insert coin. press start.

Everything’s a game, she realizes, and the sound of her pencil scritch-scritching against rough paper stops abruptly. Everything’s a game, and Rhyme – 

– she’s always been good at those.

She looks down at her work, at the lines of numbers and figures, wondering how she hasn’t figured it all out before. All the adults say she’s smart, she’s driven, she’ll go places (Which places? she’s always wanted to ask), and Rhyme puts more words on paper with a sigh. She isn’t any of those things, really. She doesn’t want to be any of those things. (It’s all so much simpler than that.)

There’s yelling down the hallway, as there usually is around this time, and – right on cue – the walls shake with the sound of a slammed door. It’s a scene that’s been played through one-too-many times. She wonders how her parents aren’t tired of the script, wonders how many times they can replay it, because he can only take so much before his health bar hits zero.

The tip of her pencil snaps with a crack, leaving an ugly mark on her homework.

It’s all a game, she reminds herself. It’s all a game, and Rhyme wants to win.

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