other pocks. There was very little talking anymore. Parents and family members sat behind velvet ropes along the sides of the ballroom, or they waited out in the atrium, where you could actually talk without someone angrily saying “Shhh,” like a murderous librarian.
Duncan held his breath as he drew all seven tiles in one big scoop. He and Carl had decided that, for the first turn, Duncan would simply draw tiles the regular way. He had gotten Carl to agree that he would keep pulling tiles like that until it became necessary to use his fingertips. Exhaling slowly now, he looked at the letters as he placed them on the rack. He had picked:
M
O
I
S
O
E
R
Together they looked like:
MOISOER
At first glance, it didn’t seem to be a great rack. There were certainly some interesting words that could be made from these letters: ISOMER, MOROSE, and even ROMEOS. But it would be a waste to use the S in any of those words. Duncan realized that if the Tile Hustlers played a word witha T in it—a common letter, there were six in each game—he and Carl would be able to make the eight-letter word ROOMIEST. Duncan scribbled a note to Carl, telling him this, and Carl squinted in understanding and nodded.
Duncan and Carl watched the board to see what the other team would do. Please let there bea T in their word, Duncan thought. Please let there be a T. Then we can start the game with a bingo.
The boy without the freckles began to lay down tiles. But when he was done, Duncan and Carl saw that he had placed the word DREAM. There wasn’t a single T among its letters. Too bad, Duncan thought. He and Carl had no good options now.
But Carl sat up straight. He took the pad and scribbled something on it, then pushed it toward Duncan, who read:
You’re not going to BELIEVE what we missed! Like, DUH!
Carl Slater began picking tiles up off the rack. You were always supposed to discuss a move with your partner before you played it; you weren’t supposed to simply plunk down tiles wherever you liked. Duncan didn’t like that Carl was doing this, but then he saw what Carl had played, and he didn’t mind at all. Right under the AM in DREAM, Carl had placed the R and an O, making the tiny words AR and MO. Then he kept laying down letters horizontally. OMIES, he played. His word was:
ROOMIES
It was simple slang for “roommates,” and Duncan and Carl had become so focused on getting that T for ROOMIEST, that they’d almost missed what was right in front of them. Their opening move was worth a huge 69 points: 19 for ROOMIES, AR, and MO, plus a 50-point bonus for using all their letters. Carl hit the timer.
“Nice,” the freckled Tile Hustler said quietly.
“Thanks,” said Carl.
From then on, the game was played at a rapid pace. Back and forth the two teams went, laying down their tiles, writing down scores, hitting the timer. A few moves later, their opponents ended up puttinga T at the end of ROOMIES to make ROOMIEST after all. They kept going, using an A already on the board for the word OAR, until they had played the bingo DECORATE.
“Wow, great,” said Duncan.
“Thank you,” said the boy who’d laid the tiles down.
A girl at the adjoining table said, “Shhhhhhh!” There was a rule in Scrabble that you were supposed to talk as little as possible during games, which was why players wrote notes to each other. There was even a word for talking too much: “coffeehousing.” But once in a while you ignored the rules and coffeehoused anyway.
Behind the velvet rope at the side of the ballroom, a bald guy in dark glasses turned around to face Nate’s half-sister, Eloise, who had been sitting in her mother’s lap, making razzberry sounds with her lips, spit flying.
“Excuse me,” he said to Nate’s mother. “I’d really appreciate it if you could keep your baby under control. The back of my head feels like it’s on an ocean voyage. Plus, I’m trying to pay attention.”
“I’m sorry,” Nate’s
Duncan held his breath as he drew all seven tiles in one big scoop. He and Carl had decided that, for the first turn, Duncan would simply draw tiles the regular way. He had gotten Carl to agree that he would keep pulling tiles like that until it became necessary to use his fingertips. Exhaling slowly now, he looked at the letters as he placed them on the rack. He had picked:
M
O
I
S
O
E
R
Together they looked like:
MOISOER
At first glance, it didn’t seem to be a great rack. There were certainly some interesting words that could be made from these letters: ISOMER, MOROSE, and even ROMEOS. But it would be a waste to use the S in any of those words. Duncan realized that if the Tile Hustlers played a word witha T in it—a common letter, there were six in each game—he and Carl would be able to make the eight-letter word ROOMIEST. Duncan scribbled a note to Carl, telling him this, and Carl squinted in understanding and nodded.
Duncan and Carl watched the board to see what the other team would do. Please let there bea T in their word, Duncan thought. Please let there be a T. Then we can start the game with a bingo.
The boy without the freckles began to lay down tiles. But when he was done, Duncan and Carl saw that he had placed the word DREAM. There wasn’t a single T among its letters. Too bad, Duncan thought. He and Carl had no good options now.
But Carl sat up straight. He took the pad and scribbled something on it, then pushed it toward Duncan, who read:
You’re not going to BELIEVE what we missed! Like, DUH!
Carl Slater began picking tiles up off the rack. You were always supposed to discuss a move with your partner before you played it; you weren’t supposed to simply plunk down tiles wherever you liked. Duncan didn’t like that Carl was doing this, but then he saw what Carl had played, and he didn’t mind at all. Right under the AM in DREAM, Carl had placed the R and an O, making the tiny words AR and MO. Then he kept laying down letters horizontally. OMIES, he played. His word was:
ROOMIES
It was simple slang for “roommates,” and Duncan and Carl had become so focused on getting that T for ROOMIEST, that they’d almost missed what was right in front of them. Their opening move was worth a huge 69 points: 19 for ROOMIES, AR, and MO, plus a 50-point bonus for using all their letters. Carl hit the timer.
“Nice,” the freckled Tile Hustler said quietly.
“Thanks,” said Carl.
From then on, the game was played at a rapid pace. Back and forth the two teams went, laying down their tiles, writing down scores, hitting the timer. A few moves later, their opponents ended up puttinga T at the end of ROOMIES to make ROOMIEST after all. They kept going, using an A already on the board for the word OAR, until they had played the bingo DECORATE.
“Wow, great,” said Duncan.
“Thank you,” said the boy who’d laid the tiles down.
A girl at the adjoining table said, “Shhhhhhh!” There was a rule in Scrabble that you were supposed to talk as little as possible during games, which was why players wrote notes to each other. There was even a word for talking too much: “coffeehousing.” But once in a while you ignored the rules and coffeehoused anyway.
Behind the velvet rope at the side of the ballroom, a bald guy in dark glasses turned around to face Nate’s half-sister, Eloise, who had been sitting in her mother’s lap, making razzberry sounds with her lips, spit flying.
“Excuse me,” he said to Nate’s mother. “I’d really appreciate it if you could keep your baby under control. The back of my head feels like it’s on an ocean voyage. Plus, I’m trying to pay attention.”
“I’m sorry,” Nate’s
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