Day 2: Jada (Rebekah The Gamer Girl)

Early in the morning on day two you head to the student lounge tucked behind the Philosophy building with worn-out couches that smell faintly of burnt coffee and ambition. It’s quiet this time of day, and the sun filters through the dusty blinds in lazy stripes. You settle into the corner seat, fire up your tablet, and brace yourself for a morning of thinking too much and achieving too little.

You spend a few moments shooting comments back and forth on the College Spread messaging app, jibes, jokes, well-meant taunts and encouragement. Now you’re using the app more, you feel part of something, even if that something is… making you question yourself.

Then you turn to the various campus forums to start working on the three Ladies of the College Spread deck currently available to you. There’s no movement from Freya. No sign of Jada. The challenge cards still sit in your inventory, quietly judging you. Five of them, untouched. Naked Kiss, Handjob, Blowjob, Regular Sex, Public Sex. You tap through them slowly, looking for divine inspiration and finding none.

So you head to the Philosophy board and hope for the best.

You’ve posted a few threads there since Sunday night. Some casual thoughts on Foucault’s take on sexuality as control. A question about Kantian ethics and transactional sex. A deliberately provocative musing about whether consent loses meaning when desire is a social construct. It’s not nearly the same level as most of the conversation there. You might like philosophy, but you know you’re a freshman among advanced students.

You weren’t posting to score points, just to see who might be watching.

Someone was.

Rebekah Flores replied to two of them — one with a full paragraph pulling apart your logic, and one with a single sentence that somehow manages to mock, dismiss, and challenge you all at once: “That’s cute. Try again, but this time pretend you’ve actually read the book.”

You don’t know whether to feel flattered or mauled. Probably both.

The post she hasn’t responded to is one that recently caught Freya’s attention — where you said that maybe the human obsession with boundaries is more about control than protection. That maybe who we sleep with, and how, says more about our fear than our desire.

It’s still got three upvotes. No comments.

You scroll past it and glance back at Rebekah’s replies. One of them ends with a link to an article on deontological moral failure — and a quote: “You want to fuck with ethics? Better bring lube.” You try not to smile.

She hasn’t messaged you directly. But she’s watching. And she knows you are, too. You’re not sure if this is foreplay or forewarning. Either way, it’s going to be an interesting day.

You drift through your remaining classes in a fog. Something about the sociology of deviance in the first one, something about Pavlov and Skinner in the second. You take notes, you nod at appropriate moments, you even raise your hand once — but your thoughts are somewhere else entirely.

Jada still hasn’t posted. Freya hasn’t messaged. The challenge cards aren’t moving. You’re a third of the way through the week and treading water. You try to tell yourself that it took longer than this to secure a challenge in the previous weeks, but with three Ladies in play and you dead last on points you feel the pressure.

You glance at your tablet under the desk during a lull in the lecture. Nothing. You resist the urge to message Jada. You already watched her yesterday. Creeping closer now might just make things worse.

Then there’s a ping, you’ve been messaged.

Rebekah Flores: You want philosophy? Bring coffee. Student lounge behind admin. 4pm.

That’s it. No emojis. No further explanation. Your brain stutters trying to decode it. Is this a challenge? A date? A trap? All three?

You spend time digging through her profile. You’ve looked before, but now you’re studying it. She's not exactly open. She doesn’t post selfies or memes. But there’s a pinned post from last spring: a grainy video of her demolishing two guys in a best-of-three eSports match, commentators barely keeping up with the moves. She's quick. Brutal. Clinical.

The caption just says: "Florescence: Controlling the Center Line - Winning the Game."

And suddenly the name clicks — you've heard that tag before. She’s a gamer girl and she’s not just good. She’s known. At least locally. She plays to win… which on reflection explains what happened to Tank last week.

You tap back to her reply on the philosophy board — the one that ended with a quote about fucking with ethics. There’s an edge to her, but it’s not random. She’s aiming it somewhere. Maybe at you.

And that’s when it hits you: she might only be in the game as one of the Ladies, but she’s involved in a far more intense way than anyone’s realize.. She’s watching the players; measuring the stakes. And now she’s calling you out.

You close your tablet, heart ticking faster than you’d like to admit. You’ve got two hours. Time to think. Time to decide.

Whatever this is, you’re walking into it with your eyes open.

Or at least… open enough.

You show up ten minutes early. Not out of nervousness, you tell yourself — out of strategy. You even believe it, partly. You claim the corner booth, order a black coffee, and set your tablet down like a prop you don’t really need. Your eyes drift over articles on performative ethics and sexual dynamics as you wait. Your brain registers none of it.

At exactly 4:00pm, she walks in.

Rebekah Flores isn’t trying to make an entrance. No flashy outfit, no slow strut. She’s just in jeans and a hoodie with the sleeves shoved up. A messenger bag with frayed straps hangs from her shoulder. But something about her makes the room tilt. Like she owns the map and just hasn’t told anyone else where the borders are. She sees you, nods, and makes her way over.

“You’re earlier than I expected,” she says, sliding into the seat opposite. “Figured you’d be outside panic-pacing or trying to psych yourself up in a mirror.”

You smile, faintly. “I figured you’d cancel and claim it was a field test in learned helplessness.”

She raises one eyebrow — then smirks. "Fair."

There’s a pause as she takes a sip of her coffee. Then, without preamble: “You posted some messy-ass philosophy. So here I am. With coffee. What now?”

You’re not sure how to answer that.

“I didn’t think you’d even seen those posts.”

