Page 21 of How We Play the Game
“Still in love with you,” Emilia blurts out before Jake gently nudges her in the ribs. “What? He totally is.”
For the first time since I met him, Trieu looks a little bit bashful. I can’t tell if his blush is genuine or excellently blended makeup, which I think he would appreciate if I told him.
“Well, you know how it goes with these kind of things … ,” Trieu begins, then seemingly finds himself at a loss regarding how to end that thought.
“Can we meet your friends?” Jake asks, successfully pivoting away from a potential awkward silence.
“Oh, right. Duh.” Trieu turns around and gestures to Kavi and myself.
“I’m Kavi Khurana.” Kavi’s smile is so wide it looks about to split her face in half. “Super great to meet you; we should talk about collabing sometime.”
“And this—” Trieu grabs my elbow to drag me a little closer into the group.
“Is Zora,” Emilia finishes for him. “The mystery knight. I’m Emilia. You guys mind if we talk to Zora for a second?”
That was directed to Kavi and Trieu, who bow out of the conversation without so much as a “catch ya later.” I’m so shocked that Emilia and Jake want to talk to me alone that I forget to hate Ivan for a second and peek over to check if he sees this is happening too. Except I can’t, because he’s gone. Totally vanished even though he was only a few yards away a moment ago.
“Hi?” I reply. “I mean—yeah, I’m Zora, and I know who you are, of course. Both of you, I mean; you’re legendary. It’s an honor to meet you.” Is that too familiar? Too groveling?
Emilia rolls her eyes, but I get the sense that she’s not doing it because of me. “You single-handedly got fifty live streams taken down by Brian Juno’s own content filter and forced him to temporarily rewrite the rules of the academy on your first day. It’s an honor to meetyou.”
“Seriously, good job,” Jake adds. It feels like I’m missing something here.
“Wait, I’m confused,” I say. “You think it’s a good thing that Brian hates me?”
Emilia and Jake laugh in tandem.
“Trust me,” Emilia says. “Brian does not hate you.”
“The only things he hates are the ESRB and bad investments,” Jake adds.
“You got his attention,” Emilia continues. Hearing them talk feels like talking to one person spread across two very different bodies. “That’s all that matters.”
“To think,” I say sarcastically, “coming in today I thought being a good player was all that matters.”
A shadow passes over Emilia’s face, just a hint of discomfort that I don’t think most people would pick up on. It’s the shadow that comes when someone says something rude and true, and you don’t want anyone to know about the true part. I often see that look on other people’s faces when I talk.
“Yeah,” Emilia replies. “A lot of people think that.”
“I just didn’t think I signed up for all of this.” I gesture to the whole room. “I’m completely out of my depth.” It feels weird to admit that to someone I just met, but something tells me Emilia knows she has that effect on people. I think it’s why she wanted to talk to me in the first place.
“Looks like it, yeah,” Jake agrees. His bluntness surprises me. Is he trying to make me feel better or not? Another commotion rises from the sitting area across the lounge, where a crowd of people are gathered around the TV. One of theSmash Bros.players has apparently ceded his controller to someone whose skills have a handful of the most prominent gamers in the country completely enraptured. It must be down to the wire, because someone immediately shushes the crowd to allow the players sitting all the way forward on the couch to focus harder on their combos.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any advice, would you?” I ask Emilia and Jake. “On how to recover from this whole ‘enemy of the people’ vibe? Almost everyone in this room acts like screwing up is contagious.”
“Let me think about that for a second,” Emilia says. Another cheer floats over from theSmashmatch, and a player stands up to take a victorious bow. When the crowd parts briefly, I see what I should have already guessed. It’s Ivan, of course it is, with his toothpaste-white smile and floppy hair intermittently illuminated by camera flashes and the glow of recording screens. Even without the extra light, there’s something shiny about him when he’s playing to a crowd. He looks taller, more relaxed, and friendly in the same way that Emilia and Jake look when the spotlight is on them. It’s an obvious front, but an effective one. Regardless of who I know he really is, Ivan Hunt has the look of a hero.
“Got it,” Emilia says suddenly, shaking me out of a reverie I never consciously consented to experiencing.
“Got what?” I ask.
“Advice,” Jake clarifies for her.
“Right!” I did ask for advice. Less than ten seconds ago. I remember doing that, before Ivan … Never mind Ivan. I pointedly drag my eyes away from his victory celebration and try very hard to concentrate back on the literal celebrity wasting her valuable time on me right now.
“Why are you here?” Emilia asks me.
“I—What? That’s a question, not advice.”
