Day 3: Jada’s Week/Freya’s Interaction (Something Odd in the Quad)

You’ve been in enough lectures now to know which ones to skip. The theatre history class at 9:30? You’re not even in that major. You added it for “easy credits,” but right now, easy feels like a lie. None of the performances you’ve been involved in in this game have been easy and this week already feels like a tightrope walk over a pit full of flaming snakes. You HOPE that Rebekah can get things lined up with Jada on Sunday, but you still need Freya to really put the bite on and scorch your opposition.

So instead of class, you’re pacing the edge of the Performing Arts building courtyard, phone in hand, trying to pretend this is still research. You’re not stalking her. Not really. You’re just… hoping she comes here again. Like last week. Like yesterday. A shadowy bench behind the ivy-covered trellis seems to be her spot. She’s always reading. Her coffee usually stays untouched.

You’ve only seen her a few times. But something about the quiet intensity she carries has stuck with you like a splinter in your thoughts. There’s no flirting, no makeup, no performative look at me energy. She doesn’t need it. She pulls you in like gravity, without effort, just because she’s there. And you’re about to ask her to let you film yourself having sex with her.

The thought nearly makes you sit down and hyperventilate into your hands.

Why the hell are you doing this?

Because she’s the 8 of Clubs. Because Rebekah and Jada are the 5 and 6. Because the straight flush is there—right there—if you can score it. Because you’d rocket into contention and knock Milo and Graham sideways.

Because it’s a gamble. Every part of this stupid game is.

Because she liked one of your posts on transgressive consent and power dynamics, and you convinced yourself that meant something.

Because you’re starting to confuse intellectual attraction with strategic justification.

Because—

You sigh as you remember Rebekah’s statement. Your moral compass points true Honest.

Because after the mindfuck of these last four weeks you’re too frazzled to come up with anything better.

A footstep catches your attention. She’s here.

She has the same slow poise, same stone-grey cardigan and cuffed jeans. Freya doesn’t look up when she walks past you to the bench. She just sits, pulls a slim paperback from her bag, and starts to read. You give it a moment. Two. Your heart beats like it’s caught in an earthquake drill. Then you step closer.

“Hey… I’m sorry to bother you. You don’t know me, but I think you liked a post I made. On the campus discussion board.”

Her eyes flick up. Cool, calm, not unfriendly. She studies your face a moment and recognition hits. “I remember,” she says. “You’re the guy quoting Lorde like you just discovered vulnerability.”

You half-smile, half-cringe. “Guilty.”

She tilts her head, regarding you now like a student watching a lab experiment inch toward self-combustion. You consider backing off. Saying you just wanted to talk. That this was a mistake. But something tightens in your chest. You’ve gone this far. And she’s not running. So you take the plunge.

“I know this is going to sound insane, but I’m in something called College Spread. It’s a sex game, sort of. Competitive. Points for documented acts, with cards and challenges and rankings. I picked your card.”

You **** yourself to meet her eyes. “And the challenge I drew is Regular Sex. To score the points, I need proof. I have to actually make a video.”

There’s silence. Nothing but silence. Long, quiet, blooming silence opening a rift in your world and threatening to suck you into the abyss. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink.

You swallow. “I didn’t plan on saying it like that. Hell, I didn’t plan on saying it at all today. But then I saw you, and remembered the things you responded to. And it felt like maybe—maybe—you’d understand this wasn’t just about sex. That I wanted to impress you.”

Now she blinks. Then laughs. It’s not derisive, but definitely not warm either. More like a stunned chuckle that escaped before her brain could catch it.

“Let me get this straight,” she says. “You’ve been lurking around my reading spot, trying to calculate the odds of me saying yes to being filmed having sex with a stranger for points in a campus sex game?”

You wince. “Yeah. When you put it like that…”

“That’s… something I’d expect to read in a therapy intake, not hear over coffee.”

You open your mouth. Close it again. She studies you a moment longer. Then her expression softens—slightly.

“Why me?”

The question’s quiet. But it lands like an anvil.

You don’t have an answer. Or rather—you have too many answers but none of them sound good. The straight flush. The game. The vague idea that her intelligence might make her say yes for reasons you don’t even understand. The truth that you’ve imagined her saying yes since the moment you first saw her and it scares the hell out of you.

But all you can say is: “Because you didn’t look away.”

She studies you a moment longer. Then her expression shifts—not to warmth, but to something almost worse. Amusement.

“You really thought this was going to shock me?” she says, voice dry as sand.

You blink. “I… didn’t know what to expect. I figured it would shock most people.”

“Let me guess. You figured I’d either slap you, storm off, or—if you got lucky—laugh and say yes because I’m the ‘cool weird girl’ and that’s a trope, right?”

You wince. “No. I mean—not like that. I just—I hoped—”

She raises a hand. You stop.

“Don’t talk,” she says, quiet but firm. “Listen.”

She closes the book in her lap but doesn’t mark the page. You’re not sure if that’s a good sign.

“First,” she says, “I’ve known about College Spread since the second week of term. It’s not exactly subtle. Girls compare scores in the bathroom like it's fantasy football. I knew someone would draw my card eventually.”

Your mouth opens slightly.

“Second,” she continues, “I saw you watching me yesterday. And the day before. You're not as sneaky as you think. But you didn’t leer. You didn’t smirk. You looked like a kid trying to break into a locked library.”

She leans back slightly, folds her arms. “So I waited. I wanted to see if you’d actually talk to me—or just keep orbiting like some nervous satellite.”

You feel heat crawling up your neck.

