Kaitlyn grinned and waved vigorously to catch Sean's attention. She was holding a spot for him within the cluster of tables where the girls varsity soccer team was lunching. Randall and Mei Ling were already seated as guests of honor, at least for now. Their stock had risen after Randall's goalie-training algorithm had flagged incoming goals with near perfect precision. Which was why Sean found himself trailing Phyllis Gibbs as they threaded their way between crowded tables. The heiress to the Gibbs fortune looked stunning as always. Sean's attention was divided between the hypnotic motion of her hips and balancing his lunch. By the time he registered someone's shoe tangled with his leg, the platter was already flying out of his hands. His right elbow took the impact. The pain was bad enough that for a moment he feared he'd broken another arm. Sean dusted himself off the floor after verifying he was intact. The noise around him died a bit as students turned to gawk. Phyllis was picking out bits of Sean's lunch from her glossy raven hair and looked furious.

"So sorry..." Sean mumbled and looked around. It was then that he noticed Jason Fuller and his clique around the table he'd just passed. Jason had spun around in his seat and wore a satisfied grin. His left foot tapped a rhythm on the path that Sean had taken. Jason was sandwiched between Tiffany Brooks and Carmen Jones. Tiffany rolled her eyes and placed a restraining hand on Jason's shoulder from behind him. Sean's rage flared mixing with jealousy. Jason's right arm slid possessively around Carmen, his grin widening into a leer. Carmen was in junior varisty tennis. Like most girls who hung around Jason she possessed an atheletic build and striking beauty. Her looks were accentuated by her Native American features which enflamed Sean's bitterness for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. She looked faintly disturbed at Sean's "accidental" fall. Across the table Caleb Guthrie was smirking and holding up his smartphone. Next to Caleb was another boy from varsity football. Brandon Cox was tall and broad shouldered like Jason. Unlike Jason he was on chubby side. Brandon wasn't paying any heed, but reading a book with an utterly bored expression in between spoonfuls of lunch. To Brandon's left sat Kyle Green who shook his head and grimaced apologetically at Sean. He atleast seemed genuinely contrite.

"Inbred buffoon..." Sean growled at Jason, taking a deep breath to calm himself. It was a low blow insult, but the Fullers were practically New England royalty with a historically narrow pedigree and the words stung. Jason flushed, hands balling into fists.

"Says the cheapskate..." spat Caleb.

"How's your nose, Caleb?" Sean snapped. Caleb froze, his hand automatically covering his nose that Kyle had punched a week ago. Tiffany's lips twitched slightly, then her eyes widened. Someone roughly grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. Phyllis glowered at him with her fist bunched around his collar.

"How dare you..." the heiress snarled surrounded by a sea of smartphones recording the scene. Phyllis was sensitive to her social standing and hated being made a laughing stock even indirectly.

"He tripped me..." Sean tried to protest, but Phyllis wasn't in the mood for conversation. More disconcertingly Sean found he couldn't break free of her grip. The word was that Phyllis was into strength training to go with her image of an Amazon and he knew now it was true. Tears of humiliation pricked his eyes and Sean cursed his own sensitivity. Sean would have been offended at any suggestion he was sexist, but it was one thing to be overpowered by the likes of Jason Fuller or Kyle Green and quite an other to have his ass publicly kicked by a girl. The average boy was expected to be stronger than the average girl and it was emasculating for the physically average male to be on the receiving end of the not-so-average female.

"You want my attention, creep? You have it," Phyllis hissed as more students crowded behind her back, "Think you are in my league? Just cuz we go to the same class... "

"Let him go, Phyllis," Susan Kaminski placed a hand on her arm. There was steel in the soccer captain's voice. Phyllis blinked and let go of Sean's collar abruptly. She looked stunned at what she'd done. Mei Ling, Kaitlyn and Randall squeezed in beside Susan. Sean turned and strode away with his face burning, unable to bear the concern - the pity - in their eyes.

The sight of Jason's gloating face was burnt into Sean's memory as he exited the cafeteria. The urge to lash out and destroy Jason, to crush him, was overwhelming. But how does one crush a jock who was not only physically stronger but surrounded by hordes of popular friends inside school and protected by bodyguards outside? How does one safely destroy a scion born into more wealth than the national debt of small countries? By letting him self-destruct, ofcourse.

