The Philosophers' Game

Chapter 17: Don't Talk About It

Chapter 17: Don't Talk About It

"So I hear you're being blackmailed. By a Club outsider."

I was sitting across from Alice in a booth at the back of a local diner, sans Socrates. We were both overdressed, sporting dresses and pumps as if heading to a polo match, but I was glad I'd guessed correctly about what she would wear; I looked worthy of being in her company. When she'd first asked to meet me for coffee, I'd presumed we would be discussing the game, though I wasn't sure how intensely. Despite our growing closer, she still hadn't told me how often Socrates updated her about developments or how candid he actually was with his summaries.

"By the Outsider," I corrected her. "He or she is trying to make it look like I'm cheating on Nathan. Socrates was beyond furious when he found out. I think in some strange way he feels responsible."

Alice nodded thoughtfully. "Well, he was in one of those pictures and, like I've said before, he really cares about you. The rest of the Philosophers, too. But probably more than that, this game is his invention, his baby. If it in any way led to the rise of the Outsider and, by extension, causes any of you unforeseen harm, his protective instincts are bound to be activated."

Unsure of what to say next, I took a few sips of coffee and stared at the table. I wasn't sure I would've classified Socrates's actions as protective, so much as angry and reactionary. Alice lifted her mug to her lips as well, but noticing my reservation, she put it back down and said quietly, "Did I ever tell you what happened the day after our mother died?" When I shook my head, she continued, "She died on a Saturday, and I went to school that very next Monday. I didn't talk to anyone, not even my friends. I thought I was being strong and setting a good example for my brother. I thought taking a day off was weak. I desperately wanted things to get back to normal, but now I know you can't rush normal. The more you try to hide your pain or brush it off, the worse it gets.

"Anyway, I was a senior and Socrates was in eighth grade. He'd gone to school only because I did, though later he told me he'd spent nearly the entire day with Benny - now Plato - hiding out in the parking lot. He and our dad drove over to pick me up and I wasn't waiting, so Socrates came in to find me. My class was held late after the bell, and some creep cornered me by my locker and started hitting on me. I couldn't take it. I broke down sobbing right there.

"Then all of a sudden Socrates comes running up and tackles the guy, even slams his head against the lockers. But the asshole pops right back up like a jack-in-the-box. An eighth grader versus a high school senior. Five minutes later my brother's a swollen and bleeding mess, with barely enough strength to stand up but still trying to grab this guy. As we walk back to the car, I ask him, 'Are you okay?' And of course, he's not. It was a stupid question. I was in shock. I'd never even seen a fight until that.

"But Socrates. He just stared down at his feet and said, 'I probably look a lot better than I feel.'" Here Alice paused to rub her forehead in anguish, and I could see her gray eyes now glassy with tears that she was using all her concentration to wall in. "And let me tell you, that just about killed me. I'd never felt so sick to my stomach than I did right then, not even when Mom died, and I still haven't. I knew it was my fault. I wasn't looking after myself. I led him astray and let him down. So at that exact moment I decided to go abroad instead of to Yale like my father. I knew I had to find myself and let Socrates do the same without us worrying about each other. It was the best decision I've ever made. For both of us."

Even my hands were shaking. The coffee, needless to say, wasn't helping much. "Why are you telling me this?" I whispered.

"Because you need to know when it comes to fight-or-flight, Socrates's first instinct will be to fight. You need to know to what lengths he'll actually go for you," she responded firmly, her voice stronger than ever and any former hints of tears completely dissipated. I hoped that one day I would be as wise and resilient as she was.