My sister was wrong.

I didn’t need anyone to help me.

I was perfectly fine on my own.

In fact, having someone else to fight my battles only burdened me, especially if that person was Wes Grimsbane.

Wes was hunch over his chair, staring at his hand of cards.

He tossed a card onto the desk.

I pushed his card back to him.

“Don’t play the Lonely Heron so early in the game.”

“Why not?”

“It’s your only check against the opponent’s Bug Deities. You shouldn’t let it sustain any unnecessary damage.”

“Fuck you.”

Wes withdrew the card.

Our opponents, a pair of boys from a neighbouring class, glanced at each other. They had never seen Wes listen to anyone before.

To be honest, it took me by surprise the first time it happened too.

Playing with Wes as my Doubles partner was comparable to trying to teach a toddler to play chess – a crude, swearing toddler who was more than capable of beating me up if we lost.

But even the most violent of toddlers could learn behave if they knew they would be rewarded for good behaviour.

When Wes listened to my suggestions, our gameplay improved drastically. When he didn’t, we were decimated by the opponent.

Wes hated listening to me, but he also hated losing.

So he listened.

The more he listened, the more we won.

“You know, you’re not that bad at this,” said Wes one day after a particularly successful practice; we’d managed to sweep five consecutive games, taking out the entire opponent’s team without losing a single Deity ourselves. “You’re a fool in everyday life but you’re actually a very cunning bastard on the battlefield.”

“Thanks,” I said, putting my cards carefully in their protective sleeve.

“What’s your secret? How did you get so good at D.I.E.?”

I looked up at Wes.

It was the first time he’d spoken to me without any malice behind his words.

“There is no secret,” I said honestly, snapping my notebook shut. “It’s all practice.”