"You know, Mare, today's a special day for Cal."

My eyes trace the caramel and gold board. Under the cover of my cap, I take in Cal's gilded dog that sits on Short Line railroad and my wheelbarrow that occupies Indiana Avenue. Neither Cal nor I have run out of spending money, nor have either of us built a Monopoly yet. The railroads went early, three of which are mine and one of which is Cal's. Cal has one of the utilities.

I have Park Place, and Cal has Boardwalk. Cal only needs Pacific Avenue to complete his Monopoly on the green properties. I only need Illinois Avenue to get the reds. We haven't landed on any yellows. The cheaper properties are split evenly among us, and twenty minutes in, everything is up in the air.

Disinterestedly, I glance up from the fine board. "And why's that, Julian? Or is it just the fact that he gets to crush me in a game of Monopoly in front of an audience?"

The spicy, almost fairy-like aroma of the hallway's scented candles is getting poignant. The lights and the quiet but ever-present circle of dancers have blurred in my periphery. What remains is the plush strip of carpet beneath me, my paper money and deed cards, the game itself, and my opponent.

"Well that's obvious," Julian returns, lifting his chocolate malt to his lips. "But I was going to say that it's only once a month that Cal allows himself artificial sugar. And chocolate, no less. It's a really special day for him."

Upon closer inspection, the three malts at the table have been poured into sizable wine glasses. Spiraling whipped cream threatens to spill over the rims, and a dozen maraschino cherries poke out from the cream. Candy cane straws stick out from the sweet, gelatinous drink, and with a touch to the glass, I find that the chocolate malt is still very much cold.

I give Cal nothing less than a scowl. "Once a month? You're serious?"

It's a stupid question. Of course he's serious.

On the opposite side of the board, Cal returns my judgemental gaze. Enjoying an apparently rare treat, his eyes have this boyish joy in them, and contentedly, he takes another slurp of his malt before setting the wine glass on its golden coaster.

"Mmm-hmm."

With a roll of the dice, Cal lands on my Baltic Avenue.

"Four dollars, please," I tell Cal sweetly.

But one of Cal's deft hands is already handing me four ones before I fully get the words out. His fingers brush mine as he deposits the thin bills in my hand. Though he doesn't say anything, his eyes, now losing their boyish gleam, tease the hell out of me.

I like to pretend that I don't know how much rent costs. I keep glancing at my cards every time Cal lands on my properties, keep asking him how much I owe whenever I land on one of his.

I already snipped at Cal once, telling him that not everyone has time to obsessively play Monopoly and memorize the rent costs.

"How's the malt?"

I take the dice from the center of the board. With a flick of my hand, I land on Atlantic Avenue.

From the shadow of my ball cap, I watch as Cal's lip twitches. There goes his easy path to a Monopoly on the yellow properties.

"Ten out of ten, obviously," I return with a smirk.

The malt is to-die-for, with its decadent whipped cream, no shortage of cherries, and indulgent ice cream that tastes of butter and chocolate. I decide that there are few things better in the world than this malt. Its maker cut no corners in creating it.

I hand my money over to Julian. He's forgone using a straw with his malt and sports a fine line of chocolate over his lip. He gives me my yellow card in return.

Yet when I return my focus to Cal, I find him wearing a victorious smirk of his own. Looking like a king in every right, from his lazy yet perfect-postured position to his grandiose robe, Cal's only missing a crown to place atop his head of thick black hair.

"Well thank you, then. I made these malts myself."

Blinking, I stare at my contemporary teacher. My lip curls, and I glance at my malt in disdain. Taking another sip of it would be a concession to Cal.

As if egged on by my annoyance, the candlelight seems to grow a little brighter, pulse a little faster. Julian laughs for a few notes before returning his attention to the money pile, and off to the sidelines, Maven snickers. The rest of the dancers smile among themselves, though none quite understand the joke. None quite understand why I look so angry with Cal when he's made me the best malt in the whole wide world.

"Oh, yeah," Cal continues, basking in the glory of being a ten-out-of-ten malt-maker. "Julian and I went grocery shopping last night after our contemporary class. I decided that I wanted to do malts this year, so I found this bomb-ass recipe on . I went back to my apartment after the semifinals, put on a hairnet, and got to work."

