Arena (25 page)

THE
CHAMPIONSHIP

T
wo weeks.

We had two weeks until the championship round. Fourteen days to train, barricade ourselves in the facility, and prepare for the end. Twenty years I'd been waiting for this, my whole life, as if I was born to be here. Right now.

InvictUS had already had a month to rest and practice, as if they even needed it. The final fight would be one round, winner take all. But since InvictUS had never lost a match, and we had, we'd be going in with a handicap.

No fallen players.

If even one of us died, we were done. InvictUS could lose four out of five. We couldn't lose a single player. Against InvictUS. The team that had wiped out everyone they faced and never died. None of them. Not once.

We'd have to fight as a team, now more than ever.

Usually, the matchups took place every Saturday. Not the championship. The Super Bowl got it right. A bigger gap created more tension, more hype. Though the frenzy over Nathan had already hit record levels, crashing the sites for the VGL and Team Defiance every day, the sponsors would milk this for every dollar it was worth. And I'd let them. As long as the general public had their hearts in the right place, and they did. Fight-for-Nathan was everywhere. Painted across windows. Plastered up skyscrapers. He
wouldn't just be in the minds of people for this fight, but for many to come in the future. He would be remembered. Now and always.

“You need to eat sometime, you know.”

Rooke sat on the edge of my bed, poking the bottom of my foot as I scrolled through my tablet reviewing news articles and social-media feeds. This had become our new routine, our new standard programming.

“I'm coming.”

Flick. Flick.

When I didn't budge, he grabbed the blanket covering my legs and pulled, as if issuing a threat. I fisted my hand in the sheet.

“Don't,” I warned.

His eyes went wide, and surveyed my covered lower half. “Why? Aren't you wearing pants?”

“No.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, I'm wearing pants.” I tossed the blanket off to reveal my training gear. “Did you wake up with your testosterone in overdrive today?”

He shrugged and offered no answer. His gaze wandered over the walls of my bunk, and I returned to my tablet. Only the hum of the air-conditioning and the soft clicks of my nails against the screen filled the room. Rooke sighed.

“You can study later. You need breakfast.”

“Ten more minutes.”

“No.”

He grabbed my ankle and pulled. I kicked him off. He swiped for the tablet. I held it out of reach.

“If you don't get up right now,” he began, “I'll carry you there myself.” To substantiate the seriousness of his threat, he scooped an arm under my knees.

I splayed a hand on his chest and glowered at him. “You wouldn't dare. Not if you like your man parts in one piece.”

He dropped my legs and scooted up the bed until his face was parallel with mine. He leaned into me and braced his arms on the wall on either side of my head. With his arms surrounding me and his body in
front, I was trapped. I surveyed my Rooke-inspired jail cell and scrunched my nose at him.

“What are you doing?”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Telling you the one thing you've always wanted to hear me say.”

Uhhh . . .

My eyes darted around, and my heart beat just a little faster then. I bit my lip and feigned innocence.

“What?”

“Come on, Kali,” he said softly. “We've been together every night for weeks now. You don't think I know exactly what you want?”

Somehow, he got even closer until his breaths kissed my lips. The tablet tumbled from my hand and landed somewhere on the bed. The scent of him swirled around me, curling my insides in on themselves. My heart thudded in my ears.

“I know what drives you,” he continued, and the timbre of his voice rippled down my spine. I resisted the urge to shudder. “I know what you want more than anything.”

His gaze lowered to my mouth. My throat grew thick as every cell inside me pounded with anticipation. He brought his lips to mine and whispered against them.

“There's fresh coffee.”

I laughed. I laughed until my insides shook, and soon, he was laughing with me. Knowing I'd no longer protest, Rooke hoisted me from the bed and onto my feet, but not before I swiped the tablet from the sheets. With the tablet pressed to my nose, I walked through the hallways to the cafeteria. Rooke snagged my elbow and redirected me after every wrong turn. At the breakfast table, he sat across from me and watched me read. After a minute, he forced a spoon into my hand.

