we could be looking at prolonged stays in the hospital."

"Stays?"

"Yes. Plural stays. And if Shade ever finds out, you're literally dead."

He's the brother that I really need to keep this from. I managed to keep the news from The New York Times reporter's hands. Ann quit her job at the Academy immediately after the gala attack, so she won't be leaking any news to Shade or the Scarlet Street Fighters. I even mentioned to Julian to keep the news quiet, who only nodded and took a deep breath.

I know what that deep breath meant. He won't meddle, but he also knows that I'm in a dangerous situation. My heart could break over this. Worse things could happen. I have one foot in the door with the Scarlet Street Fighters and the other in with the Calores.

Julian doesn't even know that Maven is one of us.

It's only a matter of time before somebody slips and Shade's calling me. Asking me why in the hell he's been informed that Maven Calore and I are dating.

He hardly trusts Maven.

"You look nervous," Maven comments. He slides closer, looping his arm around me again.

I try to relax and lean into him.

Ballet makes things easy. Working my body to its limit six days a week makes me forget what I am and what I've done. I eat, sleep, dance ballet, and make fun of people, just like Gisa says. I get caught up in the glitter of Midtown and forget that there's anything wrong with the world. When I see my brother and Farley and Kilorn, those moments feel too surreal to be anything more than my imagination. But it's quiet moments like these that terrify me.

I finally have time to think about what I'm doing.

"Sometimes I feel really scared of what we're doing, Maven," I tell my partner quietly.

Maven's breathing stills. It's the only indication that he too might be scared.

"I know," he returns, whispering into my ear. "But I won't let anything happen to you, Mare."

Ptolemus Samos stares back at me with vengeance in his eyes.

"So the Corps girls have been flitting around today, saying how you have this knack for Monopoly but no real strategy. But I don't think that's true."

In the semifinal round, I face Evangeline's brother back in Julian's studio. Since we don't have much to say to one another, the round has gone by quickly. My pewter wheelbarrow and Ptolemus's ship have traveled around the board dozens of times, gotten sent to jail a solid twenty times, and landed on bank-breaking Monopolies a couple of times too.

But in the end, it's Ptolemus who lands on one of my brown properties. With a hotel, it only costs two-hundred-fifty dollars, but I've hemorrhaged him of all of his money. I've forced him to mortgage all but one of his Monopolies through a series of ruthless moves that involved me offering to forgive his hotel payments if it meant he mortgaged his Monopolies. I also convinced him to make a rather foolish deal that involved a railroad in exchange for the Electric Company.

"You're a cold bitch, Barrow," Ptolemus says as he shakes his head. "My sister would be proud."

Ptolemus knows what I am. He's slowly come to the conclusion in the last half of our game that I'm a class-act liar and manipulator. I know the game of Monopoly well, but I'm not good at it because I play it all of the time. I've learned through other methods.

Will Whistle would be proud.

"So you can play Monopoly. On Monday, when all you girls were playing, they figured that out. They want you as their Monopoly Queen. And now you're going to overthrow the Monopoly King."

I swallow.

Cal and Ptolemus are friends.

He won't let me get away with this coup of his king.

"But you're lucky," Evangeline's brother continues. He leans back on his palms, and I watch as his shirt sleeve shifts up so that I can see the healing scab at the top of his arm. "Because I'm still mad at Cal for killing me last year at this game. Frankly, I don't want to go up against him again. But I want revenge. I want to dethrone Cal."

Incredulously, I peer back at my ballet rival's brother. "You want to help me?"

Smirking, Ptolemus nods.

"You'll be halfway through that game before Cal knows what you've done."

Congrats.

I look forward to playing Monopoly with you.

His two texts come in one after the other. Considering that neither Cal nor I have ever texted one another, they're the only two messages in our thread. I don't even have a contact picture for Cal.

Not bothering to respond, I merely put my phone down and return my focus to the board.

The windows of Blonos's studio are drawn again. The door is shut. Blonos's clogs hit the vinyl floor in uniform yet foreboding steps as she paces around the Monopoly board and its players.

