by Kobe Bryant
“Oh,” Rovi said, turning away.
“You don’t like my uncle, do you?” Pretia asked. She had seen the dark, defiant look that crossed Rovi’s face every time Janos addressed him.
“That’s not it,” Rovi replied. He glanced around the room. “We should go.” He headed for the door. Pretia followed.
“So, what is it, then? Is it just because he fired your father? He must have had a reason.”
“Why do you think that?” Rovi said.
“Because Janos is—”
Rovi picked up his pace.
“Hold up,” Pretia said.
“He’s your uncle, Pretia, but I don’t trust him.”
Pretia stopped dead in her tracks. “You don’t trust Janos? He’s the most decorated Epocan athlete of all time. And he’s the Head Trainer of Ecrof.”
Rovi shrugged, then hurried on. “I just don’t trust him, that’s all.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Pretia snapped. “Just because you used to be a Star Stealer doesn’t mean you have to mistrust people from powerful families.”
“I trust you,” Rovi said. “It’s your uncle I have a problem with.”
“Why?” she called after him.
But Rovi didn’t stop. And Pretia watched him climb the hill to the Temple of Dreams without her. “It’s just a feeling,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Well, if it was a feeling, it was Rovi’s feeling, Pretia told herself. And she didn’t have to worry about it.
14
ROVI
THE TORNADO
Rovi had barely taken a bite of his eggs when three Realists appeared in the Dreamers’ cafeteria. They jumped up on one of the tables, cupped their hands over their mouths, and shouted, “It’s Realist Field Day!”
Immediately the entire room exploded with shouts and cheers. Realist Field Day meant no class. No Visualization. No Granology. No foundational training. It meant a day of eating and competition—an entire day of fun. It also meant that Rovi’s first year at Ecrof was nearly halfway over.
It didn’t take long for the Dreamers to begin booing their rivals and chasing them out of the Temple of Dreams.
The atmosphere was electric. Rovi watched as older Dreamers rushed to their rooms and returned dressed in head-to-toe purple. Already, someone was offering to paint everyone’s face purple.
In all the excitement, Rovi forgot about his argument with Pretia the other day and immediately moved over to make room for her at his table when she passed by with her tray.
“So,” Rovi said, digging into his second mound of fluffy eggs, “who do you think is going to be chosen to compete?”
“Not me,” Pretia said.
As usual, she seemed oddly relieved to have nothing to do with competition.
He looked around the cafeteria. Cassandra and the rest of the seventh years were gathered around a table, clearly plotting the best teams to put forward to challenge the Realists. He watched Vera Renovo approach the table and start a heated conversation with the House Captain.
“I’m not sure there’s anyone here who can beat Julius,” Rovi said.
“Maybe you, if you tried harder,” Pretia said.
“I like running,” Rovi replied, “if there’s a point.” Which was true. Racing through the market away from the guards and the merchants was fun. Racing the other Star Stealers along the narrow walls high above Phoenis was exciting. But running around a track or a field while someone timed you was just boring.
“Isn’t winning the point?” Pretia asked.
Before Rovi could answer, Vera appeared at the table and slammed her tray down next to theirs. Rovi and Pretia exchanged a surprised look. Vera always ate alone. “I’m racing Julius,” she announced.
“Really?” Rovi asked.
“You don’t believe me?” Vera challenged.
“It’s not that,” Rovi said. “You just don’t seem really happy about it.”
“I’m not,” Vera said. “If I’d known before today, I could have started training. This system of the other house getting to know the events in advance is stupid.”
“Well, we get that same advantage next time,” Pretia said.
“Can you beat your brother?” Rovi asked. He knew Vera was fast, but Julius was an Epic Champion and a Junior Epic Champion, as well as an Epic Elite at Ecrof.
“Yes,” Vera said, sitting down.
Rovi returned to his food, taking down five sausages and a stack of honeycakes. As he finished draining his second mug of Choco Water, Cassandra stood up from her table and clapped her hands.
“Dreamers!” she called. “Today is Realist Field Day. It may seem like they’re stronger than us, but we’ll challenge them with everything we’ve got. They’ve chosen a 4x100 relay, the 100-meter dash, the 100-meter hurdles, the 200, the 400, the 800, and the mile, all run on the Infinity Track instead of in the Panathletic Stadium.” When the chatter had died down, Cassandra announced the squad.
All the students stopped eating to listen to the roll call of athletes. The whole room started buzzing at once when Vera was announced for the 800.
Instead of beaming, as Rovi had expected she would, Vera crossed her arms over her chest. “This whole system is dumb,” she grumbled.