“You tagged them like someone dying for a response. The one about consent being a social construct screamed ‘freshman wants to get laid but read half of Foucault once.’”

You cough. “I… didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It was,” she says. Then adds, “But it wasn’t stupid. Just raw. There’s a difference.”

You try to steady yourself. She’s sharp, and not just academically. There’s an edge to her that you’re not sure is friendly — but it isn’t hostile, either. It's like she's tuning you, waiting to see if you'll hit the right frequency, make the right move.

“I saw your video,” you say, changing the subject. “From last year. The championship match.”

“Ah.” She leans back, smile turning sharkish. “The one where I controlled the center line?”

You nod.

“Nice metaphor,” she adds. “Glad someone noticed.”

You wonder if that phrase means more than you realized. You wonder if everything about her does.

“Your message to me felt like I was being called out. The way you handled Tank makes me think you’re not new to this. Were you in the game last year?” you say carefully.

“Technically,” she replies. “I was in the deck, same as this year. That guy didn’t score.” She glances at you. “He thought all it took was acting dominant. Turns out that doesn’t work so well when you’re up against someone who actually wins games. I guess they liked how I handled him and put me back.”

You sit with that a second.

“So,” you venture, “what is this, then? WERE you calling me out?”

“Maybe.”

“Why? What is it you want?”

She shrugs noncommittally. “Guess that depends on what you do next.”

You don’t know what to make of her. She’s not bluffing. Not pretending. She just isn’t telling you the rules — or whether you're playing the same game. You reach for your coffee, half to buy time, half to steady your nerves. You decide to be up front about things.

“You know I pulled your card, obviously. When Tank went out it went back to the deck.”

She nods, “That’s obvious. But I saw you watching Jada yesterday too, like you were planning something. You got two girls in play somehow?”

“Three,” you admit. “I selected Jada from the draw this week. I have you and someone else reserved… it’s complicated.”

She pauses and thinks about what you said. “Not really. If they’re in reserve and we’re in reserve and you are still trying to get somewhere it must mean you can score with us in addition to your main selection.”

“Umm… you just worked that out?”

“It wasn’t hard. I asked her if she knew you. She didn’t. She hadn’t even noticed you. Jada’s smart, she’s got a mind like a laser, but she can be kind of oblivious. Me, I watch the game, not just the play.”

You frown, “I thought only players and prior players could watch the g–”

She laughs. “Not College Spread! Life. Life is a game and I love to compete. I watch what happens.”

She takes a deep, slow draft of her coffee. “Look, I’m not going to pretend. I LOVE to compete, been told I’m addicted to it, and the game you’re in - fuck for points, beat everyone else - that’s hot. I want in!”

That surprises you, but as far as you know it’s impossible. “I can talk to Rhett,” you say. “See if he can get you in next year or something. But this year’s under way already. We’ve already had two eliminations.”

“Figures,” she says. “Well, I want to compete anyway. If I can’t get in the actual game, I want to compete with you.”

You frown in puzzlement, “What do you mean?”

She grins. “Here’s how it’s going to work. You share your weekly situation with me. From what I heard from Tank you have 5 challenge cards you can pick from at any time and one of us girls picked out of the deck, right? Well, you tell me who they are and we race to the score card.”

You stare at her in confusion. “Why would I ever do that?”

“You want to score with me right? And Jada. She’s a friend, we’ve competed in debates. I can promise you, if you don’t do this you lose BOTH of us. If you do… well, let’s just say I can make this week a WHOLE lot easier for you.”

You look at her for a moment. She’s hungry. For some reason, she REALLY wants to do this. Even though she wouldn’t be part of the game, even though she wouldn’t get money or even points for competing against you, she’s treating this like a tournament. Maybe she really is addicted to competition and this is one with a very select set of competitors.

“Ok, but what’s to stop me agreeing, getting the points from you and Jada, and then not contacting you afterwards?”

“You’re not that kind of guy,” she says. “I know how to judge my opponents and you’re the kind of guy who might be freaky enough to take part in a college sex game but still has a moral compass that points true Honest.”

You’re flattered, even if you’re not entirely sure she’s right. Then again, it’s hard to deny that even your actions in this game have been guided by some moral sense or other.

“Ok, but you’re telling me I get points for you two and in return make the whole thing harder for myself by having to compete with you too? If you get to someone I need as a score they’ll be suspicious when I get there and it’ll be over.”

She shrugs. “Maybe, but maybe not. They might be intrigued. They might be primed. I mean I’m a threat, sure, but you never know what might happen if I get there first. But if it helps, I’ll give you this: any week you manage to beat me means the next week I don’t compete against you, I help you. Whatever I can do, I make sure you score to the best of my ability.”

Given how driven she is, how much she knows how to compete, that might actually be interesting. Besides, you think, if you can lock in a straight flush, that is a mammoth score that will make Milo and Graham look weak. What choice do you have?

“Ok…” you say, finally. “It’s a deal, I guess.”

She grins like she just won a national pro tour. “This is gonna be hot. Ok, five challenge cards for this week. What are they? What is it you need from me and Jada?”

You pull them up on your tablet, naked kiss, hand job, blow job, regular sex and public sex. She nods.

“Right, I live off campus, I’ll send you the address. Be there on Sunday, 3pm. I’ll bring Jada, you bring your A-game — or don’t come at all.”

She stands and walks off, leaving you stunned. Did that just happen? You blink as you try to make sure you haven’t slipped into some parallel world. Well, if she wasn’t gaming YOU, and you have a feeling she wasn't, Sunday should be interesting. You take a deep breath and try to relax. That just leaves Freya.

What About Freya?