Page 57 of How We Play the Game
“What is she doing here?” Ivan asks, sounding about as desperate as I’d imagine he should be considering the situation. And it’s in that same desperation that he’s asked thewrong question entirely. It’s not about what I’m doing here. It’s about what I’m about to do here.
Ivan’s eyes are wide, their whites almost glowing against the dim light in this terrible, man cave–ass office where Brian Juno apparently watches our matches and hatches his freaky little schemes like the wizard of Wizzard. “I … I can explain. It’s not what you think.”
“It’s not?” I ask. Something about getting my inside angry outside has made it easier for me to control my voice. Instead of exploding outward at the absolute insanity of the TV Trope conversation I overheard, I stay completely still in the doorway. Going by Ivan’s face, I think this scares him more than if I was yelling. “So you didn’t cheat your way into the academy by agreeing to be Brian Juno’s spy on the inside, and you haven’t been working with him the whole time to stir up drama, up to and including dating me? And now that interest is waning, he doesn’t want you to break up with me and make me look like an asshole because he has the literal prerogative and power to do so?”
“Okay.” Ivan has his hands held out like a zookeeper carefully approaching an escaped tiger. “So it is, technically, what you think, but—”
“So you, what? Flagged me on the first day as an easy mark? Capitalized on the fact that I had no idea what I had gotten myself into? Realized you could use me as a shield to deflect whatever strays you were still catching for what happened with Emilia last year?”
“Wait,” Ivan says, “you do remember that the fake-dating idea was yours in the first place, right? I’ll admit where I’mwrong, but I’m not going to suck up the blame for something I didn’t do, not again.”
“Because that’s what you think this is about. Assigning blame. Ivan, you—we. I thought …”
“I know.” Ivan looks up at me, more serious than I’ve seen him all summer. “That part was true.” I see him shift his weight uncomfortably and try not to look over at Brian. Ivan’s right if he’s assuming that Brian has absolutely no right to hear this conversation, but apparently Brian’s been the third wheel all along, so I’m not inclined to feel bad for him right about now. “It’s still true; I really care about you.”
“No,” I interrupt before he can say something even more stupid. The only thing I can think to do with my words right now is to let him know just how close he is to losing me, somehow even harder than he’s losing me now. “I don’t believe you. Say something else.”
“I can’t!” Ivan says, like he has any right to be exasperated. “It’s true, I like you. I don’t, like, one-hundred-percent get it either, but you are the only person who expected more from me. I don’t know when it changed, and I don’t think you do either, but we’re better together. I’m better. You’ve made me realize that it’s possible to want things beyond what this asshole”—he gestures to Brian (“Hey!”)—“can offer.”
“I don’t want to make you better,” I reply. “I don’t want you tofeelbetter because of me. I would honestly hate to leave you with the impression that your self-improvement, or your reputation, or how you feel about yourself, is anything close to my priority.” If that makes me sound like a serial killer in a movie, so be it.
“So what is your priority?” Brian Juno asks. It’s the first time he’s addressed me since I crossed the threshold into his awful corner office and started ripping into Ivan.
“What?” What kind of question is that? My entire summer just got tossed in a blender and set to puree, and he wants to know what my life priorities are?
“Do you still want your contract or not?” he asks, more deliberately. The pronoun catches me out—mycontract. Like it’s already there and waiting. Is it?
“But the algorithm—”
“Let me handle the algorithm. There’s nothing in those numbers I can’t change on the backend. And have been, by the way. So, you know. Welcome to the show,” Brian finishes for me, and I feel the wrong kind of weightless. That’s all this place has ever been. For show. “I’ll make some adjustments,” he says with a careless wave of his hand. “Get you into the top slot, if you want it.”
“I don’t—” I look over at Ivan, who is finally starting to look less terrified and more pissed off. Scared Ivan is useless to me; angry is at least something I can understand. “Would we still have to do the breakup?”
“Zora, no,” Ivan says in disbelief. “You’re not seriously thinking about going along with him.”
“Why not?” I snap back. “Is manipulating people with Brian’s help something only you’re allowed to do? Why not fake break up, Ivan? It’s not like we were ever fake together in the first place.”
“That’s not true.”
“I don’t care.” I turn to Brian. “Okay, let’s do it. Battle of the exes, sure, it’s on. We position the breakup as Ivanscrewing up, and me getting a chance to kick his ass up to God for what he did to me.”
“Are we still talking aboutGLR?” Brian asks with a knowing smirk.
“Does it matter?” I answer. Somewhere in my emotional mire of betrayal and seething rage, I’ve managed to find some boldness. And why shouldn’t I? I’m just as valuable to the academy as Ivan is now; I should absolutely have a say in my own storylines.
“Not really.” Brian shrugs. “But I think we have room to negotiate. We have to work quickly if we’re going to build it big enough for the finale next weekend, though. We’ll need some pictures, some social media posts, get Kavi and Trieu in on it—good idea to work with them, by the way—maybe a little in-game beef …” He ticks the necessities off on his fingers. I can’t help but feel a little pleased that I’ve managed to parlay this into Brian inviting me into the inside track. Now that I know said track exists. I mean, I knew Ivan was hiding something, but I didn’t think it was this blatant.
“No,” Ivan says. “I’m not going along with it.”
“You can’t veto getting dumped, dumbass,” I snap back.
“Dump me all you want, but I’m not playing along anymore. I’m out. Brian. I’mout. I’m not going to be the guy everyone hates again.”
Of everything I’ve heard in the last ten minutes, that’s the one that finally sets me off.
“That’s your objection to this? You don’t want to look bad in front of everybody again? When the other option is throwing me to the wolves. You know what people would say if I’m the bitch who crushesyourprecious little heart, and you’refine with me suffering those consequences if it means people think you’re Wizzard’s golden boy?”
“I’m saying neither of us have to do anything we don’t want to do.”
