Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER SIX
PLAYING THE GAME

Two sheets were suspended from the ceiling, dividing the basement into two halves. Hyde and Donna had used a pair of ladders to do the job, one from Red's garage and the other from Bob's. Red's initial reaction to the redecoration was protest, but once he learned ladders were involved, he elected himself supervisor.

His spatial sense was a bonus. He directed where to put the couch for the "bachelors" to sit, brought stools from the garage for Jackie and the "audience". Having one less responsibility gave Hyde room to think. His mind was overheated. The dryness in his throat had expanded into his mouth and over his skin. Air pushed in his direction by people walking raised the hair on his arms. The feeling sucked, but his whole body had become sensitive.

He never got nervous, but his stomach jumped at every little noise—the creak of the wooden stairs, Fez's nasal breaths, the scratching of Donna's pen. Like him, his friends were writing questions for Jackie to ask. They crowded the spool table with their bodies, with their crumpled index cards, and Hyde needed some space.

"How many did you come up with?" Donna said as he stood up.

"Three." It would have to be enough, and he left the table to pace. The "bachelors" would show up in five minutes. Jackie in ten. He hadn't seen her all day, and their laughter from yesterday rolled over his memory like a toxic cloud. Giving himself to her wasn't an option, not when she didn't truly want him.

He pushed through the sheet barrier to where Jackie's potential boyfriends would sit. Mrs. Forman had set up the side table with a plate of snickerdoodles and cans of Coke. She was arranging pillows on the couch, ones from the living room. She'd done more than she'd had to, and he cleared his throat. Not consciously, but it had become habit, and the sound rattled against his ears.

"Oh, Steven!" Mrs. Forman presented her work to him. "How do you like it?"

"It's great, Mrs. Forman. Thanks." He scratched his neck, but his throat remained dry. He considered snatching a pop from the side table, but he wouldn't be talking much tonight. The "bachelors" would, and if they got thirsty, those pops were for them.

Mrs. Forman's brows furrowed. "You sound terrible!" She placed the back of her hand on his forehead. "Are you coming down with something?"

He shrugged. His hoarse voice was a tell, especially for someone as shrewd as Mrs. Forman. He couldn't have her encouraging him to back out of this scheme. Jackie had to start dating. Otherwise, Kelso would fuck up her future.

"Well, you just take it easy tonight," Mrs. Forman said and glanced at her watch. "Oh, I better get to the kitchen. Jackie'll be here any minute."

She rushed through the sheets. He followed half a minute later and found he was alone. Donna, Fez, and Red must've gone upstairs. Fez and Red were supposed to meet the "bachelors" at the front door, two from Point Place High and one from Ft. Anderson High.

Hyde had recruited the Ft. Anderson kid himself, a guy named Mark. Apparently, Mark went to Mt. Humphrey Park regularly for chess matches. Hyde had watched him play a game against a man old enough to be his grandpa. Mark lost, but he'd lost without an ego and shook the old man's hand.

Mark seemed a decent enough kid, so Hyde challenged him to a match afterward. Mark agreed and had no trouble talking while strategizing.

"She can be a talker," Hyde told him two-thirds into the game. Mark was open to the idea of The Dating Game setup, but he wanted to know about Jackie first. "But she's smart as hell, and if you engage her in the right topic, you won't be bored."

"I can deal with a talker," Mark said and pushed his bangs from his eyes. His hair was long, blond, and reached his shoulders. He had the Leif Garret, Peter Frampton, Andy Gibb look that Jackie dug. Physical chemistry wouldn't be a problem, long as Mark wasn't an asshole. "I'm more of a thinker," he said and checked Hyde's king, "so I like someone who can generate conversation."

Hyde captured Mark's rook, and Mark cursed. Hyde's king was no longer in check.

