"I oughta warn you." Joey leaned forward against the table, a gleam in his grin. "I ain't never lost."

"How gracious." Yori smirked back. "But you've never faced me."

"Wait"—Tristan looked up from the scraps of paper in his hands—"one of these is for Joey by Yori. Are we letting her bet against herself to win?"

"Let her bet how she wants!" Joey crowed. "Glad you know a champion when you see one."

"Or maybe . . ." She raised a cool eyebrow. "I'm just letting you get overconfident so I'll sneak the win."

Underhanded tactics. But Joey wouldn't be fooled.

"Don't start yet. You'll break something." Yuugi anxiously grabbed the glasses that cluttered the table. Ryou leaned in to help, and when they both had their arms full, they stepped back.

Joey braced his elbow on the table, hand extended. But Yori didn't mirror the pose.

Instead, she laughed. "What are you doing?"

He blinked, looking at his hand. "Arm wrestle?"

"The boring way, apparently."

Joey glanced at Tristan for support, but the other boy shrugged.

"There another way to wrestle?" he asked.

"The street way." Yori's smirk increased. "I thought you were part of the cool club once upon a time. You've never street wrestled?"

Joey's ears heated. "Hey, I know my way around the streets. I just don't bother wrestlin' guys before I punch 'em."

"Then I'll definitely win. You can back out now if you want."

"Just tell me the rules. Any method, any game, Joey Wheeler wins."

She braced her elbow on the table and gripped his hand but rotated it so the back faced her.

"Instead of pushing your hand to the table," she explained, "I'll pull it to my chest. And when I do, I win."

That wasn't so bad. In fact, it could hardly be called a different game at all.

"As if!" Joey huffed. "I'll beat you in a heartbeat—and your hand'll feel it."

"Uh, Joey—" Ryou started tentatively.

But Joey was already fired up and going. "On three."

Yori squeezed his hand, the same fire in her eyes. "One," she said.

"Two," he said.

"THREE."

The command was given in unison.

But the pulling wasn't.

Instead, when Joey heaved with all his might—

—Yori released.

Joey smacked himself in the jaw with enough force he angled backward in the chair, overbalanced, and hit the floor. Meanwhile, Yori and Tristan howled with laughter.

"DIRTY ROTTEN!" Joey shrieked, leaping to his feet, cradling his aching jaw. He pointed a finger at Yori. "Dirty rotten!"

"It's street wrestling, Joey." She grinned, still chuckling. "Of course it's dirty rotten."

Anzu's grin was just as wide. "Ryou tried to warn you. I'm pretty sure the rest of us saw it coming a mile away."

"Totally," agreed Tristan. From his tone, Joey knew he'd been just as clueless. At least that was some relief.

"It's kind of mean," Yuugi said, giving Yori the slight frown that could wilt nations. "You alright, Joey?"

Joey worked his jaw, then waved him off. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He didn't admit it under the force of Yuugi's disapproval.

But he was totally going to try the trick on someone else the first chance he got.

"To be fair, he won." Yori turned her palms up. "That balances it out, right, Tristan?"

Tristan blinked, then snatched up the scattered papers he'd dropped. He flipped through them, saying, "Congrats, Joey. You won five bucks from me . . . Bakura bet on Yori . . . this one just says you owe Anzu her study guide back . . . Yuugi's disqualified because he bet on both players."

Yuugi turned pink.

"And . . . fifty bucks from Yori."

Joey's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He snatched the paper from Tristan, but sure enough, that was the bet.

When he looked up, Yori had on a breezy expression like it didn't matter.

"It's the going rate for your first street loss," she said. "We've all gotta win it with bruises first. And next time, we think a little faster."

"Not bad, Yor'." Joey smiled.

He didn't tell her what an extra fifty bucks meant for him, how it was one more meal or one less bill and either way one less headache. With her background living on the streets, he was sure she already knew. They might have had different circumstances, but there was a shared story there nonetheless.

He took a seat and braced his elbow. "But you're not gettin' out. A real wrestle this time, no funny business."

"You should've walked with the win." She leaned in and gripped his hand. "You're on."