A New Rule?

The rustle of tablet alerts swept down the line like an invisible wave as each contestant received their Week 2 challenge card. There were some predictable reactions: a raised eyebrow here, a low whistle there. And then—an explosion from across the row:

“Impregnate? Are you serious?!”

All heads turned as Milo stood, one hand in his hair, the other holding his tablet like it had personally betrayed him.

“That’s my challenge card? Impregnate?! How the hell am I supposed to pull that off in a week? Even if I get someone to go bare—which is a big if—there's a good chance I won't knock her up. And even if it did happen, she wouldn’t even know she’s pregnant by the end of the week!”

Rhett stepped into the spotlight like a man waiting for this exact cue. “Thank you, Milo. That’s our first proper challenge-related meltdown—and conveniently, a perfect segue.”

The LED wall behind him shimmered, fading from the College Spread logo into a bold serif title:

THE RESERVATION RULE

Rhett walked slowly along the edge of the stage, tapping his tablet. “Starting this week, any of you may reserve a single Lady of the College Spread to work on over time. Not just for this week, but for as long as she's reserved by you. You’re playing a long game? This is how you do it.”

He stopped and glanced down at the players.

“But be warned. You may only reserve one girl at a time. Once you announce the reservation, you’re committed. She stays reserved until you either complete the hand she helps build—or you get eliminated.”

The screen updated with a simple animation: a card labeled “Reserved” glowing within a player’s growing hand.

Rhett raised a finger.

“And she must make sense. If you’re holding the Queen of Hearts, you can reserve another Queen for pairs, threes or four of a kind; another Heart for a flush, or a card close in value—say a Jack, Ten, or King—to build toward a straight. Try to reserve a Four of Spades when it doesn’t help anything? That’s a no.”

Milo folded his arms. “And how much does this privilege cost?”

Rhett grinned. “Ten times the base value of the card. Reserve a Four? That’s forty points. An Ace? One thousand points.”

“I don’t have any points.”

“You can go negative,” Rhett replied smoothly. “But keep in mind—at the end of every four weeks, the player whose cumulative LOCKED points are at the bottom of the scoreboard is eliminated. Doesn’t matter how ambitious the hand you're holding might be if you don’t also lock in enough points to survive.”

He held up a hand before anyone could object.

“And no—you don’t get to choose the girl. You pick the card, pay the price, and then we tell you who you’re working on.” There was a pause. Then he added, almost gently: “No guarantees. No previews. Big risk. Big debt. No idea what you’re really getting.”

He smiled, wide and sharp. “Just like going to college.”

The air buzzed with mutters. A few players exchanged looks. But only one hand went up. It was Tank Marshall.

Rhett turned, eyebrows raised. “Making a move, Tank?”

“Yeah, I’m reserving the Two of Clubs.”

Rhett nodded as he considered the choice. “You’ve already got the Three and Four. Going for a low straight flush?”

Tank nodded once.

Rhett tapped his screen. “That’s twenty points. Drops you to negative twenty.”

Tank didn’t react.

“All right then. Let’s see who’s behind the card.”

The LED wall lit up with the image of a woman seated cross-legged on the lawn. Olive cardigan. Notebook. A T-shirt that read: CAMUS IS MY HOMEBOY.

Rhett gave a tight grin. “Introducing Shawna Mireles. Philosophy major. Existentially overqualified. Cider drinker. Notebook scribbler. Believes foreplay begins with a stern critique of post-structuralism. If she starts talking about Kierkegaard, nod politely and back away.”

Tank studied the card, unreadable. Then said, “She’s... not what I expected.”

Rhett tilted his head. “Do you intend to pull out?”

Tank gave a single, low laugh. “Not if I pull the pregnancy challenge.”

A beat.

Half the room groaned. The other half broke out laughing. Rhett blinked, realizing.

“Okay, not what I meant—” He pointed sharply at Tank, trying not to smile.

Tank shrugged. “Still true.”

Rhett grinned, swiping back to his deck view. “And that is our first official reservation on record. Twenty points down, low straight in progress, and a girl who thinks Camus is foreplay. If it pays off, it’ll be the ugliest hand ever played—and somehow, also art.”

He quickly wished the players success in their challenges and told them to make sure they were back next week to see how everything went. With that, week 2's draw session was over.