"She also knows when to quit talking," Hyde said as Mark studied the board. "Gets the value of silence. She's open to learnin' new things, and she'll probably teach you a few—"

"Hey, I'm almost sold." Mark moved his bishop into the d-file. He was threatening Hyde's queen. Would probably capture it. Hyde's only way of protecting it was to make his king more vulnerable. "How's she at kissing?"

"Uh..." Hyde raked his knuckles against his beard.

Mark tapped the underside of the concrete chess table. A sharp wind ruffled nearby trees, and he sighed with the leaves. "That bad, huh?"

"Didn't say that."

"So she's that good?"

"What makes you think I know?"

Mark's forehead creased. "Thought she was your ex. You talk like she is."

Hyde laughed quietly. This guy was perceptive. "Yeah, she's a good kisser, but she's not my ex."

"Hmm." Mark took Hyde's queen. "So you're still with her? This is some kind of kink-thing?"

"Hell no. We tried dating. Didn't take."

"I see. Why not?"

Hyde was going to lose this match. He'd left too many openings. Made too many bad moves. Future possibilities coiled around his skull: what he hoped for, what he had to sacrifice. "Sometimes shit just doesn't work out."

"I hear ya," Mark said, "but she still counts as your ex."

She didn't, but Hyde wouldn't argue. His goal was to get this guy to be Jackie's next ex—boyfriend—whatever. Mark came across as smart enough to keep up with her. And to challenge her, which she needed. He'd challenged Hyde frustratingly well the last few minutes; and in three more moves, he checkmated Hyde's king.

He also agreed to be one of the "bachelors".

Footfalls vibrated the basement's ceiling. Mark or one of the other candidates must have arrived, and Hyde read over the questions written for them. Most were Jackie-specific in their own ways. But if he disliked the answers they elicited from Jackie's potential boyfriends, he'd kick their asses out.

Jackie hurried into the Formans' kitchen, much like she had this morning. The sunset shone through the patio door, adding orange to an already questionable color palette. But she had no time to give Mrs. Forman her décor expertise. Donna had begged her to come over, to help her get data for a paper she'd forgotten to write. Donna was doing a senior masterworks project for school, something on the psychology of dating.

"Jackie, Donna told me you'd be here," Mrs. Forman said. "Something about an essay?"

Jackie clutched the edge of the bar. She'd been promised Michael wasn't part of this project, that he'd be at The Hub all night, busy with some video game contest. "Yes, but that's last-minute Donna for you. Do you have the cookies?"

Mrs. Forman opened the cabinet above the sink. She pulled out a plastic-wrapped plate of cookies, gave it to Jackie, and removed a ginger ale from the fridge. "He's not feeling very well," she said and passed her the soda, too. "I don't think he has a fever, but he's obviously got a sore throat, and he's pale."

"Steven's always pale," Jackie said. "He's fair-skinned … blue-eyed … strawberry-blond ..."

"Strawberry-blond?" Mrs. Forman ushered her toward the basement stairs. "Donna's waiting for you."

"Strawberry-blond," Jackie repeated. "His blond hair has a coppery tint to it, but it'll probably darken as he gets older..." Steven's face filled her mind. She'd studied it secretly for years. His scruffy, manly looks appealed to her as much as his soft, compassionate soul.

"He might just be perfect," she said as she followed Mrs. Forman down the stairs. "I mean..."

She clapped a hand over her mouth. Saying more would reveal too much. Her feelings for Steven were complex. With Michael she'd become a dead end, but Steven opened her up to possibilities she'd never thought of.

Mrs. Forman laughed uncomfortably. "No one's perfect, and everyone could use a hearty dose of forgiveness for their imperfections. Try not to forget that."

She left Jackie at the bottom of the staircase and scurried into the basement. Jackie held the plate of cookies against her stomach but paused at the second-to-last step. The basement had been transformed. Sheets split it into two spaces. The spool table and TV had been pushed toward the front wall. A stool stood near the sheets, and the couch was missing.

"Is that her?" a male voice said from behind the sheets. She didn't recognize it.

