Page 20 of Don't Hate the Player
“No, this is your spot. I’ll go. Just don’t . . .” Emilia trailed off and checked behind her again. It was the second time she’d done that. This time Jake was sure she didn’t want to be seen with him and reaffirmed his assumption that he was a humiliating conversation partner at both the arena and at school.
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me here. Not even Todd. And if you could also not tell your team that you know me, that would be great.”
All of that buildup wondering if Emilia remembered him, and Jake finally had his answer. It was a terrible answer, and he got it because he was an idiot, but it was still an answer and a lesson. Just because Jake thought about someone didn’t mean they were thinking about him too. In fact, they probably never were.
“Yeah. Of course. Lips sealed.”
That seemed to satisfy her, at least. She waved a quick goodbye and turned around the corridor. Despite his crumbling, dead-bee insides, Jake admired the way she walked away from him. Emilia Romero had never second-guessed a walk away once in her entire life. He could just tell.
When Emilia was out of sight, Jake suddenly remembered that he had a body that felt things. He was painfully tense in his shoulders, which he would have to roll out before the match, and the back of his neck felt boiling hot. His pants were even buzzing a little, which was crazy but not surpr—No. Phone. Someone was calling him.
He didn’t expect his palms to be as sweaty as they were and nearly dropped his phone when he whipped it out of his pocket, but in a feat of coordination he would surely never repeat, he managed to get it out, unlocked, and close to his ear before the call went to voice mail. Two voices yelled his name in near unison.
“Jake!”
It was Ki and Penelope. The Ladies of Unity.
“Hey, sorry I dipped. I’m coming back to the players’ box now.”
“It’s okay!” “It’s totally okay. Are you okay?” Ki and P were weirdly in sync because they knew each other before they started playingGLO, and after two months Jake still had trouble telling them apart on Discord and, by extension, the phone.
“Fine, yeah. Just sat alone for a bit back here. Had to clear my head.”
“Come to the green room!” “We’re in the green room!” “We still have the fries.”
“Yup, see you in a few.” Those fries were definitely cold by now, but the idea of putting something in his mouth that used to be delicious and was now extremely sad felt right. Jake ended the call before the girls asked any more questions and picked up his marginally less heavy feet to begin moving down the hallway.
It was too late for Jake to un-confess to Unity that he knew Emilia, but the silly sense of loyalty he still felt for her meant he would keep his promise. There was no way he was telling anyone what just happened.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Emilia, Saturday
THERE’S NO WAYI’m telling anyone what just happened. I’m a master of planning ahead, but my long-lost arcade friend from fourth grade showing up at my top secretGLOtournament and telling me he goes to my school is not something anyone could have predicted, much less covered in a contingency plan. God, I bombed that whole conversation. If Jake didn’t rat me out to every gamer at Hillford West the second he saw me onstage, he’s definitely spite ratting now after the way I just treated him.
Would he do that, though? I remember Jake Hooper being a lot of things—a giant nerd, a serial apologizer, the only guy who didn’t think I was weird for liking games—but he was never mean. I haven’t had time to think about him much in the past few years, but when I did, I always remembered him being sweet. Not nice, like some people are just “nice,” and that’s barely a personality, but genuinely sweet. He tried to give me a whole roll of arcade tokens once when he messed up my game because he’s the kind of guy who would do anything to make things right. Or at least he used to be.
Then again, he used to be short too, and those days are clearly over. People change all the time, and it’s terrible. Even if he has told a gamer or two, I can probably still contain it. Containing means I can plan, and planning means I still have control over the situation. Well, over half of the situation. The other half is standing on the other side of the door to Team Fury’s green room, which I have somehow reached without thinking too hard about where exactly I was going. Nice job backtracking, feet. I’m glad you know what to do in these trying times.
I can hear Byunki talking through the door. He doesn’t sound as mad as he did when I left, but he has the kind of voice where he always sounds a little mad, even when he’s not. At the beginning of the day, I thought that made him authoritative, but now I’m starting to consider that he does it on purpose to intimidate people. I’ll admit I let it get to me after our match, but talking to Jake reminded me of something. Iamon Team Fury, and I earned my spot here.
Byunki may have been the one to bring me into the fold, but he can’t argue with a checkmate in my first competition or the fact that Fury wouldn’t be coming back next week without me. Fury is about winning, and if I win, then Byunki being mad at me is 100 percent his problem. Also, I look really good today, and my shoes are cool.
That’s right. Positive self-talk. Penny would be so proud of me right now. I almost wish she was here or that it was even remotely possible for her to be. Jake did a pretty good job taking over in the pep talk department, though. I don’t think he meant to, which kind of makes it better.
Now might be a good time to stop thinking about Jake. He’s a problem, not a solution.
Team Unity is probably starting their match, and they’re the last round of the day, so all I have to do is survive the Fury regroup and drive back to Hillford in time to maintain my alibi back home. Under these circumstances, I pull the same move I do every morning before school and shove everything Byunki said earlier (and everything relating to Jake) to the back of my mind. Poof. It’s gone. I have bigger things to focus on.
Ivan, Erik, and Han-Jun are all sitting on the couch when I pull the door to the green room open, and Byunki looks like he was in the middle of lecturing them but lost his train of thought. They’re all staring at one of the TVs mounted on the wall, where the Unity match is playing out in real time. It’s nuts that one of the little figures zipping around up there is Jake, but I’m not close enough to read any of the comp names, and Byunki has the volume too low to hear the commentary.
“KNOX, you’re back,” Byunki says without turning away from the screen. He was absolutely waiting for the door to open just to pull off that supervillain move. All he needs is a swivel chair, a fluffy cat, and more flattering lighting to complete the picture. “Have you calmed down after your little outburst?”
I can’t tell if he genuinely thinks that me leaving the room after he yelled at me for no reason is classifiable as a “little outburst” or if he’s rewriting history on purpose, but either way I’m not taking the bait.
“I was hungry, but I couldn’t find craft services,” I half lie. I’m actually very hungry.
Byunki finally turns toward me and rolls his eyes. If he expects me to react to that, he’s dead wrong. I am a tree undisturbed by the wind. My thoughts are the surface of a placid mountain lake. I am absolutely not visualizing what Byunki’s lower half would look like sticking out of the drywall after I physically pick him up and yeet him across the room.