Deep down, I'm not surprised that Cal could craft such a masterpiece. He probably put on a hairnet just to spite me. I won't even ask how Cal got the malts from his apartment to the Academy in perfect condition.

Cal's smile grows, showing more teeth.

"I figure that if I'm going to viciously destroy my opponent in a game of Monopoly, the least I can do is make her a malt."

Cal's questioning eyes peer back at my own.

I know what he's thinking.

Why are you being so docile tonight, Mare?

There are easy answers to that. It would be embarrassing to tear Cal down with my words only for him to tear me down in Monopoly. Maybe I'm trying to save on the push-ups for once.

I've been fairly nice. I've used words like please and thank-you and have avoided rolling my eyes at Cal's comments that beg for comebacks. But he won't get a reaction out of me. Not yet and not until I get one from him.

I'm biding my time.

I've set up my traps, and now I'm just waiting for them to detonate.

Mindlessly, I pull together the fifty-two dollars I need to pay rent on Cal's Pacific Avenue. He now has all three green cards, meaning rent doubles. He could've already begun building houses, but he's been playing with me. The biggest Monopoly I currently have is the cheap light blue properties.

"Miss Barrow."

I glance at Julian, who stares back at me inquisitively.

"Yeah?"

"How do you do that?"

My eyebrows scrunch together. "Do what?"

The professor points at my neatly arranged money pile. I have my fingers on the ones, and I pull another bill from my pile.

"You grab your money with one hand in a really odd way. You don't even look at the money."

I have to pinch my lips together at Julian's blunt comment. He isn't wrong. I pick up bills with the pads of my fingers and then manage to get them into my palm with one hand.

It's the way that Will Whistle grabs his money, actually. I picked it up long ago in his store as I peered over Will's counter, waiting for him to count the money that he owed me. It's just an old habit learned in another life, where my hands had to be fast and dexterous.

As though I don't know what he's talking about, I shrug my shoulders. "Oh. I don't know. I never noticed, actually."

Lies.

Cal's eyes drift down to the board, but not before giving me a pointed glance.

The money in the bank shouldn't need a separate table, but it has one. Usually, I imagine that Julian would keep it in the drawer built into the board, but now the paper money is situated four feet from me on Julian's opposite side. Cal undoubtedly made the request to move the money, probably offering some vague explanation about his Monopoly security concerns.

Julian replies with a distant "hmm" or "mmm."

Cal picks up the dice and rolls again

With the impact of each die, Cal rolls a three and a one.

It takes his dog from free parking to the glimmering red property that I need.

Illinois Avenue.

It's my favorite property for reasons already mentioned. And considering that I already have Kentucky and Illinois, I need it.

I let my lips twitch. My fingers drum against the carpet. I take a sip of my malt if only to hide my displeasure. I pretend to watch the board as Cal's smirk reappears on his face.

"I think that I'd like to put this item up for auction, Julian."

A roll of my eyes. Cal knows how much I want Illinois Avenue. I've grunted every time that I've passed it and spent the better half of five minutes staring at the red tile.

The auction rule in a two-person game is stupid. According to the fancy leather rule booklet, the person giving up the property can still bid. Cal just wants to see how high I'll bid and how much money he can bleed out of me.

I'll be left with a complete monopoly on the red properties and no money.

"Five-hundred," I tell Julian, throwing out a hand in defeat.

Dormant butterflies awake from inside of me and begin flapping around in my stomach. My very nerves seem to twitch as I stare down a deal that might break me.

Our audience isn't supposed to talk. Usually, a few are caught up in whispered conversations, and others sneak looks at their phones during dull moments in the game. Up until now, I suppose that the entirety of the game has been rather dull. But now, the candles do the opposite: their flames shrink until they're only steady beads of fire in their containers. The dancers do the same, leaning forward and forgetting their conversations.

We're having ourselves a bidding war.

"Six hundred," Cal returns a little too fast.

We both have plenty of money. Cal's hit a patch of good luck with Chance cards, and I've collected some money off him with my light blue properties. But I have a solid two-hundred over Cal.