"Yes," Mr. Forman's voice said. He had to be behind the sheets, too. "Now shut it."

A masculine giggle drew Jackie's attention. Fez, Donna, and Steven were by the washer and dryer, and Steven elbowed Fez in the ribs. Fez stopped giggling and rubbed his side. Donna had clearly enlisted more than Jackie to help her, but rearranging the basement seemed excessive.

"What's going on?" Jackie said from the staircase.

"It's for my senior masterworks project," Donna said. "The Psychology of Dating, remember? What better way to get data than to recreate The Dating Game?"

Jackie climbed down the last steps hesitantly. "Am I … a contestant?"

"Yes!" Fez darted to her side. He had on a brown suit, and his hair was poofy, like he'd used hairspray. "And I am your charming, handsome host for the evening." He offered her his arm. She ignored it, and he went to the stool by himself. "Please, have a seat."

"In a minute." Jackie brought Steven's cookies to the washer and dryer. Steven backed away, but she grasped his sleeve. "Stay put. I don't care if you're sick. Donna..." A row of folding chairs had been placed between the laundry area and the sheet divider. Mrs. Forman was already sitting in a chair, and Jackie pointed to the one beside her. "A little privacy, please?"

"Sure." Donna shoved a notepad under her arm and went to the chairs.

Jackie maintained her grip on Steven's sleeve, even though he'd stopped trying to escape. "What's your role in all of this?" she said. "And why are the Formans here?

"Red's making sure the 'bachelors' don't mess up the basement," he said. "Mrs. Forman agreed to let Donna use the basement only if she could watch. Guess she's bored."

"Huh." That explained the Formans, but ... "What about you? It's Saturday night. Shouldn't you be out 'cruising for girls'?"

He pushed his palm into the edge of the washer, like the question bothered him. Before the summer, searching for commitment-free sex was the usual for him. She'd witnessed it, watched as he and his girl-of-the-week sneaked into his room. Both would emerge an hour later, flushed, sweaty, and smiling. With the summer basically over, that routine would probably resume.

"Did your car break down?" she said when he didn't answer.

"I'm here to make sure nothin' goes wrong."

"Wrong? What could go wrong?"

"Me, Fez, and Donna picked the guys for this experiment. But if any of 'em act up, I'm Red's backup."

She waved to the sheets. "Then shouldn't you be on that side?"

"Hey!" Donna shouted from the row of chairs. "Cut the chatter already. We don't have all night. I really want to get this over with—I mean started."

Jackie scowled and stuck out her tongue. Donna could be so pushy. Jackie had an important deed to do, and she handed Steven the plastic-wrapped plate of cookies. "These are for you. They're peanut butter chocolate chip."

"You baked these for me?" His soft, surprised tone made him sound like a little boy, and her legs lost substance. She leaned against the dryer for support as he unwrapped the plate. He bit into a cookie, and his features froze, as if unsure of what he was tasting. But his eyes half closed behind his sunglasses, and he began chewing in earnest.

He glanced down at the plate after he finished the cookie. "Jackie, why did you...?" His shoulders slumped, but the cookies were supposed to make him happy, not miserable.

"I didn't bake them." She clutched her shooting star pendant over her blouse. "Mrs. Forman did, but I asked her to, as a thank-you for yesterday … for the whole summer." She willed her legs to solidify, and she stood up straight. "For being you."

She grasped his hand and leaned in to kiss his cheek, but his fingers tightened over her palm, and she changed course. Her lips grazed the corner of his mouth. His lips responded, and the sensation of it tingled in her skin.

He was kissing her back. No more than a peck, but it also wasn't less. If only he'd move his face an inch to his left, she could learn his true feelings for her. Without their current company, she'd take the initiative herself, but she broke off contact.

"Try not to eat all the cookies at once," she said and walked to the sheet divider, where Fez stood. He passed her a stack of index cards. She sat on the stool and read the first one. It was a Dating Game question, written in Donna's handwriting.

