Page 59 of Don't Hate the Player
Doesn’t matter. I’m done. It makes sense to be done.
“KNOX, you’re quiet!” Ivan nudges me with his elbow exactly when I don’t expect it, and I stumble a half step to the side.
“I’m good,” I lie, about the stumble and the holistic state of my identity. “It’s just sinking in. I think I need to clear my head or something.”
“I knew something was up. Byunki was so weird this morning? I’ve never seen him so . . .”
“Happy?”
Ivan looks sideways at me and smirks. “I was going to say stoked. He knows we got this on lock. You and me, I mean.”
“Oh,” I say. Please don’t let this be a whole thing about how well Ivan and I work as a team. My heart is at capacity. Any additional feels would constitute a fire code violation.
“Like I honestly—and I’m not being shady or anything—but I didn’t think it would work, when Byunki brought you up this summer.”
“Oh.” The less I say, the more room Ivan has to monologue. I don’t even need to tell him that is barely an appropriate use of the word “shady.”
“Not because you’re a girl or anything. I have a sister, and she . . . ?well, she doesn’t game, but, like, females are strong as hell, you know? Just because I’d been partnered with Arjun for so long and after Byunki kicked him, I was like ‘Yo, now what?’ but you”—he punctuates his speech with a playful poke at my shoulder; Ivan is certainly the touchy-feeliest out of all the Fury players—“came out swinging. After Round One, and don’t tell B this, but that checkmate? I was like, ‘Is KNOX our secret weapon?’ And then I checked with Han and Erik, and they were like, ‘Yo, KNOX is our secret weapon.’ If we win, nah,whenwe win, you and me are going to be, like,GLOGOATs.”
What sucks is I know Ivan is right. GOATs and all. On any other day and under other circumstances, this speech would be the highlight of my entire year. Today it’s just a reminder of everything I’m giving up and everyone I’m letting down. Rick Astley would be so disappointed in me.
“Hey, Ivan?” I interrupt him before he can keep going. “I was kind of serious about needing that minute. Can you tell Byunki and the rest that I’ll be back in, like, ten minutes?”
“Oh? Yeah, sure. Don’t take too long. You okay?” I can tell he’s a little hurt that I’m trying to ditch him after he’s said such nice things about me.
“Yeah. Crack a hand warmer open for me?”
“Uh, it’s better if you do it yourself. Slower heat.”
“Then don’t.” It’s better if he thinks I’m bitchy today. It’ll make it easier to write me off later.
I like Ivan, I really do. As much as I wanted to impress Byunki going into this, I’ll feel worse making VANE look bad when I whiff this match. In an alternate universe, we could be GOATs. Forever and ever.
The crowd from the ramp has thinned out by now, with the rest of the teams splitting off to head to their respective green rooms. I’ve been so single-minded both days of the competition that I haven’t poked around to see where everyone else is holed up, and the only other place I know besides the Fury green room is that weird spot by the craft kitchen.
Thibault’s announcement will for sure delay the day’s matches as the press catches up to the reality of the Guardians League, so I’ll have just enough time to sneak away and kick craft’s unused mountain of stackable chairs until they collapse and bury me forever. Kudos to whoever finds my skeleton many years from today.
Picking my way through the hallways toward somewhere I’m only halfway sure I know the location of feels like navigating a basement level of a game I’ve played before but don’t really remember how to win. I definitely take a few wrong turns and wind up somewhere even more unfamiliar, hallways I’m sure lead to empty rooms that are lying in wait for when the arena plays host to bigger competitions than this, full-on Guardians League tournaments that pull in hundreds of players on teams from all across the world. The relative emptiness of having only four teams left in this round is great for me because I’m not running into a million people back here, but it also means that the signage leaves a lot to be desired.
Just when I’m about to give up and slump against a random wall and hope for the best, I spot the stacks of chairs at the end of a hall and charge toward them, hoping no one in one of the empty corners behind me catches a glimpse of my red-and-black jersey and tries to follow me. The spot is exactly as I remember it from before, except this time there’s no Jake. That’s a relief, honestly. I need a few minutes to be alone and work this out for myself. I don’t want anyone talking or getting close to me. I am exactly who I’m supposed to be right now, an island of a person who got herself into this mess and needs to get herself out.
“Figured I’d find you here, Em.”
I don’t think islands shiver when they hear familiar voices behind them. They definitely don’t feel a horribly comfortable combination of toasty and desperate when it’s a voice they thought they didn’t want to hear.
“Hey, Jake.”
“Do you want me to go?” he asks. I knew he would. The normal, defensive thing to do would be to ask him to leave me alone. He would if I asked him to. I tried to push him away here a week ago and failed, which wouldn’t have solved my problem but might have made ditching the competition a little easier. When I quitGLO, I’ll quit Jake too. As wonderful as he is, he’s still a glitch in all of this. Quitting is about having less to deal with in the months to come, not more. Jake is very, verymore.
“No,” I hear myself saying even though I can’t even bring myself to turn around and look at Jake. “Please stay.” Hey, me,stop.
“Wait, really? Okay. Cool.” Jake sounds as shocked as I am to hear me say I want him around. I know a little bit of that is rooted in Jake assuming I never bother thinking about him, which should not be my problem anymore but still makes me feel terrible. “Hold on a sec—here you go.” Jake stretches his arms up and grabs a chair at the top of a stack and clumsily wiggles it away from its spot. He places it next to the single chair he sat in a week ago, which apparently has been waiting patiently for our next disaster chat.
Jake sits in one chair and pats the seat of the other. This boy is corny as hell. I sit down anyway.
“So, the league,” he begins. It’s all he needs to say. “Could be dope. Lotta money, big commitment.”
I know, Jake. He knows what I’m thinking, though, doesn’t he?