"Seven-hundred."

I pretend to glance at my money. I don't look away until I'm sure that Cal's watching me.

"Eight-hundred," Cal replies. He'll have to mortgage if he goes any higher.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice how Maven shakes his head at me. Bad deal. I know.

"Nine-hundred." I sound breathless with pain.

I know what Cal wants. If only to see me suffer, he'll go over a thousand. There's some sort of satisfaction to that number, and I only know because if the roles were reversed, I'd do the same. I would force Cal to bid just one dollar more as long as I got him to the glorious, bank-breaking sum of one-thousand dollars. I don't have to be a son of Wall Street to know that.

"One-thousand dollars," Cal sighs, that glorious number slipping like butter off of his tongue. If I were to look up, I'd find a swaggering and ever-so-blind businessman.

All this time, I've kept my head tilted down towards the board. My cap covers my eyes so that he can't see what emotions lurk in them. But I have no doubt that Cal sees the cold-blooded, delighted smile that pulls at my lips, exposing my teeth.

"Well, Cal." I return his buttery words with a saccharine tone. "If Illinois Avenue means that much to you, then I suppose you should take it. I'm out."

For a moment, the world seems to fall right off its axis.

Everyone must draw in a breath at the same moment because there's suddenly a lack of air in the hall. The candlelight recoils, as if struck by my words. I peer up from the shadow of my cap to watch as the warmth drains from Cal's eyes. His mouth falls next, lips descending into a straight line before curving down altogether. His throat and jaw seem to tense up, the latter becoming solid rock.

His bewildered, horrified expression is worth all of the push-ups in the world.

I may have wanted Illinois Avenue, but bleeding Cal dry for a dead property is so much better.

When it was nothing more than a few eager glances and nervous twitches, making him think that I would pay eleven-hundred dollars for Illinois Avenue was too easy.

And now I've scammed him out of a thousand dollars.

"It's not looking like you have enough money to pay for it, though. But . . ."

My eyes trace his cards.

"I'm thinking, Cal, that you could mortgage Illinois Avenue for one-twenty and Boardwalk for two-hundred."

Cal's cold eyes widen to the point that I can see the whites around his irises. His hands splay across his carpet, and his body recoils just as the candle flames do.

My contemporary teacher takes a long gander at me.

So does the rest of the company. I bathe under their gazes as the boys realize that it was no fluke that I'm here, sitting before Cal's Monopoly board.

The girls look on with eyes of predators, ready to see blood spill.

I've laid out my cards. Now I have to play them.

"Well, Cal." I might not look at Julian, but I can just about hear his grin. "Looks like you have to pay up."

When he finally manages to tear his eyes from me, one glance around the room at a smirking Bess Blonos, a wildly-grinning Ptolemus Samos, and a bunch of girls who have their hands pressed over their mouths confirms Cal's suspicions.

The Monopoly King has a coup on his hands.

His eyes return to mine, and in the few seconds that they were gone, they regained all of their fire and more.

"You lied to me, and you manipulated me."

In so many ways.

I remember our conversation from Wednesday night, as I let Cal divulge his entire Monopoly strategy. I let him talk for as long as he wanted while I sat back and pretended not to listen.

His words are casual. So are mine.

"Yeah, I did. But you're so easy to manipulate, and nothing that I did was against the rules. If it's any consolation, we don't have to fight about whether Monopoly is chance or skill anymore."

That sets Cal off.

A breathy, dangerous laugh leaves his throat. His body returns to its relaxed state, and his smile becomes one that I'm all too familiar with. But it's no longer playful or mocking. It's murderous.

His eyes never leaving mine, Cal gathers up all of his hundreds and flips over his Boardwalk.

A few seconds of silence pass, and Cal begins to understand the extent of what I've done.

In time, Cal comes to understand what I really am.

We're too deep into the game for there to be any point in keeping up the ruse. I've set my traps, and one has deployed. We'll see if more do.

"This is a well-thought-out coup that you all are running. So what? Mare thought that she'd set a few traps? Keep me in the dark until the game tilted in her favor and she bled me dry? I'm impressed, girls. And Ptolemus, apparently."