"Hello, and welcome to Getting Jackie a Date!" Fez said, like he was actually a game show host. "Bachelors, can you hear me?"

"Yeah!" a deep, male voice said through the sheets.

"No problem," another male voice said, less deep but more relaxed.

"Loud and clear," a third male voice said. It had a playful lilt, and whoever owned that voice would probably be trouble.

So would Fez if he called this experiment Getting Jackie a Date again.

She tugged on the hem of his suit jacket before he could speak. "I've never had trouble finding a date," she whispered, though it wasn't quite true. She wasn't above crying fake tears to get to Prom. "This is Donna's project, so either call it The Dating Game or The Fruits of Donna's Procrastination, or I'll kick you in your fruits."

Fez swallowed, and his tone rose two octaves. "Okay, let's begin! Jackie, there are three men on the other side of that curtain—"

"It's a pair of sheets," she said, "and Mr. Forman's there, too. So, technically, there are four men."

Laughter and a snort tickled Jackie's ears. She peered back at the row of chairs, and Mrs. Forman covered her mouth. Steven, however, didn't hide his smirk.

"On the other side of that curtain," Fez repeated, "who will vie for your affection. Please choose a bachelor and ask him a question."

She waved the index cards at him. "I know how this game works. I watch it all the time." She read the first question to herself a second time. Donna had done a good job. It was definitely relevant, and Jackie read it aloud: "Bachelor Number One, it's our one-year anniversary. What do you get me as an anniversary gift?"

"Well, that depends on you," the boy with the relaxed voice said. "If you're into, let's say, sports—"

"No," she said.

"Okay, then..." He cleared his throat. "If you like reading—"

"Diamonds!" she shouted, and Fez glared at her. "What? I'm just trying to speed this along."

"Unfortunately, at this stage of my life, I can't afford something that expensive," the first bachelor said. "But I'd get you something that shows you how much I care."

That was a cop-out answer, but she clasped the shooting star pendant. Steven couldn't afford diamonds either, but he'd given her a silver necklace. Spent three dollars to play nine games of Balloon and Dart, built up enough wins to get her one of the more expensive prizes.

She released the pendant. Steven wasn't a contestant, and this game wasn't real. She wouldn't actually go on a date with any of the so-called bachelors. This experiment was for Donna's research, and she addressed Bachelor Number Two with the second question: "If you were a candy, what kind of candy would you be?"

"Easy," the boy with the lilting voice said. "I'd be a lollipop, so sweet you couldn't help but lick me all over."

Jackie's upper lip curled in disgust, but Fez said, "Good answer! I need to write that down."

"Okay, Bachelor Number Three..." She crossed her legs on the stool. The next question was a bit embarrassing, but it was also written in Steven's handwriting. He'd scratched out his original wording for some of it, replacing it with the silly, TV-safe version. "You want to make whoopee, but I'm tired and not in the mood. What do you do?"

"I'd give you a massage, " the third bachelor said in his deep voice, "and hope it would relax you enough to get you going."

"Watch it," Mr. Forman said.

"Sometimes a lady needs a little coaxing is all," the third bachelor said, followed by a slapping sound. One of the other bachelors must've high-fived him, or maybe Mr. Forman had hit him. "I give great massages, too. Strong thumbs."

Her posture drooped. He hadn't been hit, but Bachelor Number Three's answer disqualified him. One relationship of being coaxed into sex—being annoyed into it—was enough.

"Bachelor Number Two," she said, "is it important for you to be better looking than your date?"

The question was Donna's, but Jackie held her breath as the second bachelor ummed. He was thinking, which meant he wanted to answer "correctly," not honestly, or that he was hiding something. "No," he said eventually. "In fact, it's the opposite. Definitely the opposite."

"So you're an uggo?"

"Jackie!" Donna shouted behind her. "None of these guys are gonna wanna date you with that attitude."