“Third,” she says, “I liked your post because it was clumsy but honest. And because nobody else brought up coercive subtext in media with that much overcompensating self-awareness. I figured if I ever had the urge to watch a man completely unravel while trying to be ethical, you’d make a good case study.”

“So this is… academic?” you ask faintly.

“No,” she says. “But it is interesting. Which is better.”

She leans in a fraction. “Here’s what I get out of it, if I say yes. Not sex. Not attention. I get control. Total, absolute authorship of this encounter. I get to write the terms. I get to test a theory: what happens when a man asks for consent like a prayer, not a loophole.”

You swallow. “Does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“Not necessarily. I’m considering things.”

“What happens if you say no?”

“Then I get a story to tell about the weirdest Thursday of my entire college education. Either way, I win.”

She taps her book against her leg. “I haven’t decided what to say. Not yet. But I’m not walking away either. Which, statistically, makes this your luckiest day in weeks.”

You nod, mute.

“Come back tomorrow,” she says, standing. “Same time. Bring coffee. Black. If you’re still brave, we’ll talk about your odds.”

You get back to your dorm and toss your bag down like it wronged you. The conversation with Freya is still playing on loop—each line more surreal the longer you think about it. She knew. Or at least suspected. Girls comparing scores in the bathroom? Fantasy football?

You pull out your phone and thumb open the College Spread app. The chat icon pings. You tap in, hesitating for half a second before typing.

You: When the hell did it become common knowledge? Freya just told me she’s known about College Spread since the second week of term.

A moment passes. Then, of course, Rhett is first.

Rhett (Host): It's not common knowledge. It's just not FBI classified either.

Think of it as Fight Club but **** only happens to a player who forgets consent.

Cassie: You’re adorable, fresher. Like a conspiracy theorist discovering the moon landing was real. People talk. Girls talk. Especially ones who've been in the deck.

You: But it’s supposed to be private! I thought it was players only. You told me when I signed up that I couldn’t talk about it.

Cassie: You can’t. Well, strictly, you can. We can’t exactly stop you, can they? And that’s the point. It’s kept as much under wraps as possible so it doesn’t disturb the college too much. But people talk. I’m pretty sure that knucklehead Tank has bragged about it in the locker room.

Rhett: It is private though. You don’t post the videos. You don’t name names. But once you've been a Lady of the College Spread deck? Or even been told about it? Things get out.

Milo: Man, people gossip. That’s college. I know freshmen who think the fountains are full of fertility hormones and that the janitor’s a KGB agent. College Spread’s been whispered about forever. The whispers are just... more accurate than you thought.

Graham: You assumed secrecy because you were uninformed, not because the secret was well-kept. A game like this doesn’t survive three decades without people noticing patterns. What matters isn’t hiding it from everyone—it’s keeping it out of headlines and HR meetings.

You: So people just know? Anyone could find out?

Professor Rourke: Let me be precise. A minority of students know something. A large minority at this point, but still not most. Fewer still believe it. And most don’t care unless they’re directly involved. What you're seeing is your bubble popping, not the game collapsing.

You: And Freya?

Cassie: Freya’s about as smart as they come. A bit messed up maybe, but who am I to talk. Some people listen to rumors, put two and two together and get four. Freya does works out probability statistics across populations in her head and gets it right. She’s probably GUESSED more information about the game than Rhett KNOWS.

Milo: She knew you were watching her, bro. Honestly... she might’ve been testing you.

She's got that “read all the footnotes before page one” energy.

Graham: The more interesting question is: now that she knows you know she knows...

What are you going to do?

You: Wait… if so many people know, then what about the faculty? Surely they can’t be allowing this?

Rhett: Why not? It’s not like we’re doing anything illegal. Hell, we’re probably the guys on campus with the hardest line on ‘no means no.’

Professor Rourke: Most of the faculty know about it. Some don’t like it but as long as it stays the right side of legal they let it ride. That’s actually why I signed up. There was a rumor that things had gone bad and consent was being violated so I volunteered to become a player and make sure things were still… within boundaries.

You: You mean I’m dead last and the only person near me is someone who isn’t even trying?

Professor Rourke: Well, I did fail two challenges already. If a Lady of the College Spread deck is in my classes or even very likely to be, I take the loss. There’s no violation of college ethics if I date outside that area.

You pause, trying to reassess the situation. What they’re saying makes sense. If anything it’s just a wonder that things haven’t spread further, but then people stay in the same college for just a few years. Most wouldn’t end up in the deck. If you’re keeping things private… You shake your head trying to adjust to the world spinning around you. Again!

You: Hang on though… if the faculty know about it then why did Professor Ravensmoor not let Zeke complete his challenge?

There’s a short pause.

Milo: This is Dr. Ravensmoor here, I’m getting Milo ready for the ritual tomorrow night. And yes, I knew. I never really wanted to be in the deck, but I knew it might happen and if a player showed enough… finesse, enough class, well I MIGHT have been willing to work something out with them. Zeke acted like I should be proud to let him tie me up and fuck me because he comes from money. I said no. He tried to make a point. I very much doubt he’ll be coming from anything for a LONG time.

Various comments are made suggesting she absolutely did the right thing. You’re still curious though.

You: Ok, but did Milo act stupid too? I figured after what happened he’d be too slick to try anything stupid.

Milo: Haha. No, he was polite, respectful even… I was just a bit upset. But hey, he wanted the points and I let him have them. And now that I've tried it, I’m having fun. Maybe I do want to stay a Lady of the College Spread deck from now on. See what other hoops I can make you all dance through.

You stare at the screen. If you had a mind left, it would be officially blown. One thing’s certain—

You’re not playing checkers anymore.