Cal surveys the arc of dancers, eyes landing on his friend.

Ptolemus returns Cal's gaze. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Cal's eyes narrow. "I'm not your enemy. And Mare is your sister's enemy."

Ptolemus shrugs his broad shoulders. He sweeps a hand through his hair. "I'll deal with my sister's rage later. And when it comes to Monopoly, I want to see you suffer, Cal. Just like how you made me suffer last year."

"Don't blame Miss Barrow, Cal," Blonos sing-songs from her seat. She looks happier than I've ever seen her, a smile showing her teeth for once. "Elara and Iris only recognized a rare talent in her on Monday, and the girls then decided to make her our pawn. We want a new ruler, preferably a queen. It wasn't Mare's idea to lie to you or manipulate you. She just turns out to be a very manipulative girl."

Julian, meanwhile, rests his cheek in his palm. "Let us all remember that Cal's title as Monopoly King is merely a title. He doesn't actually possess any authoritarian power to punish his subjects."

But Julian, knowing all about my lessons with his nephew, lets his eyes slide to me.

I can already feel the ache in my arms.

"I'm offended."

Genuinely irritated, Maven throws up his hands in disbelief from his place at the wall.

"If anyone had bothered to tell me that you were planning on overthrowing my brother, Mare, I could've helped you. I could've coached you. And then you'd be my Monopoly Queen, and I'd be your Monopoly King."

I refrain from rolling my eyes.

"Maven, I don't need a king. You'd be lucky to be my prince consort," I return as I throw down my dice.

I would've liked to tell Maven about my plan, but he was too much of a security risk.

A couple of the girls laugh. Maven glares at them and starts saying something about a patch of bad luck. But there is no luck in the game of Monopoly, and I return my attention to the board.

A half-finished malt waits at my side, along with a small supply of money. I just got hit by a three-house North Carolina Avenue, a moment Cal took great pleasure in.

Cal's dog is currently settled on Connecticut Avenue, which possesses four very nice houses.

I managed to buy up all of the yellow properties, making those and Cal's green cards the main killers on the board. The reds and dark blues are still split, but Cal has another Monopoly on the orange properties. I still have three of the railroads, and he has the utilities. Everything else is split.

The man in front of me watches me ever-so-carefully.

His silk robe draped over him, Cal's eyes seem to tear every fiber of me apart. Though I'm wearing a pajama set of my own, my skin feels tingly under his fiery gaze. Having figured out what I was doing with my ball cap, he told me to take it off.

"I don't want to pay four-fifty for rent, Mare," Cal tells me, nodding at where he's landed. "Why don't we cut a deal instead?"

It seems that I'm getting my first taste of Cal's business side. I see the coldness and the constant calculating that goes on in his eyes. Even after his Illinois Avenue debacle, Cal radiates confidence, as though he's just humoring me and has the upper hand.

Cal's the heir to a Wall Street empire. His first lesson in business from his father was probably a game of Monopoly Junior. He's grown up knowing what he would be one day, and he's been bred into the perfect businessman for it.

My opponent's strategy is simple. First, he identifies what will bring him victory. Then, he decides how to go about getting what will bring him victory. He dissects how his opponent thinks, what they want, and what their weaknesses are. He proceeds to exploit them until he's gotten what he wants. And in the end, he wins.

"Sorry, Cal," I say. I know where this is going. "I'm not interested in any of your filthy properties at the moment. Pay up, please."

Cal cracks a smile. "I'll have you know that my properties are excellently maintained. I have five-out-of-five Yelp reviews across the board. Literally."

Not finding him funny, I eye my opponent. "I'm not interested. Pay up. Now."

There's no card that he'll offer me that makes it worth it. He might offer me his railroad, utilities, or even his Baltic Avenue. But the bottom line is that he's trying to keep me low on funds while he spends his money building up his properties on his monopolies.

Reluctantly, Cal gathers up his money and hands it over.

His throat bobs. It's the only indication that he's displeased.