Jackie glanced at the row of chairs. Steven was sitting beside Donna but showed no reaction. He was too busy eating the cookies Jackie had given him.

"If I'm gonna date someone," Jackie said, "I have to be attracted to him."

Donna gripped her pen, hard enough to whiten her knuckles. "Looks aren't everything."

"You're sayin' that 'cause you picked an uggo," Steven said, and Donna slammed her fist into his shoulder. The plate of cookies shifted on his lap. Cookies slid to the edge of the plate, but he caught them in time.

"Eric is not ugly," Donna said.

"Not talkin' about Forman." He nodded toward the sheets and held up two fingers. He had to mean Bachelor Number Two, Donna choice for her experiment.

"Oh." Her grip on the pen loosened. "Shut up, Hyde. Jackie, ask the next question."

Jackie flipped through the index cards. Bachelor Number Two was disqualified, too, if Steven thought he was ugly. Physical appearance wasn't everything, but it could make up for a lot. It had drawn her back to Michael repeatedly, despite his unfaithfulness and selfishness. But he knew how gorgeous he was, and that had made him lazy. He put no effort into bettering himself as a person.

Unlike Steven.

Her thumb scratched against index cards. She was in Donahue mode again, but Steven worked on himself, struggled with himself. She'd seen it the last month, the last few days.

"Bachelor Number One," she said and ignored the pre-written questions, "let's say we've been dating a while. If you fell in love with me, how would you tell me?"

"I'd take you on a really nice date," the first bachelor said. "Dinner at your favorite restaurant, maybe somewhere we could dance. I'd hold you real close then whisper my feelings into your ear."

"Pussy!" the third bachelor shouted.

"All right, that's it," Mr. Forman said. "You've just made your last lewd remark. Let's go."

"Ow! Ow—ow—ow..."

Jackie got off the stool. Donna stood up, too, and dashed through the sheets. Jackie caught a glimpse of Mr. Forman with the ears of Jake Bradley squeezed between his fingers. Jake was the Vikings' quarterback, broad-shouldered and tall, and desired by of most of the cheer squad.

"Mr. Forman," Donna said, "Jackie's got to make the decision."

"You weren't back here, Donna," Mr. Forman said. " You didn't see—"

"Ai!" Fez ran into the sheets but became tangled in them. "That's my bachelor! I chose him! He's on the football team. The football team, damn it! And he was nice to me."

The basement door creaked open, but Jackie couldn't see it. The sheets—and Fez—were blocking her view, but the second bachelor said, "Less competition? Awesome! This'll make it easier for us."

"I'm not high-fiving you, bro," the first bachelor said.

"Fort Anderson kids," the second bachelor said with contempt. "Am I right, cherry pie?"

"Don't call me that," Donna said, and her hands popped through the sheets. They freed Fez, and the rest of her emerged into Jackie's half of the basement. "Okay, okay … we can salvage this."

Fez straightened his crooked tie and smoothed his rumpled suit jacket. "But all that's left is your short nerd and Hyde's aesthetically pleasing Snapping Turtle. My guy is gone."

"Damn right he is!" Mr. Forman shouted from the other side of the sheets.

Jackie cupped her forehead. It was beginning to hurt. "You guys, I think I'm done. Donna, just use what you've got or watch an episode of the actual Dating Game—"

"Just one more question, Jackie." Donna patted the stool. "Please? Then you can make your choice."

Jackie groaned. "Fine, but you owe me."

"And Hyde owes me," Donna muttered as she went back to her chair.

Steven? Jackie sneaked a look at him. The plate of cookies was on his lap, rewrapped in plastic, but nothing about his demeanor suggested what he might owe Donna. Once this nonsense was done, Jackie would ask him a few questions in his room. For now, though, she chose a final question from the index cards.

"Bachelor Number Two," she said and read from one of Steven's cards, "if we got into an argument, how would you handle it?"

"Easy," the second bachelor said. "I'd guilt you into apologizing to me."