But Rovi ingored her, more interested in who else would be chosen.
“And, finally,” Cassandra said, “Daria Nestor and Rovi Myrios will run the mile.”
“Wh-what?” Rovi stammered. “Me?” He was blushing and he knew it. Suddenly his entire breakfast was sitting heavy in his stomach, but he felt his chest expand with a curious, elated feeling.
The cafeteria burst into applause and started chanting, “Dreams never die! Dreams never die!”
“For those of you competing, spend the morning getting some rest,” Cassandra shouted over the ruckus. “Then you will meet for warm-ups down at the main field. The rest of you will be needed for supporting your teammates, joining in the pregame feast, and rallying as much Dreamer spirit as you can.” Once more, there was thunderous applause as Rovi and the rest of that day’s competitors rose to their feet.
When it was quiet, Pretia pulled on Rovi’s arm. “So, do you still think racing is pointless?”
“It’s just the mile,” Rovi said. But he knew the smile on his face told an entirely different story.
* * *
Rovi had to admit that he felt pretty great dressed in his official Dreamers racing kit—a slick running singlet that was the nicest and fanciest piece of clothing that he had ever worn. But the real surprise that afternoon was that all selected athletes were taken into the Ecrof gear room and told to select a new pair of running shoes in official Dreamer purple.
Rovi’s heart leaped when he saw the rows and rows of Grana Graces, Grana Sparks, Grana Glows, Grana Bolts, Grana Epics, and Grana Golds.
“Take one in your size,” Cassandra urged. “And don’t worry. They’ll mold to your feet instantly. No need to break them in.”
Rovi reached for a pair of Grana Epics. They were royal purple, of course, and shiny, so shiny that it looked as if they produced their own light. “I’ll take these.”
“Good choice for the mile,” Cassandra said.
“But why am I running the mile?” Rovi asked.
“Well, since you’ve been assigned so many penalty laps, I figured you’d be in pretty good shape for distance,” Cassandra replied.
Rovi’s heart sank. “I was chosen because of my penalty laps?”
Cassandra smiled. “Well, that and something else. You know Iskander Dracos?”
Rovi did. He was an Epic Elite, a fourth-year Dreamer from Phoenis.
“Well, he knows all about Star Stealers.”
Before Rovi could feel ashamed, Cassandra continued. “He told me exactly how fast you have to be to avoid the guards and the merchants in the market. And he figured
you had to be sprinting at least a mile to safety on a daily basis.”
Rovi had never considered the distance he’d been running away from the market. He’d never considered that there was a direct relationship between the kind of running he’d been doing in Phoenis and here at Ecrof.
“So just pretend you’re running from someone at the Alexandrine Plaza,” Cassandra said. “That’s what Iskander suggested.”
“Done,” Rovi said.
After the Dreamer athletes had gathered to warm up, plan their strategies, and do run-throughs of their events on the track, they went to join the rest of the school at the Panathletic Stadium, where the Realist feast was going to be held.
Eight long tables had been set up on the grass surrounding the Tree of Ecrof. As was Ecrof tradition, during the meals before Field Day, students were not allowed to segregate themselves according to house affiliation, so Dreamers and Realists sat together. This only made the noise at the tables louder as friends called to friends several seats away.
Every inch of the field was festooned with banners and signs celebrating the Dreamer or Realist teams. Two marching bands circled the tables, playing the various anthems and fight songs of the two camps. The sound echoed off the bowl of the stadium. Fireworks exploded, sending shooting stars of Realist blue into the air. And every once in a while, a group of Dreamers or Realists would leap to their feet, commanding the rest of their house to do the same, and chant, “Dreamers dominate” or “Realists rule,” before the teachers waved them back into their seats.
Since it was Realist Day, giant blue streamers and banners hung from the Tree of Ecrof. The Spirit Water was dyed blue. All the cakes were frosted blue. The cushions on the seats of the benches were blue. So much blue, in fact, that it made Rovi a little sick seeing it.
The Realists got to pick the menu. Since so many of the Realistdominated cities were near the water, there were dozens of varieties of fish—small and large, red and silver. There were mussels, clams, shrimp, and lobster. Rovi was pretty excited about the prospect of eating lobster. That was something he’d never have dreamed of as a Star Stealer.
Most of the first-year recruits had gathered at a table at the edge of the festivities. Rovi sat opposite Pretia. They had to shout to be heard over the cheering and the music on the field. Servers circled, refilling glasses of blue Spirit Water and loading trays with piles of crisp meat, golden breads, and bowls and bowls of creamy shrimp pasta. Everyone ate as if they hadn’t seen food in weeks while fireworks popped and banners flew overhead.