Elara, Iris, Ptolemus, and I each sit at one side of the board.

They all stare at me like I'm fresh meat to be devoured.

That's what Cal thinks I am. I imagine that he's looking forward to my public humiliation. I think that he'll enjoy devastating me in a game of Monopoly more than he enjoys sitting in his folding chair and criticizing my form as I do pushups on the stage floor.

Iris moves my wheelbarrow from its place in jail to Boardwalk.

"You've just landed on Cal's Boardwalk. He has three houses on it. You have enough money to pay rent but you'd rather not, considering you need to build up your houses. What do you offer Cal?"

We have a theoretical game of Monopoly going.

The three of them drill me with every conceivable sticky situation that Cal could trap me in.

I look to the shallow rectangular box at my side. It contains silky onyx fabric accented with cherry lapels, cuffs, and a belt. A carbon copy of Cal's, the robe's only difference is that the cherry and black colors are transposed. Cal's name is still monogrammed across the left breast.

It's the Monopoly Loser's Robe.

This shimmering, lovely robe has nothing on its back.

The girls are all ecstatic about it. There's never been a Loser's Robe before.

Call it premeditated murder if you like.

The Academy hallway is made into a limbo where shadow and fire meet.

At exactly eight o'clock, I come around a corner.

The grand corridor is like most hallways in the building. My eyes take in familiar creamy walls decorated with marvelous photographs of ballet dancers and skyline shots of Manhattan. The coffered ceiling above presses in on me, and pristine white doors lead to ample studios that I know well. The beckoning electronic glare of Midtown sneaks through the doors on the street side of the building, and city lights bleed into the hallway. My socks pad across sunset orange marble.

I've been in pajamas that I never actually wear all day. I've since added a plain black baseball cap, a braid that sneaks over the backstrap of the cap, and a fresh layer of deodorant to my ensemble.

The ceiling lights are dimmed, and they set the marble on fire. They throw corners into shadows and make contours on the faces of dancers. It's that romantic light again. A couple of wooden end tables have been dragged out from somewhere or other so that they can hold a couple of dozen three-wick candles.

The air is already permeated with a scent that's something between lavender and peaches.

After we finish the game, it looks like we have enough candles for a seance.

Every dancer that has fallen in today's rounds of Monopoly gathers in the hallway. Like children, they sit along the walls and splay across the widths of the hallway in their pajamas, forming a rather misshapen circle. With the circle jammed tight, others sit in folding chairs behind so that they might witness the spectacle that's about to take place. Out of the corner of my eye, I note the figures of Bess Blonos and Elara Merandus, who sit side-by-side in chairs. Though it could mean anything, they both wear smirks.

Anabel and Carmadon are nearby. The Corps girls are all around, stealing glances at one another. Maven, at the wall with some of the other guys, shakes his head at me. He really, really wanted to overthrow Cal.

I catch the gaze of Ptolemus, who only flicks his eyes towards me before peeling them away. He did what I asked and told Cal that despite his efforts, I won by pure-chance. A fluke, you could call it.

Of course, the circle of seventy-five people surrounds the object of everyone's attention.

I barely notice as chairs part for me, along with a group of girls who scoot over so that I can enter the ring. A moment later, the chairs scrape over marble as they enclose me inside.

A Monopoly board waits for me at the corridor's center. It isn't one of the cheap and ordinary ones, either. A board of fine wood replaces cardboard, complete with little cabinets and a brown leather rolling area. A gold carved game path accompanies brown spaces with golden text, and light bounces off the Chance and Community Chest cards like molten gold. The game pieces have the same effect.

The board itself is situated upon a shallow table that rises no more than a foot from the ground. My game piece of choice, the wheelbarrow is already situated on GO, and my starting money is laid out upon the table. Narrow black rugs surround three sides of the board. A second smaller table contains colored money, cards, gilded houses and hotels, and an old-fashioned adding machine.

Three wine glasses filled with what appears to be chocolate malts, whipped cream, and cherries are set up along the table. Cal's whiteboard of ridiculous proportions stands off behind the circle.