"That's … interesting." She pushed the index cards at Fez. She no longer needed them, and he slipped the cards into his suit jacket pocket. "Bachelor Number One, same question."

The first bachelor began to speak, but a loud thump cut him off. The sheets billowed, and Mr. Forman said, "You! Do that again, shorty, and I'll kick your ass with something much harder than a pillow."

"Did you hear that?" the second bachelor said. "He's threatening me!"

"Because you're cheating," the first bachelor said. "You hit me with a pillow before I could answer her question."

"Aw, did the widdle piwwow hurt your pwecious face?" The second bachelor pretended to cry. "'You're cheating. Wah, wah, wah!' What a wuss."

"Jackie," the first bachelor shouted over the second, "I'd talk it out with you. Losing a single chess match isn't big a deal—unless, of course, it's the World Chess Championship—but not learning from that loss is the problem. Why repeat the same mistake?"

Jackie pressed her hand to her heart. Bachelor Number One was actually appealing. "So you play chess?" she said.

"Every weekend," he said.

"Are you really single?"

"Wouldn't be here if I weren't."

She sneaked another look at Steven. He was leaning back in his chair, but he seemed anything but relaxed. His fingers were laced behind his head, and biceps flexed in his short sleeves. Making him jealous had worked on him before. This experiment could be exactly what she needed to get him to act.

"Fez, Donna, I've made my choice," she said.

"Thank God," Donna said. "Let's hear it."

"Wait!" the second bachelor said. "She asked this guy two more questions. I should get the same amount."

Fez stuck his head through the sheets. "The lady has chosen."

"But—"

"She's chosen!" Fez shouted and returned to Jackie. "Who is your choice?"

"Bachelor Number One."

Fez clapped once. "Terrific. Let's bring out the loser—I mean Bachelor Number Two—first.."

"No way," the second bachelor said. "I'm outta—"

A redheaded boy stumbled through the sheets, like he'd been shoved. He was about Jackie's height, and she recognized him from school but didn't know his name.

"Jackie," Fez said, "this is Mitch Miller. He has a B average and, from his smell, a terrible taste in cologne."

"You're talking?" Mitch sniffed near Fez. "You stink like you bathed in opossum musk."

Fez stepped into Mitch's personal space and towered over him by nearly half a foot. "Oh, yes? Well, for your information, I have no idea what opossum musk smells like."

"You!" Mitch said and jerked his thumb at him. "This guy."

Jackie put up her hand. "Enough!" She gestured to the sheets. "You may leave."

"Gladly."

He pushed the two sheets apart, but she didn't watch him leave. Her focus was on Steven. He was leaning close to Donna and whispered something in her ear.

She shrugged. "I found him charming."

Mitch Miller, charming? From the little Jackie had experienced of him tonight, that word definitely did not fit. "Fez," she said, "bring out Bachelor Number One."

"Yes," Fez said. "Bachelor Number One, please come out."

A boy, about as tall as Michael, stepped through the sheets. His shoulder-length hair reminded her of Andy Gibb's, and his face had full lips that rivaled Mick Jagger's. Her room was full of posters with singers who resembled him.

He smiled politely and gave her a shy wave, and she begged her body not to respond. But her breathing grew shallow as Fez introduced him: "This is Mark Cailliet from Ft. Anderson—"

"Of Cailliet Clothiers?" she said.

"One and the same." Mark unbuttoned the left cuff of his dress shirt. "My parents run the company with my uncles." He rebuttoned the cuff. He was obviously uncomfortable, but most people did in the presence of her great beauty.

She hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans and jutted out her hip. "What do you mean you can't afford something as expensive as diamonds? Your parents are rich!"

"They're rich. I'm not. I like to earn my own way."

His response should've been a turn-off, but her skin prickled. "Donna," she said, "can I actually go out with him?"

Donna jumped out of the chair and raced to her side. "That would be great! I mean, as long as you reported how the date went for my paper."

"Paper?" Mark said.

