Page 58 of How We Play the Game
Part of me wants to march out of Brian’s office right now and leave both of them behind forever. As far as I’m concerned, Ivan can go suck an egg and Brian can squeeze the chicken. But that’s a lot of hard work wasted. I think back to how I felt at the beginning of the summer, or even further, to how angry I felt back in January when I thought Ivan was using me, and realize that my first instinct was right the whole time. I was angry, and angry gets shit done. It served me well before I ever laid eyes on Ivan Hunt. I welcome it back now. I welcome it back and let myself be angry, because Ivan has done the one thing I can’t forgive. He made me look stupid.
This whole time I felt like I was in control of this relationship—it was my idea, I set the terms, and I had an equal if not outsized say in how things developed between us—but I wasn’t in control at all. I was a kid sitting on a couch, thinking they’re playing a video game, but their controller isn’t even hooked up to the system. Worse, Ivan knew he was following Brian’s script and still encouraged me to feel like I had any say whatsoever in what happened to me. It’s patronizing, it’s humiliating, and it makes me the butt of a summer-long joke. Slowly, I let my gaze slide back over to Ivan’s horrible, handsome, lying face. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone this much in my entire life.
All I have to do is break Ivan’s heart, step over his corpse, usurp his place as Brian’s fly on the wall, and have my pick of places in the Guardians League. That, and ally myself withsomeone who’s been trying to puppet me all summer despite him being an ostensible authority figure because he’s obsessed with controlling the private lives of teenagers for money. But I’d get what I want as a sure thing.
“What I don’t want is for all of this to have been for nothing,” I say. “But I’m out. Sorry, Brian.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, his face plastic-still in the dim box. “Think this through.”
“Put it this way: when I find myself walking in a parade where all the flags are red, I don’t think there’s much else to think through besides getting off the route.”
“Thank god,” Ivan says. “Let’s ditch this and justgo. Mr. Juno?” He turns to Brian. “I’m dropping out of the academy, effective now.”
“Sure, sure.” Brian swats his hand in Ivan’s direction. One hundred percent of his attention is focused on me now. “Ms. Lyon, do you really want to do the same?”
“I really d—”
“Funny how history repeats itself. A Lyon, the chance of a lifetime, and one bad choice that takes it all away. May as well wave a white flag on your dreams.”
Ivan catches what must be shock on my face and speaks up. “Do you see who he is now? He’ll say anything to get what he wants.”
“SO DID YOU!” I scream, pause, and swallow. My entire throat feels coated in ceiling plaster and sawdust. That moment of paying attention to my body again brings with it a wave of other sensations I simply stopped noticing when I followed Ivan up here this morning. My ears click as I swallow thickly past a jaw I now realize is far too clenched. Myneck feels tight and high, my shoulders achy, and my hands are balled in fists so tight the tips of my knuckles are lighter than the rest of my hands. Everything is tense, everything hurts. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, turn my face to the ceiling, and try to relax everything. I suck in a breath that feels almost too big for my compressed lungs and let it silently whoosh out from between my lips as I bring my head back down, and open my eyes again. This time I don’t bother to look at Ivan. He wants me to quit, to give up on my dream just because I’ll have to get a little dirty to do it. I can’t believe how wrong he was about me. By the time I’m done, he’ll definitely believe it.
“Fine. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s do this,” I say. “But that mentorship ismine.”
I’d rather wave a red flag than a white one.
When I send an all-caps EMERGENCY MEETING text to the party—well, what’s left of the party—they know I’m being serious. Within seconds of sending out my proverbial bat signal, I can hear Kavi’s and Trieu’s footsteps racing down the hall to my dorm room. I whisk them in quickly, locking the door behind me like I’m pulling them into a speakeasy.
“What’s going on?” Kavi asks while I press my ear to the door to confirm that no one is lingering in the hallway. I’ve learned the hard way just how easy it is to eavesdrop through a closed door.
Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I turn to face my captive audience.
And my mind goes completely blank.
“I …” All I can do is stand there with my mouth gaping open like a fish out of water. I’m not sure where to begin. How to package all of the hurt and anger and betrayal rushing through me into an easily digestible anecdote.
“Ivan lied,” is all I’m able to come up with, the words coming out quiet and meek and so unlike me it makes me want to scream. I hate how much it hurts. How deeply Ivan had managed to sink beneath my skin. I’d let him in—I’d thought he was different. One of the few people to like me forme. But I was just another pawn in his manipulation game.
“What?” Kavi and Trieu ask at almost the exact same time, but I can’t find it in me to respond to them yet.
My shoulders tremble as I cross my arms and duck my chin to my chest, urging myself not to cry. Not in front of them. “All of them lied,” I say once I’m sure my voice won’t crack. “Him. Brian. Everything about this place is a lie.”
Trieu takes a hesitant step toward me. “Zora, what do you mean?”
“You remember how I beat Ivan at the qualifier? How he shouldn’t evenbehere?” I look up in time to see the two of them nod. “Brian brought him because he wanted him here towatch us. To trick the rest of us into playing into his game.”
“Brian?” Kavi asks with a wrinkled brow. “As in Brian Juno?”
I nod stiffly, gritting my teeth so hard I’m sure they’d crack and chip if I wasn’t so committed to my flossing routine. “None of this is real. There’s no academy—not really. No algorithm, or at least not one Brian can’t just change if he wants.”
“So, all of these matches we’ve been doing were for nothing?” Trieu asks.
“What about the streams? All of our new subscribers?” Kavi follows up immediately after.
I shake my head, clenched fists trembling. “None of it mattered.”
Didn’t I already know that? Isn’t that why we were doing all of this in the first place? To get ahead—because we knew we’d never win if we played the game fairly?