The candlelight seems to shine the brightest on the board.

If there ever was a way to play Monopoly in luxury, this is it.

It isn't until I lower myself to the third and final rug strip that I let myself look at the two men at the board.

To my left, Julian Jacos sits next to the smaller money table. He wears a pair of blue-and-white striped pajama pants and a shirt that says, 'Read Banned Books.' His kind eyes peer back at mine as he offers me a nod of his head.

"Welcome, Miss Barrow."

I sense a question in his eyes.

Have you started your reading assignment yet, Mare?

The answer is no.

I grin at the professor. "Hi, Julian."

My eyes slide from Julian's to Cal's, who sits opposite me.

"Hi, Mare."

"Hi, Cal."

My contemporary teacher smiles back at me. Like everything else, his bloody robe catches the light, and its fabric turns into this indescribable red. Still in his pajama pants that still, unfortunately, match my own, Cal looks as bloodthirsty as I've ever seen him. His lips are plastered into a vindictive smile over his unnecessarily white teeth, and those dimples are gone. Lounging on the floor with his hands braced behind him and a long, muscled leg splayed out to his side, he's the picture of heavenly arrogance.

Even when he's sitting on the floor in a bathrobe, I remember how he's twice my weight.

I remember the push-ups. The constant ache in my arms.

Cal thinks he's going to enjoy this. He thinks that he's about to get a taste of revenge for all of the little smites we've had.

A quiet settles over the hallway. The dancers who have their phones out tuck them away. Even as nothing moves, everything seems to press further away and move closer together at once.

The girls hide their delighted smiles. Cal might be bloodthirsty, but so am I.

"Well," Julians begins, steepling his hands. "Mare and Cal. We gather here today to play a game of Monopoly. You have both proved your merit either today or, well, over the courses of years." Julian pointedly glances at Cal, and a number of the audience members chuckle. Cal does love Monopoly.

"Let this evening be a fair game of strategy and chance," he continues. "If either of you attempts to cheat in any way and are found out, you will be immediately disqualified and your opponent will win by default. In addition, you will have brought permanent shame to yourself and the game of Monopoly. To stave off such cheatery, I will be the acting banker for the evening. When the game ends, there will be exactly fifteen-thousand-one-hundred-forty dollars in the bank. If there is not, an investigation will be launched to discover where the missing or excess money went or came from."

I pinch my lips together. I'm loving this monologue.

With Cal as my opponent, it's not like I was ever thinking about stealing money from the bank, but it is a fun idea.

"The winner of the 2019 Calore Dance Academy Monopoly Tournament will receive or keep the Winner's Robe and will bear all rights to tailor it to his or her size. They will also receive the pleasure of their opponent's eternal shame and humiliation."

Cal's upper lip tugs further upward.

"And before we might begin," Julian starts but abruptly cuts off.

He reaches for a folded piece of notebook paper, grabs his reading glasses from the bank table, and brings the paper close to his face.

"Maven Calore, brother of Cal, our Monopoly King, wishes that it be known from this day forward that he denounces his brother's reign, as he considers Cal to be, and I quote, 'a loser.' Instead, he accepts the eternal reign of Miss Mare Barrow, his girlfriend of six days and the real queen of his heart."

Julian struggles through the reading, finding Maven's declaration hilarious. The Scarlet Street Fighter may not like the idea of me dating a Calore, but it's just too funny.

The hallway titters with unrestrained laughter, remembering all-too-well what happened in the hot tub. I put my palm over my mouth as I glance at Maven, who grins back at me and blows me a kiss. If he hadn't been a security risk with Cal, I would've told him about the Academy ladies' plots for this evening.

Cal's not laughing. He only has a patient hand settled at his chin as he glances between me and Maven with a faded smile.

But he paints it right back on as I fix my attention on him and the laughter settles down.

Julian sighs, wiping the last of his jolly grin from his face. "So without further ado—"

Cal puts up a hand. He flourishes it, motioning towards me. "Ladies first."