Page 64 of How We Play the Game
I don’t think Clive is surprised when I spring out of my chair and fling myself at him from across the room. If anything, he anticipated it, seeing as I come in contact with a solid wall of uncle, with both feet planted on the ground, as unmovable as one of those rocks I imagined Cass clambering over in the park. Bad knee or not, my uncle still has the rooted posture of a football player when he wants to.
“I know, baby girl. I know,” Clive says soothingly. He even rubs my back for good measure.
“You’re here!” I repeat, briefly too overwhelmed to thread more complex thoughts together. “Wait—how are you here? What do you know?”
“Whatever this one told me about your little summer stunt, which was wild. Even for you.”
Clive gestures toward the door. In my excitement over seeing him, I somehow did not notice Emilia Romero hovering right behind him. No Jake in sight, though, just the queen who needs no king.
“How—”
“Trieu called me,” Emilia says, “and we called Cass, Cass called Clive, and before you ask, yes. Your uncle is grounding you for the rest of your life, and I know exactly how you feel. God, it’s like looking into a mirror.” Emilia does look into the mirror then, pausing to tap at the concealer under her cheek. “Or using a time machine.”
“What do you mean?” I’m still shocked that she’s even here, and extra shocked that the call Trieu said he’d make had such an immediate domino effect.
“You do remember you’re not the first person Ivan Hunt screwed over and left hanging, like, days before the biggest gaming event of her life, right?”
Of course she’s right. At least Ivan is consistent.
“Where is Ivan?” Clive interjects. “He needs somebody to kick his soul back up to God, and I’m ready.”
“Don’t.” I smile at his protective instincts anyway. “Your knee.”
“Fuck my knee; what else am I supposed to do when someone breaks your heart?”
I don’t have the energy to refute that Ivan broke my heart. Normally I would, but I have too much to think about today to add the weight of another lie that accomplishes nothing.
The not-so-excellent soundproofing in the dressing room strikes again when I hear an extra loud fanfare rising from the direction of the theater. I can’t make out exactly what the announcers are saying—could be anything, at this rate—but the immediate commotion outside my dressing room makes it much clearer within a few moments.
“He’s where he’s supposed to be,” Emilia continues. “Walking to his dressing room on the other side of the stage.”
“He’s WHAT?”
“He’s here!” shouts a Wizzard intern as they speed past my open door down the hallway.
“VANE is in the building,” wheezes another, going the opposite direction.
Emilia is back to checking her makeup again, but this time there’s a telltale smirk tugging at her lips.
“How did you do it?” I half whisper, even though the only person who will know if she tells is Clive, who deserves to knowa lot more about this summer. And to whom I am going to spend the next seventeen years of my life explaining my reasoning.
“Easy.” Emilia turns to me with her smirk still in place. “I told him the only way I was ever going to forgive him for sacrificing my reputation was if he sacrificed his for you. But for what it’s worth, I think he was going to do it anyway.”
“Poetic.” Clive nods. “Still gonna kick his ass.”
“Not if I kick it first.” I’ve imagined the moment I’d hear Ivan show up today a million times in my head. I pictured myself strutting out onstage, staring straight past him, and taking my seat with every ounce of photogenic grace Kavi taught me this summer. I wouldn’t let my hate lure me into saying anything; he doesn’t deserve to hear my words ever again. Then I would destroy him and take what’s mine. The acclaim. The title. The mentorship. The shortcut.
But now that it’s within my grasp, I don’t think that’s what I want anymore.
Another soaring acknowledgment from the crowd reverberates through the theater walls, signaling that Brian Juno has taken the stage. That gives me about five minutes to get into place—he has a whole highlight reel with standout moments from the summer planned. Payton and Paxton’s feud is in there, so are a bunch of Trieu’s makeup looks. I asked Brian to put the pigeon video in so Ivan looked like a dork, but I haven’t watched to see if Brian listened.
Then, I hear the crowd laugh, which morphs into the telltale group-booing noise people make when the bad guy appears on-screen in a cult classic movie screening. Guess Brian put the pigeons in after all. I wonder if Ivan knows they’re laughing at him out there. I wonder if he still cares what they think.This is the guy who broke with Wizzard Games because they asked him to betray me.
To be clear, that was after he’d already betrayed me. And after I stabbed him in the back in January. And—
“I’m going to give you a few minutes with your uncle, Zora,” Emilia finally says. “Good luck out there.”
“Thank you, Emilia.” I think I could spend the rest of my life thanking her for a whole host of things, but looking out for me from the start of this summer is definitely the big one.
