Dirt

1

Princeton

"Two decks middle all in chips," Anyone on the outside would think we're playing a bootleg, made-up version of  Spanish 21 renamed Six Addition. And they would be absolutely right, "Come on Prince, count 'em in," Raine taps the center of the pitted table where all the other boys had pushed their coins into a pathetic pile. He cocks a blonde eyebrow, slowly letting the smoke from his fag waft into the air. 

My mind jumps from counting the lines in the wood of this side of the table, the number leaving my head for what has to be the fifth time. I nod and push my 1.63 of change into the center. The bar is loud with the radio and some random soccer game playing over drunk chatter and clinking glass. The rest of the boys -Roger, Basil, and Cedar- give me their annoyed, teasing looks they offer when I get distracted.  I throw back a sheepish smile and turn back to Raine as he passes out our three cards from the first deck and then three from the other. 

"Right, thirty-one combined or twenty for each three," We've been playing Raine's various inventions since the seventh grade and each time he re-explains them. It's sometimes sometimes helpful depending on how he feels towards a new way to play it, "Closest to either gets two-thirds, the rest distributed. Any war is another hand for the duelers, with no hits," We all nod, ready to get this round going. I'm going to win, I can feel it in my cards.

"Pick up," Everyone grabs their two hands quickly adding math of the numbers or faces on their cards. I force myself not to scream at my awful hands -27 both, 8 and 19 separate. Fuck, why did he have to play these rules this time?

I glance up from the cards to take a look at the lots' reaction to their cards. Raine has his lips pursed around a lit cigarette, eyebrows furrowed, that's his way of bluffing he has bad cards. Fuck. Basil is looking away from his cards too, a wrinkle of dread settled between his brows. Roger's tongue is sticking out while he concentrates on adding his cards correctly. And Cedar is grinning. He's always been a proud bastard, horrible at a poker face at things going good for him. 

I bite back my sigh, laying my cards face down and picking up my club soda to take a sip. I shiver at the horrible taste, my tastebuds obviously ignorant about my familiarity with the drink.

Raine finally looks up from his hands, setting them down and tapping the end of his cigarette in the ashtray on the table, surveying the rest of us before nodding to himself, "Alright, ready boys? Prince, hit?" I bite my lip, picking up my cards, recounting quickly and nodded. Raine slides me a card from one deck. 6 of hearts. A fucking bust, "Basil, hit?" Basil hesitates too, looking back to his cards before nodding too. Around the table, we go. Cedar and Raine the only ones who don't take the extra cards. 

"Anyone need a double hit?" No one takes it, Raine shrugs, picking his hands up, the cigarette dangling from his lips making his words slightly slurred together, "Flip."

Quick as lighting, every one of us flips our two hands, Cedar and Raine grinning diabolically, the rest of us shaking our heads in defeat. I lean back in my seat, slowly tapping the little horseshoe hanging from my smiley against my gums with the flex of my upper lip and tapping my finger on the rim of my glass, watching as Raine leans forward with narrowed eyes as he adds up the cards displayed in front of him. 

"Thirty. Read 'em and weep," Greedy Grin Cedar sits back with his arms confidently crossed over his chest. 

My eyes connect with Basil across the table, both of us far too familiar with this type of situation. Cedar is the most competitive, cocky piece of shit in all of the state. Raine, being the oldest of us -two years older than me- is on the constant drive to prove himself right and simultaneously mature at all times. Thus the two of them are usually the end battles in all competitions, snatching every chance to outdo the other.