Page 33 of How We Play the Game
“Make sure you get her good side,” Kavi says proudly.
“All she’s got are good sides,” Ivan bluffs from the sidelines. And I swear to god, someone (not me) actually swoons.
“How do you spell your name again?” another amateur photographer asks.
“Zora like from Zelda,” I say, “and Lyon like the city in France.”
“Cool name,” they reply.
“You have no idea,” Ivan interrupts again, “how cool she really is.”
My stomach flips, and I feel a familiar anger creep up to redirect my thoughts toward dislike. I know Ivan has to say nice things about me, but the more he compliments me and the more sincere he sounds, the more I hear the lie underneath it all.
“She’s an incredible player too; just wait for the match later.”
He must be making fun of me. That’s how he’s so good at this—he’s turning me into a joke where only he knows the punch line. Why else would he be laying it on so thick?
My jaw hurts, which makes sense considering I’ve now spent two hours alternating between a huge fake grin and clamping my jaw so tight I could bite a chunk of coal and spit out diamonds.
Next to me, on another branded couch, with his hand on my knee and barely a droplet of sweat showing on his pearly skin, Ivan snort-laughs.
“My favorite thing about Zora? I mean, look at her, she’s beautiful. But she also makes me laugh.” He sighs dreamily. I lock my eyes at a spot on the wall to stop them from rolling. We’re not even on camera this time, just chatting with some influencer while Kavi and Trieu shoot some B-roll around the room. Chatting and now standing so close together that I’m surprised the rules of surface tension haven’t merged all the water in our bodies into one warm, angry droplet.
“Babe?” Ivan asks, his thumb brushing over my shoulder softly. I try not to shudder away from its phony comfort.
“Sorry, what?” It’s harder than I thought, to pay attention and make right faces in the right order.
“I said you’d never forgive me if I went easy on you inGLR.”
I can’t stop myself laughing. I don’t care if it’s the right response or not. Ivan going easy on me? Is that the narrative everybody wants to read here? Hate that. Pass the game script; I’m doing a rewrite.
“That’s true, I wouldn’t forgive you,” I say. “But it’s not like I’m worried.”
“And why is that?” I can’t remember this influencer’s name. It’s Dennis.
“I knockedhimout of the running for the academy at Wizzcon,” I reply. Immediately, I see panic rise up in Ivan’s eyes.
“Oh, is that how you two met?” Actually, wait, I think it’s Tom.
“Yep,” I say proudly.
“No!” Ivan says at the same time.
“And, wait, if you didn’t win at Wizzcon, how did you end up in the academy, Ivan?” Finally, Doug (?) is asking the right questions.
“Great question.” I nod. “How exactly did that happen, babe?”
I smirk over at Ivan, thinking this is appropriate revenge for him mocking me all afternoon, but something has changed with him. He’s fidgeting, and his hand is compulsively tucking his hair behind his ear. I don’t know what his problem is, but I’m not going to make it mine. I’m still looking out for number one.
“Excuse us,” Ivan says sharply, ostensibly to Doug, but I know his tone is mostly meant for me. “Great talking to you, Barry.”
Oh, wow, I wasn’t even close.
“That was unkind of you, Zora,” Ivan says the next time Team Vision regroups in the kitchen area.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Wouldn’t want you to think I was ‘going easy on you,’ though.” Trieu is dusting at my jawline with a kabuki brush, so he’s close enough that I hear the frustrated hiss he otherwise tries to suppress.
“What’s the problem?” Kavi asks. “We were doing so well!”