"I think that there's a real chance that you might lose, Cal," Julian says to his nephew. He finished his malt long ago, though the shadow of chocolate remains pasted over his lip. "It seems that Miss Barrow isn't falling for your tricks."

It's true. His tricks aren't working on me.

At the same time, there's an excitement in Cal's eyes.

I doubt he's been challenged like this in a long time.

Cal flat-out ignores Julian.

"I won't lose. And when I win, all you girls and Ptolemus are going to be very embarrassed of what you've done tonight."

If.

If he wins. Not when.

I've done what I could.

Through my lies and manipulations, I've given myself the best chance possible of winning. I scammed Cal out of a thousand dollars, and I've rejected his deals that would harm me in the long run.

But in the end, it seems as though this game is going to boil down to chance.

My wheelbarrow lands on the unfortunate property of Cal's Pennsylvania Avenue. It bears one shimmering hotel that amounts to fourteen-hundred dollars.

The hall grows quiet again.

\Cal and I have been going back and forth for an hour. It's past ten, and the whipped cream of what little malt I have left has dissolved into the chocolate. Along with the intoxicating scent of the hallway candles, something else has built up in the air. Static, tension, stupefaction, or something like that.

Our turns have blurred together. I owe Cal money, he owes me money. There are no worthwhile trades to make. Our audience has grown bored but won't leave, too fascinated by how this game will end.

I have five-hundred dollars on my side of the table.

That makes me nine-hundred short.

"What a predicament," Cal murmurs. Like me, he's short on cash.

Neither of us is especially happy that Julian instituted a new income tax policy to expedite the game. We have to pay him one-fifth of our money every five turns.

"But I won't make you pay," Cal says. "Give me Park Place, and you won't pay a dollar."

Bastard.

I could mortgage. But I'd have to mortgage all of my railroads and sell a good number of houses.

Cal would then be fourteen-hundred up, and I'd be fourteen-hundred down.

His dog is currently back on Illinois Avenue, not at all far from my yellow hotels.

"You'll have to un-mortgage it yourself," I tell Cal. Still, I pick up my dark blue card and extend it across the luxury board. It's turned golden in the corridor light.

Even Ptolemus and Iris raise their brows at that move. A Monopoly on Park Place and Boardwalk spells certain doom for me.

Cal's smile is cutting. "Good doing business with you."

After taking the card from my hand, he passes Julian the one-seventy-five needed to un-mortgage.

What an absolute pain in the ass.

"Your turn," I gesture.

Cal picks up the dice and throws them in a smooth motion.

He rolls doubles. One and one, to put him right on Atlantic Avenue.

I contain my smile, and Cal lets out a disgruntled sound. He's somewhere around seven-hundred short, and like me, he already has some of his worthless properties mortgaged.

I don't plan on offering him a similar deal.

"The unfortunate thing about having a monopoly on Park Place and Boardwalk, Cal," I explain, "is that you traditionally need money to build up houses on them."

With parted lips, Cal glances from the board to me.

Maybe it was a risk. But it seems to be working out.

"Oh my God," somebody mutters from the sidelines, clearly impressed with what I've done.

"I'd sell the houses on your orange properties if I were you. I think that you'll have to mortgage them as well, actually."

As though he's gone a little numb, Cal mutely clears the houses from his orange properties. He gives them to Julian, who silently offers Cal five-hundred dollars in exchange. The cards get turned over next. Cal hands me my money.

It's so strange how he can go from unbelievably arrogant in one moment to silent the next.

"Doubles," I chirp.

Like a kicked dog, Cal picks up the dice.

He rolls a one and a two, landing him on Marvin Gardens. Like Atlantic Avenue, it has a hotel.

I cluck my tongue, perhaps letting a little too much arrogance slip out myself.

"Poor Cal. That's going to cost you twelve-hundred-dollars."

On the precipice of becoming a loser, Cal takes the final sips of his malt.

I've stripped him of his houses. I've forced him to mortgage every property he has, save for his green cards. But they're barely worth anything anymore.

"Cal. It's probably time to declare bankruptcy," Julian reasons. He goes so far as to put a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder, still clad in the bloody silk robe.

As though Julian just told him that it was time to pull the plug on a family member, Cal nods stoically.

