Page 34 of How We Play the Game
“The jerk store called and they’re out of her,” Ivan grumbles. That was toothless, even for him.
“You do realize—wait! We got a bogie on our six.” I notice a not-so-sneaky someone pointing their phone in our direction and straighten up.
“That’s our three,” Ivan corrects me. “Six would be behind you.”
“Shut up and do what we practiced in the lounge.”
On cue, we all fake a laugh in case they’re recording something. Look at us, the cool kids. Cool kids being cool friends, cooling the day away.
“He’s gone,” Cassius calls out. I shake my hair out and continue the extremely sick burn I’ve cooked up for Ivan.
“You do realize,” I start again, “that if the jerk store is calling you about a supply chain issue, it’s becauseyouare a jerk wholesaler late on delivery. In which case”—I clear my throat—“not only is your chosen business built on you generating a surplus of jerk, but you are also failing to fulfill your contractual obligations. Hell yeah, got ’em!” I hold my hand up for a high five, which Kavi discourages with a shake of her head in Cass’s direction. He obeys and leaves me hanging.
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk like a serial killer in a movie?” Ivan continues. “Because you talk like a serial killer in a movie.”
“No, nobody has ever told me that.” I plop down on a kitchen stool, suddenly feeling the exhaustion I earned with Kavi’s early wake-up call.
“What are you, a cyclops?” Ivan asks, trying and failing to keep his voice to a whisper. “‘Nobody has ever told me that.’ I am telling you that! Right now!” He stomps off; thankfully the crowd in the lounge is thinning out as today’s action moves toward the theater.
We still have aGLRmatch to play today—the first one that will actually count toward our Wizz-Algorithm rankings now that our accounts are unlocked. I need something to perk me up or else I’m going to get grumpier, if possible.
“Gotta say, I don’t get you.” Trieu finishes buffing my face. “There are people who would pay money to hear Ivan Hunt say the kinds of things he said about you today.”
“Like what?” I say, resisting the urge to touch my face again. I’m a good model, I promise.
“Hello, world, have you met Zora? She’s so beautiful and funny and talented, and I want to hold her hand and gaze into her eyes all day.” Trieu’s Ivan impression could use some work. I do not tell Trieu this.
“Come on, he doesn’t mean any of it.” I can’t believe I have to explain that to Trieu, our wizard. He of all people should know how much work goes into pretending to be someone other people want to watch, let alone act like they’re in love with.
“Sure he doesn’t.” He zips his makeup bag closed again. “For sure, for sure. We need to be in the theater in ten minutes.”
“Give me five of those, please.”
“She said five,” Cass echoes and herds Trieu and Kavi toward the double doors across the room. That boy is an angel. I set my elbows on the kitchen counter and prop my head up on my fists. The more I think about Ivan, the more time I spend around so many people, the more tired I get. The least I can do for myself is sit in the lounge as it empties out—who knows, maybe someone will take a picture of lonely little Zora sitting alone and get a poignant candid that makes me look extra relatable. Maybe I should get into a better pose for that. I’ll cross my ankles to be more ladylike, sit up and pin my shoulder blades together like Kavi told me to do for pictures. Spin around on the stool a little and—FREEZING!
Something icy presses up against my exposed back, making me shriek and twist around to see what frozen hell I’ve summoned in this jumpsuit.
“Gotcha.”
Ivan holds two Red Bulls pebbled cold with condensation. One of them has a shiny splotch in the middle of the narrow can where he pressed it up against my back.
“Thought that would wake you up.” He places the can I’ve already claimed back-first on the counter in front of me.
“Do I look that tired?” I ask.
“Not to the rest of them,” he says and cracks his can open, then mine for me. “But just now, the jerk store thing.”
“Ivan, I—” I’m not sorry.
“You were talking in paragraphs again, which you only do when you’re actually upset. At least I think it’s only when you’re upset. You’re always upset when I’m around.”
“It’s not just you this time.” I grab my Red Bull and look at it. Sniffing it would probably be insulting. But how else can Itest for poison? “It’s everything. The lights, the noise, the people, the questions, the talking, the scrutiny, the comments.”
It’s called autistic overwhelm, and I am deep in its grip. But Ivan doesn’t need to know that.
“Too many people and twice as many eyes.” Ivan takes a sip and winces, probably much less familiar than I am with the fizzy sciencefruit strangeness of its flavor.
“What?”
