Tanked!

You don’t so much as flinch when Rhett opens the floor for power plays. With only ten points to your name and elimination waiting to pounce, there’s no room for ego or risk. This is the week for quiet survival, not reckless flourishes, and judging by the stillness in the room, most of the others have come to the same conclusion. Even Milo, who would normally light a match just to see what burns, keeps his fingers off the trigger.

You turn your attention inward, pulling up your tablet to review your situation. First up: the challenge cards. You burned Anal last week in Portugal with Kennedy Brooks—at least you hope you did, though you're still not sure what to believe on that one—so what's left is as follows:

Hand Job ×3

Hand Job ×3 (your new draw)

Blow Job ×4

Regular Sex ×5

Public Sex ×8

Not exactly a hand that inspires parades, but it covers a decent spread and gives you options. The newly drawn hand job brings some symmetry, if not much punch, but at least it’s better than a kiss.

You flip to the bio card of this week’s drawn Lady and settle in to read.

2♦ – Colleen Turner
Age: 19
Major: Computer Science
Colleen’s the kind of girl who doesn’t just debug her own code—she probably judges yours in her sleep. Soft-voiced, hoodie-clad, and razor-witted, she moves through campus like a ghost with Wi-Fi. She isn’t the sort to flirt or pose, but she’s sharp enough to build a bot that could make it look like she does. Her shirts reference coding jokes no one laughs at, and her resting face could probably stop a recruiter in their tracks.
Availability: 22
Fertility: 55
Kinkiness: 12
Rumor: "Supposedly once moaned during a coding session and claimed it was her ‘processor overheating.’”

This does not give you any confidence about scoring any high value challenges with her. Still, you're not in the worst position. Graham is so confident he'll probably pass you and the professor seems kind of confident for once. But Tank is struggling with no high value cards. He needs over 30 points to pass you if you don't score. And Milo has to score with Dr. Ravenmoor if he wants to survive. With the stakes as high as they are, you’d rather play it smart and stay in the game than go down in flames chasing something flashier.

Tank shifts in his seat and raises a hand, his voice cutting through the still air like a rogue whistle. “I’m buying a Power Play.”

The room pauses. Rhett turns from the giant screen behind him, one eyebrow already climbing. “You are?”

“Yeah.” Tank nods with the enthusiasm of a man who thinks he’s cracked the code. “Kiss Me. So even if I mess up this week, I still score, right?”

Rhett’s expression doesn’t change, but there is a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he's trying not to react too early. “Just to confirm—you’re buying a card that lets you count any one failure this week as a successful kiss. Are you sure?”

Tank grins. “Sure I’m sure.”

Rhett taps something on his tablet. “Points deducted.” Then he gives a long, theatrical sigh. “And congratulations. You’ve officially paid twenty points to possibly score 4 or 6. I think you might be the first person in College Spread history to literally pay to make their situation WORSE.”

The silence that follows is thick with disbelief. Cassie makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. Milo leans forward with an expression that hovers between pity and awe. You can feel your own brow furrow as you stare down at your tablet trying to avoid gloating over the fact that Tank now has to score 55 point just to catch you if you fail completely this week.

Then Rhett’s phone buzzes.

He checks the screen, gives a soft chuckle, and puts it on speaker. “Coach Ramos,” he announces to the room. “Quarterback, class of ’04. Not to mention a prior player of ours who remains part of the College Spread universe and loves to watch the show. Tank, this MIGHT be for you.”

The voice on the other end of the call is screaming loud enough to be heard clearly. “Rhett. Tell me I did not just see my goddamn quarterback spend twenty points to walk backwards!”

“Wish I could, Coach.”

“Jesus Christ on a clipboard! He’s gonna come back here and run sprints with a calculator duct-taped to his head. No, screw it—two calculators. Front and back. He needs the coverage. And if he ever fumbles a play before he even attempts it on the field like that he's out!!!”

There's a stunned hush in the room. Rhett doesn’t even try to suppress his grin as he endd the call. “And that,” he says, “is our first power play of Week 4. If anyone else thinks they can top that, now’s your chance.”

No one moves.

“Didn’t think so.”