“Kali. Eat.”

I did, munching as I read. I barely registered the oat taste of the cereal or the sweet snap of the yogurt as I swallowed. The gulp of coffee that followed, however, warmed me all the way down.

Rooke waited in silence as I ate, and studied. I flicked through mock-
ups of the arena and its sepia wheat fields, surveying the shortest and longest runs between the two towers. No one ever took either. The shortest was through a dirt path that cut directly in the middle of the wheat fields. Too much exposure and not enough coverage. The longest paths ran along the outskirts of the fields. No good either. At least, not against InvictUS. Already blocked from one side by the edge of the map, it was far too easy to get cornered.

In the training room, Rooke snatched the tablet from my hand and immediately replaced it with a bo staff. I flipped the bo around in my hands a few times and rolled my shoulders to loosen up.

I held the staff against my forearm, bowed slightly, and nodded at Rooke. He grinned and came at me. The training room filled with the sounds of clacking staffs and the pattering of our feet against the mats. Neither of us landed a shot. Every thrust was parried, every feint ignored. Even. Equal. A dance, as if we'd been choreographed.

“You know,” he said over the clacking staffs, “InvictUS really makes use of Chapter Eleven, ‘The Nine Situations.' They concentrate their energy and hoard their strength. I've never even seen those guys winded after a fight.”

“Still on
The Art of War
? What is it, your favorite?”

He shrugged, which usually meant yes.

“You could consider Chapter Four as well,” I said. “Defending existing positions. InvictUS never lets anyone get through to their tower.”

We broke apart, nodding at each other, panting and sweating. Break time. Neither of us had to call it out anymore or let the other get a hit in. We just knew when one of us needed a break, which always seemed to be when the other did, too.

As I caught my breath, I sat cross-legged on the mats and watched my teammates. Rooke took a seat beside me. My vision blurred as thoughts of five indestructible brutes flooded my mind. Rooke nudged me.

“You still don't know what you're going to do about InvictUS, do you?”

Looks like he could read my thoughts now, too. I shook my head. He leaned toward me and lowered his voice.

“A leader is best when people barely knows he exists, so then they believe they did it themselves.”

“Okay, you're like the reincarnation of Lao Tzu. I get it.”

“No.” He nodded toward our teammates. “Ask your people what to do.”

I turned to him.

“You don't think that will seem weak?”

He shook his head.

Well, worth a shot.

“Guys,” I called out. “No virtual world tonight. We'll study InvictUS together in the rec room, okay? I'd like to know what you think about strategy.”

They exchanged glances with each other. Derek took a step forward.

“You're the captain. That's not really our place.”

“I know, but I'd like your opinion.”

They exchanged glances again. Derek shrugged.

“All right.”

One night became every night that week. We'd retire to the rec room to study our opponents on a life-size screen. Debates and strategizing soon became interspersed with popcorn and classic video games. Tonight's game was a remake of Mario Kart 10, a cartoon-style racing game featuring the characters from the Nintendo universe.

“Sometimes I can't help thinking,” Hannah said from the couch, taking her turn out, “what if we lose? What if we fought all this way for nothing?”

“This isn't only about winning,” I said as I swerved on-screen, cutting off Rooke's kart and dropping a banana peel in his path.

Swearing ensued.

“Kali! Stop targeting just me.”

“Yes, it would mean a lot if we did win,” I continued, ignoring Rooke. “But think about it: Why do people play professional sports? Sure, they play to win. Is it just for themselves? No. It's to bring pride to their city. When athletes compete in the Olympics, it's not to prove they're number one in the world as an individual. It's to show that their country is the best, and that they're proud to represent their nation.”

“But we don't represent a city or a country,” Derek pointed out as he tapped his controller. “Who are we supposed to make proud? Our sponsors?”

“Nathan,” Lily answered.

