James Games Read Online Free

Did I tell you he broke the wall?”
    “You may have. I was probably asleep,” she yawns.
    “Well, he broke the wall.”
    “Your heart’s up next.”
    “As if,” I laugh, spinning and placing a hand on my hip. “None of these boys are invited anywhere near my heart.”
    Our dorm room is split exactly down the middle: black and pink. Her ancient Evanescence poster is taped above her bed, there’s dark artwork framed everywhere, and even her blanket is a near-black dark blue. My side is sunny and bright, with a shirtless firemen calendar and a fluffy pink unicorn comforter. Once my big stuffed owl, Ursula, slid onto Iris’s side of the carpet and she curled up on her bed and hissed at it like a cat. But other than that, we manage to coexist pretty well. I tolerate her nightly angst-music and she tolerates my Katy Perry. Her version of tolerating is to threaten me with lighter fluid and a match, of course, but I think she’s learning to love and respect our differences.
    Iris rolls back on her bed. “I’m going to laugh when you’re a disease-riddled washed-up stripper with ten accidental kids and an ex-husband who watches pro-wrestling.”
    “I appreciate your love and support, as always.” I beam at my sex board. Each one of those five slash marks represents an utterly spectacular night. There would have been six, if the guy with tattoos and a buzz cut hadn’t been lackluster. As if I’d sit through bad sex.
    “Do you even remember any of their names?” Iris asks.
    I scrunch up my nose and ponder. “I think the first one was named Daniel. No, Darius.”
    “Sam. He’s in my Intro to Economics class.” Iris drops a stitch and swears before finally setting down her knitting and looking at me. “What do you hope to accomplish by fucking every guy at UCSD, Fiona? You’re not going to get an achievement badge.”
    “I do too get achievement badges. They’re called orgasms.” I flip my long brown hair over my shoulder. “And you know why I’m living it up. I poured my heart out to you over first-night-at-college drinks.”
    “What was it you told me again?” She puts a finger to her perfect chin in mock thought. Iris is beautiful. In a gothic vampire, ancient European church kind of way. Her skin is ivory, her hair pin-straight and jet black. Her almond eyes would be soft and gentle if she didn’t harden them with liquid eyeliner. “You used to be…”
    “Don’t you dare say the A-word,” I squawk, nearly throwing Ursula at her, but stopping as Iris waves her knitting needles threateningly. “You signed a contract. A contract of the soul.”
    “I’m just trying to remember what it was I wasn’t supposed to say.” Her lips curve. I swear, the only time Iris looks happy is when she’s spreading misery. “That you used to be A—”
    “Don’t you dare say it.”
    “A…”
    “Don’t say the A word.”
    “A big dork,” she finishes, and cackles like the evil witch she is while I glower at her.
    I used to be Amish.
    What are you picturing? A white bonnet, a high-necked blue Little House on the Prairie dress? Long black stockings? Shoes caked with horse shit?
    I wish I could make fun of you for being so stereotypical, but you’re right.
    When Amish kids turn fourteen, they decide whether or not they want to become permanent members of the church. Leaving means deserting your family and community. Most people stay. I didn’t. I changed my last name from Stoltzfus to the much sexier Arlett, and went to live with my Aunt Caroline in Philadelphia, who’d left the community just like I had but retained a hell of a lot of the strictness. No sleepovers, no staying out on weekends, no dating, no hemline above the knee.
    Three weeks ago, when I came to UCSD, I was suddenly free. The first thing I did was go out and spend an insane amount of money on crop tops and little skirts.
    The next thing I did was glue myself to the nearest hot boy’s face.
    Now I’m living the life I was always meant