Page 47 of How We Play the Game
“Do they find one?” Ivan asks, his tone kinder than I expected.
“Not really. He doesn’t dwell on it for himself. Kinda pathologically dwells on it for me, though.”
“Like how?” Ivan puts his fork down and gives me his full attention. I see an opportunity to steal another pierogi. He notices, but says nothing.
“Like how when I said I wanted to write for Wizzard Games, he immediately pushed me toward, like, coding and engineering because they’re safer bets than creative work. And I get it, I’m going to need those skills too, but he wants me to go through life expecting the worst, and would it kill him to let me, I don’t know. Dream a little? Aim high? Go for the Brian Juno mentorship to justseeif I can do it? Not everything has to have a catch.”
“Was there a catch to you coming to the academy?” Ivan asks.
“Yeah. You,” I reply before helping myself to a long gulp of water—the perfect excuse to not say more than I have to. “Anyway, my baggage isn’t exactly first date conversation.”
Ivan stills. The fact that he didn’t have a snarky retort locked and ready to go immediately sets me on edge. The corner of his lips quirk into a smile as he leans in closer to me. Whispering so quietly I almost don’t hear him over the chatter of the densely packed dining room. “So, we’re on a date?”
If Ivan expects me to earnestly answer that question, he’s overestimating the amount of goodwill he’s earned tonight by having good, if obvious, taste in Ukrainian food. I down another huge gulp of water to buy myself some more time to respond, only to blurt out the first thought that comes to mind when the timer I’ve set for myself is up. “You don’t talk about Emilia, ever.”
“Wow.” Ivan leans back in his chair. “That was the clumsiest attempt at deflecting I’ve ever seen. I expect more from you.”
“Sounds like a you problem.” I bite into another mystery pierogi now that I’m out of water. Sauerkraut and mushroom. Not top three, but still good.
“Incredible. It’s like talking to a wall.” I expect that to end this leg of the conversation, but Ivan persists. “Is that why you’ve never liked me? Is Emilia the only reason you screwed me over at Wizzcon?”
I think back. “Don’t forget the groupie thing.”
“Fine, okay. And the groupie thing.”
“And you stole Cass’s desk at orientation.”
“He’s right-handed!”
“Andthe ‘go easy on me’ thing.”
“Zora.” Ivan scootches his chair closer to the table and conspicuously leans in. I imagine he’s enjoying this and wants a better seat for my rare and unusual performance of vulnerability. I’m starting to regret saying anything. Wait—oh. He was just scraping some sour cream onto his plate. He’s fine. I’m fine. “There’s something I want you to know.”
“Okay.” This is as good a place as any to stop talking and start listening. Mainly so I can stop talking. The longer I talk to Ivan, the more I end up wanting to talk to him, and that is terrible. I don’t want him to think he’s cracked me open for real. So I’ll let him have his moment and slide into a nice, tense silence.
“You remind me of this guy I used to know. He was an asshole.”
“You’ve mentioned that about me, yeah.”
“No, that’s the thing.” Ivan puts down his fork. “You’re not an asshole. The guy I’m talking about, he was my captain last year, when I—when Emilia and I played together on the same team. We played really well together, by the way. She was a great partner.”
No shit, Emilia Romero was a great partner. She’s one of the greatestGuardians League Onlineplayers to ever do it.
“All Emilia ever did was make our team better, and this guyhatedher for it. It was nuts to watch. The better she did, the more he was convinced she was out to get him, but all she wanted was to be his friend.”
“See, that’s where she messed up—”
“Shush. I know that. Now. He got what he deserved in the end, anyway.” Ivan wipes his hand down his face and exhales loudly.
Oh, wow, this might actually be a deep cut from his past. We’ve stepped into the mirror universe where Zora and Ivan can go out to dinner and talk to each other. Damn, I guess Kavi’s multi-phased plan really did work.
“I don’t want you to end up like him,” he says. “So I’m going to ask you right now, for real. What is your problem with me? Consider it a … performance evaluation. You don’t have to tell me now—in fact, take some time to think about it. Check please.”
That last part is to our server, who’s been hovering around our table expectantly. This is Veselka on a summer holiday evening, after all. She dashes back to the kitchen to print our check.
My head is still spinning from Ivan’s regrettably on-the-nose analysis of why he actually grinds my gears. I don’t think he’s out to get me, per se, but if—and this is a huge if—he’s really trying to be my friend, then I am the asshole who hates him for trying.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
