The Philosophers' Game

Chapter 19: Uniting/Pre-Referendum

Chapter 19: Uniting/Pre-Referendum

When our lips finally parted, Plato and I were breathing heavily. With his hands still cupping my face, he just stared deep into my eyes, waiting for me to say something. But strangely, horribly, the only thing that came to mind was "I have to talk to Socrates."

Sighing, Plato dropped his head and let his hands slide off of me. "Do what you have to do," he whispered, his voice barely even audible. I nodded thankfully then ran toward the park, forcing myself not to look back over my shoulder.

Socrates didn't look the least bit surprised when I stomped around the bench to face him, a fact that only reawakened within me the anger from the third day prior. Since he made no move to speak first, I declared with brutal sarcasm, "That was a real outstanding position you put me in the other day."

"Plato, too" was all he mumbled, while staring blankly at my sweater.

This apparent apathy only irritated me further. "But I expected more of you. A true friend wouldn't have gone behind my back to instigate a fight about me and then left me hanging, inculpating myself."

"So I guess that's the issue: we're allies, not just friends."

I couldn't help but laugh sadistically since Plato and I had just had a conversation about this. "You're crazy," Socrates muttered under his breath, shaking his head, and I finally took a seat beside him.

"Sometimes I think the same of you," I countered. "Like, why on Earth did you protect my reputation and confess to stealing the ledger? You lost a ton of followers for that."

There was long pause. He sighed and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, seemingly stalling or mulling something over. At last, he said matter-of-factly, "Maybe winning the game isn't so important to me anymore. I don't need to win to prove something." 

I was dumbfounded. The boy who had put his entire life and livelihood - more than anyone else had - into this game was suddenly giving it all up. Rising above the greed and nastiness of competition. This was a boy no longer lost in the deep, in the fog of war, but one who had tired of it and had finally surfaced, now taking a big gulp of fresh, unpolluted air. It was, perhaps, the bravest thing I'd seen him do yet.

"Well," I began, aiming to cheer him up, "I'll be your follower-" But I stopped myself mid-sentence out of incredible realization:

I was already a follower of him - and Socrates knew it. I had probably been one ever since my second day in Ocala, when at his suggestion I tore up those pictures of my ex-boyfriend Colton and me. In fact, that single act was probably why Socrates brought me into the game in the first place; he knew he could influence me, could beat me whenever the time came.

"Wow. You're really screwed up," I whispered, shaking my head in wonderment.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I am," he agreed, as if he could tell exactly what I'd just figured out inside my head. After a brief pause, he added, "But now I have a question for you, one I've been thinking about the past three whole days. Why do you think your blackmailer - the Outsider - waited until now to frame you? If the ledger was planted in your locker before winter break, something must have changed between then and now to force his decision. What was it?"

I shrugged and frowned. "Honestly, I have no clue. I didn't spend any time with Plato, only a little with Nathan, and mostly with family. Unless..."

"My party," Socrates finished for me, his eyes meeting mine and his expression grim.

I nodded. "Which means this time I wasn't the Outsider's only target. You were one, too."

"Maybe you were never the only target." He sat up a little straighter, the excitement of revelation radiating from his every limb. "What if you're being used to get to me? What if you were all along? I do have a lot more enemies than you, after all."