I nodded. “And not just Nathan, but our fans.” I paused. “And ourselves. Sure, we had fun getting here, but we worked for it, too. Nothing wrong with being proud of that.”

On-screen, the characters bumped, collided, and swerved around and into each other, heading down the final stretch to the finish line. It was neck and neck until the last second, when Luigi slid across the finish line first. Derek jumped up and did a football-inspired victory dance, fingers snapping and hips swaying.

“Oh, yeah. There it is. Eat it, noobs.”

We all laughed.

“Try some slang from this decade, maybe,” I said.

He pointed at the game on the screen. “And when do you think this is from?”

Before the next race could start up, I powered off the console. My teammates whined.

“One more race,” Hannah called out from the couch. “Or three.”

“Uh, I think you guys are forgetting what tonight is,” I said, flipping the channel. The wallscreen blared with the VGL theme song, and the picture cut to a scene with five twenty-year-old guys in matching training gear and a reporter with a microphone. The reporter held the microphone near his chin.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight I'm interviewing one of the hottest teams competing in the RAGE tournaments right in their own training facility. These guys just came out of nowhere and quickly became a heavy fan favorite. I know a lot of you have been waiting for this, so I'd like to introduce Team InvictUS. Thanks for having me here.”

We booed and threw popcorn at the screen. Team InvictUS traded a few pleasantries with the reporter, general small talk. Yeah, my name's so-and-so, and I'm from the center of a douche bag. This is my teammate blah-blah-blah.

“So,” the reporter continued, getting into the real questions, “next
Saturday is the championship where you face off against Team Defiance. What are you expecting from them?”

The one closest to the reporter spoke into the microphone. “They're good enough to have made it this far, but if last time we faced off is any indication, we don't have much to worry about.”

More booing. More popcorn.

“They're just trying to be hard-asses,” Hannah said. “It's probably part of their image.”

On-screen, the reporter nodded and spoke into his microphone again. “What do you think of their absence from the media lately?”

Another member of the team answered. “It's expected. Most animals retreat when they're scared.”

All five of them laughed. We burst out shouting and waving our arms. While we each had our own remarks, funnily enough, we all used the word
dick
at some point.

On-screen, the reporter posed another question. “What about them dedicating the fight to their fallen teammate?”

A hush fell over InvictUS then. A few of them shifted their weight and glanced at their feet.

“That's noble,” one of them finally answered. “We respect them for it. But we hope they realize it doesn't mean we'll take it easy on them.”

Well, at least they weren't complete assholes. Maybe it was just for show. Or maybe they realized what had really happened to Nathan. All pro gamers knew about addiction and losing a grip on reality, but none ever think it will be them. Nathan's death had made it real, for more than just me.

“What about their captain, Kali Ling?” the reporter continued. “Do you think she'll give you a good fight?”

The tallest one among them smiled. Their leader. Trent Amos. He spoke into the microphone. “I hope so. I'd love to make her squirm again.”

The reporter laughed. “I think she's got a partner now. You'll have to get through him, too.”

“That's okay.” He looked into the camera, as if he was speaking directly to us. “We'll make him watch.”

Huh. They'd resorted to all-out threats now.

Anger flashed inside, just for a second, like a burst of a match that fizzled out just as quickly. A month ago, I would have exploded. Now, the rage I felt was a tiny ball in my chest, engulfed by a cloud of calm. Like all people, I still felt negative emotions. But acting on that anger was a waste of energy. It was fruitless. If someone heaves a boulder into a stream, the current simply goes round and continues on its path, forever pushing onward. It doesn't stop and try to push the boulder out.

“Still think they're just being hard-asses?” Derek asked, peering back at Hannah.

She frowned. “This is getting sadistic.”

“Come on, you guys,” I said. “You know they're trying to bait us.”

“It's working.”

Rooke spoke last in a voice I almost didn't recognize as his. I looked over at him and met the stone expression and clenched jaw I hadn't seen in weeks.

I rested a hand on his arm, but my voice was firm. “Don't let it get to you.”