Jackie slapped Donna's arm. "You didn't tell him what this Dating Game thing was for?"

Donna rubbed her arm as Steven hurried toward them. He crammed a five-dollar bill into Mark's pocket and said, "You two kids have fun tonight."

"What?" Jackie tried to pull Steven under the wooden stairs, to ask him why he'd given Mark money. But he wriggled free of her grip and planted his hands on her and Mark's backs. "Steven—!"

"Time's-a-wasting," he said. "Night ain't getting any younger. Go, go!" He pushed them to the other side of the sheets, where Mr. Forman was waiting.

"Can we put this crap back where it belongs already?" Mr. Forman gestured at the basement couch. Fez's usual seat, the lawn chair, was positioned behind it. He must've been sitting in it like a sentry.

"In a minute," Steven said and left Jackie and Mark for the basement door. He flung it open, and Eric staggered forward, as if he'd been holding onto the door knob. Michael followed, tripping on Eric's heels, and they both crashed to the basement floor, by Steven's feet.

"For God's sake—" Mr. Forman stared up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. "Eric, get up!"

"I would, Dad, but Kelso's crushing my spine!"

Steven stepped back, all the way to the couch. Michael rolled off Eric, and they both stood up. Their gazes darted around the basement, but Eric was the first to speak. "Why is a pair of sheets dangling from the ceiling? And what's the couch doing here?"

"Who's this guy?" Michael pointed at Mark, who was laughing quietly. Michael and Eric's bumbling entrance would've amused Jackie, too, if she weren't so confused.

Fez appeared from the other side of the sheets. "That," he said," is Jackie's date."

"Jackie's date?" Michael's full attention shifted to Jackie, and a chill hardened over her skin. "No, you're not supposed to be dating."

"This guy your brother?" Mark said to her.

"My ex."

"Him?" Mark hiked his thumb at Steven. "I thought that guy was your ex."

"Hyde?" Eric laughed and patted Mark's shoulder. "No, no, no, no. They hate each other … or used to." His hand fell from Mark's shoulder. "Actually, I have no idea how they feel about each other anymore."

Mark pivoted on his foot toward Jackie. "Jackie, if we're gonna have a chance of making this work—"

"Make what work?" Michael said, and Jackie gripped the back of the lawn chair. Its lattice structure dug into her palms and would likely leave a mark.

"We've got to start off with honesty," Mark said, looking squarely at her. "Your ex—or friend—or whoever he is to you—asked me to take part in this … game, I guess you'd call it, to find you a date."

"For Donna's paper," Jackie said and looked at Steven, "right?"

Steven brushed his fingers through his beard. "Well … no."

"Is that what this is for?" Eric said. "You set up a mock Dating Game?" He batted the sheets dividing the basement, and they swung away from each other, revealing Donna and Mrs. Forman. "Donna? Mom?"

Mrs. Forman waved at him as if she were on TV. "Hi, honey!" Then, to Jackie, she said. "I'm so glad you chose that one. He seems like a nice boy."

"So my girlfriend and parents are involved … and Hyde and Fez … to find Jackie a date." Eric cupped his chin and nodded. "Jackie could use all the help she can get. The only guy she's been able to snag so far is this cheating moron"

He indicated Michael, and heat throbbed at the base of Jackie's skull. It burned through her body, transforming the ice on her skin into steam. Crimson exploded behind her eyes, and she charged forward, screaming, "You asshole!"

Her rage had multiple targets: Eric for his insults, Michael for being hypocritically possessive, and Steven for participating in this humiliating scheme. Her friends had plotted together and recruited Eric's parents to—what? To show her how pathetic they believed she was?

"Who's responsible?" she shouted, and her fists lashed out, pummeling any flesh they could reach. "Who's the leader of this conspiracy?"

Her stomach lurched as someone yanked her backward. "Me, all right?" Steven said by her cheek, and her vision cleared as he turned her around in his arms. "It was me."