He's interrupted by me taking the final slurps of my malt. The sound of me pulling the last bits of chocolate and whipped cream through my straw ring down the hallway. The malt drains just like Cal's bank account does.

Cal's jaw works.

I bask in his angry, defeated eyes. The words he says next are music to my ears.

"I, Cal, surrender to my opponent, the lovely Mare Barrow. My Monopoly Queen."

Somewhere along the line, both Cal and I rise up. Returning to his full height, Cal walks along the side of the board with that lethal grace of his. In a fluid motion, I watch as Cal strips himself of his robe. Red and black silk dangle from his hands, along with the ostentatious text of MONOPOLY KING.

In the background, everybody applauds, just as they did for my audition, my fouetté contest with Evangeline, and the second time I performed my dance. A few of the overzealous ballerinas shout things like "you did it, girl" or "that's my queen." Ptolemus and Maven waste no time in hurling good-humored insults at Cal.

But it's just me and Cal. Even the candles fade away.

His bronze eyes tear me apart. "Turn around," he says, his voice so soft and jarring at once.

I do as he says. A moment later, silk as soft as Cal's voice brushes against my hands before traveling up my arms and onto my shoulders. Cal's hand sweeps away my braid, and his warm skin touches the back of my neck.

The contact only lasts for a second, but his touch sends chills ricocheting down my spine.

I'm going to have to get the robe altered. Drastically. It's too big everywhere. The fabric grazes the marble floor, the sleeves completely cover my hands, the shoulders droop onto my arms, and I could wear about twenty layers of clothing and still fit in this robe. The monogram needs to be ripped out and redone, and it needs to say QUEEN on its back instead of KING.

Once he's adjusted my robe as best as he can, Cal circles around so that we're face-to-face.

Patronizingly, he begins to roll up my sleeves for me.

Anabel insisted on a photo.

The Monopoly board is discarded down the hall, and half of our audience has decided to have a little dance party in the name of the Monopoly Queen around it. Some of the ballet dancers have rather questionable moves, shaking their shoulders and hips in ways that Blonos and Elara are just about ready to scold them for. Ptolemus has his hands on the hips of Wren Skonos, one of the Corps girls, who he apparently likes, and the two dancers all but grind against each other.

Somebody has a Bluetooth speaker, and it's piping out this awful rap music that both Cal and I cringe at. Somebody else dimmed the lights so that the dying candles are the main source of illumination down the hall. We might as well be on the inside of a jack-o'-lantern.

Meanwhile, Cal and I are posing for Anabel's photo at the end of the hall where light slips through.

In his Loser's Robe, Cal kneels on one knee with his leg turned out. The black silk matches his hair, and unlike mine, his robe suits his powerful body well.

As though we're partners who just finished a dance, I sit on Cal's broad thigh. His corded forearms encircle my waist, my arms rest at his shoulders, and the silk of our robes mix together on the floor. He's warm, like a fireplace on a cold winter's day.

Anabel pokes at her phone screen ahead of us, looking at how the pictures came out.

Cal takes the chance to drop his warm smile for the camera. One of his arms tightens around me, and I realize for the first time how close our faces are together. His steady breaths smell like warm chocolate.

"I know it feels good right now, what you did."

"Mmm-hmm."

Cal's breath tickles my ear as he leans in close. Anabel is thoroughly absorbed in her phone.

"You took my robe from me. You're probably going to tear apart my robe."

"Mmm-hmm."

I couldn't get away from Cal if I tried. He has me locked in with his arms.

"You lied to me, you manipulated me, and then you laughed in my face."

"Mmm-hmm." I take a hand off his shoulder and raise my finger. "But it wasn't my idea. Blonos, Elara, and the girls made me do it. In the name of Monopoly democracy."

Cal's laugh is humorless.

"You feel good now, and you'll feel good tomorrow morning. But come tomorrow night, when you're on the stage floor and you're begging me to let you stop doing push-ups, then you'll regret it."

My contemporary teacher pauses.

"And if you don't regret it then, you'll regret it on Wednesday. Or next Sunday. Or next month. But you'll regret this, Mare."