Page 18 of How We Play the Game
“Not now they don’t.”
For all her blinding good looks and popular girl aura, Kavi is really nice. And funny. Ah, hell, am I forming a bond? A real-life, non-GLRalliance? A coalition, but casual? What would that even be?
Friend. The wordI’mlooking for is friends.
“But they might,” Kavi continues, “if you show your face at the party that’s forming in the lounge on our floor. Let people meet you, so your whole aura is less …”
“Elphaba in the first half ofWicked?” I try to finish her sentence.
“Abstract,” Kavi corrects. “No one knows who you are yet, so it’s easy to villainize you.”
Normally I would object to compulsory socializing, but she’s got a point. If I’m going to belong in this competition, I need to be someone other than who I was this morning. More importantly, I need to show people that I’m not who they think I am. Can’t do that eating floor sushi with Cass.
“Sure, I’m in. I’ll be out in a bit.”
Kavi claps her hands excitedly. “Yay! You’re totally welcome too, by the way,” she tells Cassius.
“Oh gosh, thank you!” Cassius’s smile is genuine. “But I woke up at, like, two this morning, so I’m going to bed.” Cass does look tired.
“Some other time, then,” Kavi responds, unfazed. “Come out whenever, Zora. We’ll be just outside at the end of the hall.” She waves her pinky finger at Cass before backing out the door and leaving us alone.
“That ‘we’ she keeps talking about”—Cassius says, oblivious to Kavi’s finger-flirting—“do you think that includes Ivan?”
“I mean,” I begin, “I think she means the other players, which technically includes Ivan. I highly doubt he’s out there advocating for my inclusion.”
“Do you really think he still has a problem with you?”
“Why does it matter? I have a problem with him. ‘I hate you’ is a complete sentence. Gandhi said that, I think.”
“Hey, I get it.” Cassius puts his hands up guiltily. “You know I’d never try to nudge you off a grudge.”
It’s true, he wouldn’t. Cassius accepts me exactly as I am: awkwardness, introversion, near-permanent rage, and all. The academy is a program designed to make me change who I am to succeed. I don’t want to let that happen, but whatchoice do I have? Speaking of changing, I should probably put on a shirt I didn’t walk twenty blocks in eighty-degree heat in. I walk over to the wardrobe and pull it back open. I know exactly what I have in here. Six T-shirts for game days, four sleeveless tops for when I want to show these guns off, my jean jacket with all my Wizzard pins, two pairs of jeans, exactly one summer dress because Clive thought I should pack it for “girls’ nights,” and a thrift store jean skirt I’m not sure fits but looks very 2002. I am very good at packing a lot of stuff into one bag, but if I knew I was going to be auditioning for the gaming equivalent of a K-pop competition show, I would have brought something a little more camera-friendly. Skirt’ll have to do.
“If it was just the Wizzcon stuff with Ivan, I’d be over it by now,” I say and pull a purple tank top off its hanger. Cass makes a noise of disbelief.
“What, I would! But he’s clearly not over it, so I can’t be over it. Turn around.” I could change in my en suite bathroom, but these dorm doors are pretty much solid wood rectangles and I’d prefer not to have to shout to be heard on this particular topic.
“Why not?” Cass asks, walks over toward my bed, and turns around to face the window. “Wouldn’t that make you the bigger person?”
“Yes,” I answer flatly. “But I don’t want to be the bigger person. I want to be small. Microscopic.”
“Quantum?” Cass offers.
“Quantum.” I like the sound of that. “Quantum-level petty.”
“God, you’re cool. Can I turn around now?”
“Yep, done.”
Cass turns around and leans back against my bed, elbows back, while he sweeps his eyes up and down my outfit. “Oh, you’re wearing a skirt,” he says with the tiniest hitch in his voice. Maybe he has a little bit of sushi stuck in his throat. “You look—”
“Focus,” I interrupt.
“Focusing. But also I should go.”
“I know.” I smile. “Thanks for the sushi.”
“No problem.”
