Page 9 of How We Play the Game
By the time I start paying attention again, Team Unity is leaving the stage. Talk about a quick appearance; that was barely a drive-by.
“Are you guys ready to find out the rules for the Summer Academy Royale?” Brian sets the microphone back in the stand, yoinks it back up to his full height, and resumes his part of the program. “Are you ready to find out what you’re up against?”
Behind Brian, the huge LED screen at the back of the stage turns on with a sudden flash of light that illuminates the whole theater. At the top, Wizzard Games Summer Academy Royale. The rest of the space on the screen is taken up by some kind of list.
I lean forward to get a better look at the list and spot my name somewhere in the middle. I also see Cassius and Ivan on there too. It doesn’t take a genius to assume that the other forty-seven names on there are our fellow competitors.
“This summer you will be competing in weeklyGuardians League Royalematches with your fellow players, but the real field of play is right up here on this screen,” Brian says. “You begin your journey here, unranked.” He gestures up to the screen. “But that’s not how the summer will end.”
It’s not a list, I realize. It’s a leaderboard. But how is Wizzard going to rank fifty players from a handful ofGLRmatches? That math doesn’t math.
“Your score will be determined by”—he pauses dramatically—“the Wizz-Algorithm!”
The Wizz-Algorithm? Sounds like a chatbot that tells people when to use the bathroom. This is why I need to work for Wizzard. I could fall asleep on a keyboard and my forehead would come up with a better name than that.
“Part of it is determined by your in-game performance. Personal kills count toward the score, as will average match longevity and wins.”
That makes more sense. Only one of us can win each match, so we’ll have to score based on the thousands of other mini victories we can achieve in the battle royale format.
“The other part,” Brian says, in a tone that makes me think he says “other” when he means “greater,” “will be determined not by in-game statistics and numbers, but by a group of people all of you know very, very well.” He leaves us quietly guessing for another long moment. I wonder if anyone here has any idea what he’s talking about, or if it’s just me who’s out of the loop. “Your fans.”
Whose fans? I don’t have fans. Were we supposed to come here with fans? I’m not the only person confused. There’s alow murmur spreading around the theater as people whisper to one another.
“And by your fans, I mean the ones you’ll earn this summer while you go through the program. To make things fair, all of you will get a new WiTch account to stream, post, and interact with viewers. From there, the Wizz-Algorithm is designed to track your successes, generate an audience score, and factor it into your end-of-week ranking.”
I genuinely cannot tell if I’m hearing this right, so I ask Cassius.
“Yo, am I hearing this right?”
“You are.”
That conversation was shorter than I expected, but okay. I’m not losing my grip on reality. Brian Juno did just say that being really frickin’ good atGuardians League Royaleis barely half of what it’s going to take to win.
“New positions will be calculated after each match, and the top two players at the end of the summer will play for theGLR: 1v1reveal event.”
I think back to what I said to Cassius earlier. About how this academy is about skill and merit and nerds, so people like Ivan don’t belong. That was uncharacteristically naïve of me. Peacocks like Ivan will always belong, and I’m the one who might not have what it takes to win.
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE ARE FIFTY rolling desks set up on the stage of the Wizzard Theater. Each time Brian calls a name, a player stands up, walks over, and claims a desk as their own. Center stage fills out quickly, but after those are gone the choices seem more personal, and therefore unpredictable. If there was a pattern, I’d have figured it out by now, but even if I did, it wouldn’t help me. We are called alphabetically by first name, so any Zoras in the program are doomed to pick last. Fitting.
At least I have Cass fighting for me down there. He went down before me and grabbed a spot in the second row and has been defending the seat next to him like a FIFA goalie. If he can keep it open, that’s my choice made for me and one less thing to think about in what has quickly become a very eventful morning.
We’re almost at the end of the list when I hear the telltale click of a door bar pushed in slowly. Someone is trying to sneak in like Cass and I tried to earlier, through the door at the top of the amphitheater’s aisle. I don’t need to look;I know who it is. He wasn’t in his seat when his name was called because he was still avoiding Emilia, but the queen has left the building and it’s once again safe for Ivan to show his face. The door clicks closed—see, he managed to shut it quietly—and now Ivan is standing in the aisle next to me.
I don’t want to lose this game. What game? No idea. But I know if I look at him I’ll lose. I keep my eyes trained on the stage and ignore him, searching instead for the pattern of desk choice that does not emerge.
“And finally, Zora Lyon!” Thank god. I don’t know what my parents were thinking when they named me. They were either extremely well versed in the history of Black women in academic anthropology or really intoThe Legend of Zelda, and I’ve never had the opportunity to ask them which it was. My mom is a splash of ink on a birth certificate. My dad lives in some flyover state with the family he made years after I was born. And Clive, my uncle and guardian for as long as I can remember, has no idea where “Zora” came from. All I know is it’s at the end of the alphabet and gift shops never have premade items with my name on them. Think of all the key chains I could have collected, the commemorative mugs I could have used three times and ignored for years!
Still, my name is my name, and it’s my turn to grab my desk. I stand up and shuffle sideways toward the aisle, where I know Ivan is standing. I’m smart enough to ignore the scent of soap that washes over me when I shuffle closer. I’m above noticing how the soap smell blends in with a faint whiff of boy sweat just smothered by deodorant. I’m so good at ignoring Ivan Hunt that I think I’ll just go the entire summer without talking to him.
“Surprise,” Ivan whispers as I slide past him with great elegance and condescension. “Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”
“You know, I actually did,” I snap back reflexively. “Mostly because I shot you.” Dang it. I’m going to never talk to him again startingnow. I start to descend the precarious steps toward the stage and feel my shoulders slump when I hear the sound of Ivan’s footsteps following me down.
“You know it’s just a game, right?” Ivan leans down a bit to whisper. “Just because you betray someone and leave them to die on the little computer screen doesn’t mean they die in real life.”
“Not yet.” Oh my god, Zora, stop talking. “But gaming technology makes new and exciting strides every day.”