Poor conflicted homo sapiens, too blind to see the incentive vectors that pulled them like puppet strings, too crippled by neural hardware that hadn't been updated since the human ancestor had walked out of the East African Rift Valley so long ago. From an evolutionary viewpoint, reproduction was a creature's sole purpose. Those capable of resisting the urge to breed didn't pass on their genes. And when there was a conflict between breeding and survival, breeding always won. Sex was a bottle neck that shaped species to their detriment. Salmon died after spawning, utterly spent by the arduous journey upriver. Male peacocks evolved flamboyant tails to attract females and also predators as a sideffect. Football players risked head injury to signal courage and toughness, the better to attract women. What would Jason do if he found himself losing the things that validated him? What if the pretty girls in his de facto harem suddenly left him to seek their own success? What if his football buddies grew smart enough that Jason seemed stupid in comparison? Giving up social dominance would be unthinkable to Jason. He'd be forced to push himself beyond the limit, to prove himself in a way that would hopefully break him. Sean smiled.

#

The text from Tiffany had directed him to the library again. He found a strategic spot that was secluded from prying eyes by book shelves but still offered unobstructed view of all approaches. When Carmen found him Sean did his best to appear nonchalant but his breath hitched at the way her short hair framed her olive cheeks.

"Sorry about what happened in the cafeteria," Carmen dropped into the chair across the table, "Jason can be a dick sometimes, you know."

"Sometimes?" Sean scoffed.

Carmen gave a small laugh, then studied him with a quizzical look, "The soccer queens have a nickname for you. The Dream Counselor."

"Huh?" Sean blinked.

"A counselor of impossible dreams," Carmen smiled slightly, "like you are a wizard or something. Are you?"

"If I am, it's nothing anyone couldn't do with some effort and a bit of luck," Sean shrugged.

"I want to get into varsity tennis," Carmen blurted after a brief inner struggle, "Been stuck in junior varsity too long. Can you help me? Without Jason finding out?"

"Don't see why not," Sean nodded slowly, "It's all about matching the most useful mental model to your situation."

"I keep losing matches to other girls," Carmen clenched her fist, "The coach says I'm not ready, that I need to practice more, but practice doesn't help anymore. It's like I've hit a plateau or something."

"I know," Sean nodded almost to himself, "I often watch you play."

"You do?" Carmen raised a brow.

"Um... only when I walk by the tennis courts," Sean stammered, "Not in a stalkery way or anything...". He trailed off before he dug himself a deeper grave.

"So what's the magic bullet, Counselor of Dreams?" Carmen demanded.

"There's a price," Sean held up his hand, "You must be willing to do what I ask."

"Do what?" Carmen was instantly wary, "I won't make out with you, if that's what you mean."

"Why would I want that," Sean muttered in disgust, "I want women for validation as much as for anything else. Forcing a girl against her will does nothing for me."

"So... what should I do?" Carmen was giving him an odd look.

"I want you to start thinking for yourself," Sean leaned forward and looked her in the eye, "What I tell you will take your tennis to the next level but that's only a start. The real gain is through always asking yourself which game you are playing at any point in your life."

"What do you mean?" Carmen leaned closer.

"Right now you are in a Loser's Game," Sean stated.

"If you are going to insult me..." Carmen started to get up.

"It wasn't an insult," Sean waved her back into her seat, "It's a game theory classification in tennis coined by Dr. Simon Ramo. After extensive statistical analysis he realized that tennis wasn't one game but two distinct games depending on whether the player is an expert or an amateur. The rules and everything may be the same but experts win points, amateurs lose points. Experts win by winning more points than the opponent, by using perfect shots their opponent can't match. And they don't make mistakes. They are in a Winner's Game because the outcome is determined by the actions of the winner."

"But that's what I've been trying..." Carmen protested.

"Exactly, you are playing the wrong game, don't you see?" Sean exclaimed, "You are trying to play like an expert when you should be playing like an amateur. Amateur tennis is entirely different. The ball goes into the net or out of bounds all the time. You also get double faults at service. Am I wrong?"

"No," Carmen nodded slowly.

"The amateur player isn't beaten by her opponent, she beats herself," Sean concluded, "Whoever wins the game does so only because the opponent is losing even more points than themselves. The outcome is determined by the loser. And that's how you win a Loser's Game. Not by making brilliant moves or rallies but by not making mistakes and letting your opponents beat themselves."

"No one taught me to keep score like that..." Carmen looked stunned.

"No, but for most things in life it pays to stop and ask yourself if you are in a Winner's or Loser's game," Sean nodded, "and until you start professional tennis, that's how you should keep score."

END OF CHAPTER