Page 7 of How We Play the Game
The first few rows of the theater are packed with a teeming mass of students in matching black summer academy T-shirts, and they are extremely distracted. Cass and I couldhave busted through the wall like a wrecking ball and no one would have noticed. Their focus is on one person who looks like they’re holding court at the edge of the stage.
My eyes are sharp, any seriousGLRplayer’s must be, but it’s impossible to see who’s standing at the center of the crowd from this angle. Whoever it is, they’re causing a legitimate sensation. There had been hints that Wizzard would bring out some of their Guardians League players for a few sessions, but this mystery superstar, from what I can tell, is wearing the same student tee as everyone else.
BOOM! The noise is loud and far too close, and I feel the whoosh of wind from a slamming door on my back. I whip around and see Cassius wincing, his palm held out an inch away from catching the slamming door. So much for a stealth approach. Below us, the conversational tone of the room flatlines as every single person in the theater stops talking, swivels their heads on their creepy little necks, and stares up at Cass and me.
And yet, when I look back, I only see one face among the crowd. On a boy about my height. Straight brown hair, strong brows, and teeth so white I half imagine a pinprick sparkle on his canine when he smiles all the way up at me.
“Zora!” Ivan Hunt exclaims from below. “You made it.”
Three, I think, entirely too late. Looks like I summoned Beetlejuice after all.
CHAPTER THREE
I KNEW IT. I knew it. I mean, I didn’t know it; no one could have known it. But I knew something like this was going to happen. From the second I met Ivan at Wizzcon, I had a horrible, tickly feeling that it wasn’t the last time I’d see his smug face, and this is when that premonition comes true.
So why am I surprised? Like, stomach-flipping, breath-caught-in-my-throat, what-do-I-do-with-my-mouth surprised.
“You made it,” he said.Of course I made it, I think.It’s you who wasn’t supposed to make it.I have no idea how the fiftieth-place finish I made sure Ivan got in the Wizzcon battle earned him a spot in the summer academy, but that is a mystery I’ll have to solve later.
Ivan looks pleased to be in his element, in the Wizzard Theater and at the center of attention. It’s weird seeing him again, but only in the way it’s weird when you go to a farm to pick pumpkins and see a peacock hanging out in the pen with the goats. It’s jarring at first, but after a few seconds youremember what a farm is, and that animals live there, and it’s not the peacock that’s incongruous; it’s you.
I’m going to ignore Ivan entirely and plop down in the first seat by the theater doors. I hope that if I stay up here deliberately enough, my peers’ sudden, uncomfortable interest in me will wane—and it does. Some conversations resume, but my interruption came just late enough for people to start wondering if now would be a good idea to sit down.
Ivan is exactly as I remember. His coffee-brown hair looks freshly cut, short on the sides and long on the top with piecey strands that bounce against his cheeks when he moves his head to survey his domain. His essence hasn’t changed either, and those green, green eyes are the same as I’ve been seeing in my sleep. I could sniff him out in the dark, recognize his core Ivan-ness if I were spun around and blindfolded. He’s just that awful.
“Zora … ,” Cass begins a warning tone.
“I’m fine,” I cut him off. “Let’s just sit up here.” I’d prefer to have an ocean between Ivan and myself, or maybe a planet just to be safe, but I’ll settle for a majority of the seats in Wizzard’s indoor amphitheater.
“Just.” He sighs. “Don’t let him ruin your summer.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “Unless he does something stupid. Then I’m going to ruin his.”
“Welcome to the Wizzard Games Summer Academy Royale,” a disembodied yet familiar voice intones through the theater’s million-dollar sound system. Cass and I have a millisecond to exchange a glance and sit up in our seats before every light in the theater goes out. A few players squeal in surprise, and down below a handful of them wind up lookingunintentionally spooky as the glow from their phone screens suddenly backlights their heads with a ghostly halo of white light. One by one those lights go out too, extinguished in a chorus of digital clicks that echo around the room.
It’s finally starting, and the excitement I feel rising up in my chest reminds me that Cass is right. I can’t let Ivan being here ruin my summer. What’s about to happen here is bigger than both of us.
“Please welcome to the stage … summer academy president and cofounder of Wizzard Games, Brian Juno!” A single light flashes back on, and standing center stage with two hands on a mic stand is indeedtheBrian Juno. His purple three-piece suit makes him look like he just stepped off the page of one of the many, many magazines who have profiled his genius, but I know he’s not dressed up just for us. A flawless bespoke suit has been Brian Juno’s everyday uniform for as long as he’s worked for Wizzard. It’s not always purple, not always three-piece, but I’ve never seen him wearing anything casual. I don’t think anyone has. He probably sleeps with a pocket square. The look, combined with a slick haircut and a camera-friendly face, sets him apart from the stereotypical game studio grunt who shows up to work in a hoodie and jeans. The difference is intentional; it’s the costume of a ringmaster, the showman who knows it takes more than a good idea to sell a game. It’s genius, really, when you think about it. Instant brand recognition in the form of a popular industry figure who looks like a movie star, in an old guy kind of way. But Brian Juno is definitely a genius.
Brian may not have created theGuardiansseries, but he was the one who believed in what it could become. Hetransformed a suite of pretty good games into a ubiquitous name and used the money from those sales to make even better games, pushing the boundaries of what multiplayer and competition could look like when you build a dedicated audience of a million hyper-focused, obsessive weirdos like me. He is a kingmaker, and in light of that I can ignore the fact that he’s decided to punctuate his entrance with one of those Kendrick Lamar songs youreallyshould think twice about using if you’re a white person.
“Thank you! All right! Yeah! Hello, New York!” Brian waves at us, graciously accepting the applause that peters out only when the music fades completely.
“Before we start, here’s something you need to know.” His voice drops solemnly, with the unsubtle touch of a French Canadian accent echoing alongside his words. “You. Are all. Rock stars!”
I know he’s addressing the room, but Brian’s face is too earnest and his aura is too wholesome not to feel like he’s talking directly to me. I have never once identified myself as a rock star, but if Brian Juno says I am, then it is so. It’s impossible to take my eyes off him. He has that same gravitational, eye-dragging magnetism that makes people want to stare at Ivan. Who is not what I’m supposed to be thinking about right now. Wait—about whomI am not supposed to think.
“When I suggested thatGuardians League Royaleshould kick off its one-versus-one mode with the biggest battle royale competition in company history, what do you think they said?”
Brian trails off, as if waiting for someone to respond, but no one says anything. The moment drags on, past the point ofmy personal comfort. I mean, he asked a question, right? It’s only polite to respond.
“They said yes?” I pipe up.
Brian points up to the last row, right at me, and snaps his fingers. “Exactly! They saidyes.”
I feel like I just gained a permanent buff to my intelligence stats. Too bad he couldn’t see it was me up here being right.Hi, Brian! Teach me how to be you, please.
“And from that one yes, our journey together began. You all battled online preliminaries for a chance to compete in one of twenty-five regional competitions with fifty players each.” Hell yeah, bro, do that math! “From those twenty-five competitions the top two players from each battle emerged, and here you are now. Champions in your own right.” An explosion of applause makes Brian break the stride of his speech to give us credit. He sweeps his hands up, welcoming us to clap louder. “That’s right! Give yourselves a hand; you earned this!”
