Page 36 of How We Play the Game
“Couple things,” Ivan began. “Someone tried to bring a bunch of booze to the first party after orientation, but I was able to clear it out before anyone could get it on camera.”
“Thanks for that. Last thing I need is some kid getting alcohol poisoning on day one.”
“No problem.” Ivan knew what Brian wanted him to talk about, but it felt better if he led up to the whole Zora thing with some other useful information. It made Ivan feel like these reports were official, like Brian had hired him for a real summer job.
“Hired” was a strong word; “hired” implied that Ivan was getting paid. He wasn’t, or at least not in actual money. When Brian approached him after his fiftieth-place loss at Wizzcon and offered him a spot in the summer academy regardless of his in-game performance, obviously Ivan had leapt at the chance. All Ivan had to do was attend the program and keep an eye on everyone on behalf of Wizzard Games. And also to “keep things interesting,” no matter what. And to report back so the company couldn’t be surprised by any twists in the academy’s inevitable inter-player drama.
“Payton and Paxton are fighting,” Ivan continued. He withheld the part where he knew it was Zora who sabotaged them. If Brian found out how good she was at stirring up shit, it would be her in his suite twice a week instead of Ivan. “That’s something to watch. Friends to rivals or whatever.”
“Nice.” Brian nodded, far from satisfied. “And …”
“And”—Ivan swallowed thinly—“I’ve picked the front-runners, like you asked.” It was far more accurate to say thatthe front-runners chose him, but Brian didn’t need to know that. “Kavi Khurana, Trieu Vu, and Zora Lyon.”
“Not Cassius Sharpe?” Brian raised a blond eyebrow. “You don’t think the first battle winner is worth looking out for?”
“Nope.” Ivan shrugged. “He doesn’t have what it takes.”
“And yes to Zora Lyon? Number fifty?”
“Yep. Trust me.”
“Okay,” Brian said with playful skepticism. “Let’s see if you’re right.”
Brian fiddled with the remote until the TV screen showed what Ivan had come to see: the god’s-eye view of the Wizz-Algorithm working in real time. Part stock market ticker, part rapidly shifting leaderboard, with every view, comment, like, reaction, and WiTch minute spent on each academy player’s profile contributing to their standing in real time. Ivan watched the numbers and names flicker all around them, wondering if this was what it was like to live inside a computer. It was almost too much information for his brain to take in at once, until Brian paused the entire operation with a touch of his finger. The characters on-screen resolved into something more readable. Names, in a list, numbered from one to fifty. Ivan only had to look for five:
#1 Cassius Sharpe
#27 Ivan Hunt
#28 Trieu Vu
#31 Kavi Khurana
#50 Zora Lyon
“This is how we looked this morning, before the open lunch,” Brian explained. “Now that your WiTch accounts areopen and everyone’s been posting …” He tapped the screen again, and the names swapped around.
#8 Ivan Hunt
#20 Trieu Vu
#23 Kavi Khurana
#30 Cassius Sharpe
#32 Zora Lyon
Ivan felt a wash of pride. He had been right. With the addition of audience scoring into the Wizz-Algorithm, everyone had trended positively except for Cass.
“Wait a minute.” Brian squinted at the screen. “Zora Lyon jumpedeighteenspots since this morning?”
So did I, Ivan thought.That’s not a coincidence.
“Forget what I said about the Cassius kid; we’re going all in on Zora. How did you do it?”
“So.” Ivan steeled himself for the big reveal. “We kind of told everyone she’s my girlfriend.
With a click, Brian turned off the screens, plunging the room back into red, then blue, then green again. He actually put his tablet down and, for the first time since Ivan entered the room, gave him his full attention.