Pretia was talking excitedly about the upcoming race. Normally, her chatter would have been making Rovi nervous. But he was distracted by something going on over her shoulder. A third-year Realist was trying to climb the Tree of Ecrof to hang more Realist streamers.
Rovi watched him get a boost and scramble up the wide trunk.
“Are you even listening?” Pretia asked.
“What?” Rovi asked.
“I was talking about the race. I heard—” she said.
But Rovi’s focus was on the boy in the tree. He’d made it up to the first branches, which was farther than Rovi had.
“Rovi!” Pretia said. “Pay attention.”
But Rovi couldn’t take his eyes off the tree. He’d done his best to keep his distance from it. He didn’t want anyone to associate him with the black roots he’d seen. He’d heard enough of Castor’s comments about what his father had been rumored to have tried to do—killing the Tree of Ecrof.
“What are you looking at?” Pretia asked.
She turned to follow Rovi’s gaze. At that instant, there was a sickening crack. The limb that the Realist boy had climbed out on split from the tree, sending the boy plummeting to the ground.
“It’s going to land on top of him,” somone cried, pointing at the falling tree limb.
But instead of falling straight down, the branch began to disintegrate, crumbling as if it were made of ash.
Rovi’s mouth hung open.
A few kids leaped to their feet to help the fallen boy.
“What just happened?” Pretia exclaimed. “Did the tree just— Did it just—crumble?”
Rovi took a big gulp of Spirit Water.
“Do you think he’s okay? Rovi, do you?” Pretia sounded panicked. “I can’t believe the branch just snapped like that,” Pretia added. “It’s supposed to be the strongest tree in Epoca. But it just fell apart like burned paper. Do you think it’s rotting?” she asked. “That’s not possible? Is it?”
“Excuse me,” Rovi said, standing up. He wanted to get as far away from the tree as possible.
He could see medics crossing the field. Janos blew his whistle to clear the students away from the tree so the fallen kid could get treatment.
“He’s having trouble breathing,” an older Dreamer called. “He’s having trouble—”
Janos blew his whistle even louder. “Stay away from the tree,” he ordered.
The benches fell silent as the medics lifted the injured boy onto a stretcher. Rovi watched Janos confer with them before they hurried away to the TheraCenter.
When the medics had disappeared, Janos called the students to attention. “Now, you all know that sports do come with a risk. Students will be injured. But there is no point in endangering yourself with foolish activities. Let this be a lesson to you all not to engage in pointless risks.”
“But is he okay?” a voice called.
“He’s fine,” Janos assured them. “Just stunned. We’ll check him for a concussion and then get him back on his feet.”
Rovi looked at the tree uncertainly. He waited for someone to ask about why the branch had crumbled the way it did. But everyone seemed more interested in the fallen student than the Tree of Ecrof.
“All right,” Janos continued. “Now that we have feasted, let us all join together in the Ecrof fight song—a symbol of our unified devotion to the art of sport and the perfection of grana. May our song reach Petros at the TheraCenter and grant him a speedy recovery. And with our voices singing as one, we will send our chosen competitors off to the Infinity Track for their final warm-ups.” He blew his whistle, summoning the entire student body to its feet.
The two marching bands came together. As the song began, Rovi felt his heart swell in his chest and unexpected tears fill his eyes as the students’ voices and the sound of the instruments rose from the field into the evening sky.
The song ended. Rovi stood, ready to file out. But before he could leave the benches, he heard his name.
“Hey, Rovi.”
Rovi turned and was dismayed to see Castor and his clique of Realists standing in a semicircle behind him.
“What did you do to the tree?” Castor asked.
Rovi’s cheeks burned.
“Are you finishing what your father started?” Castor continued.
“Is it really true your father tried to cut down the Tree of Ecrof?” Nassos asked.
“No,” Rovi said.
“That’s not what I heard,” said Sophia, one of the Realists.
“Seems kind of strange that your father was fired for trying to kill the tree and now that you’re here, a branch just snaps off,” Castor said. “Don’t you think?”
“I—I don’t,” Rovi said quietly.
“What’s that?” Castor said. “I couldn’t hear you. I couldn’t hear you, Tree Killer.”
“I said, I don’t think that’s strange,” Rovi repeated, louder this time. But he didn’t sound convincing, even to himself. In all honesty, it did seem a little strange.
“Tree Killer.” Nassos laughed. “That’s a good one.”
Tree Killer. Tree Killer. Tree Killer. The name rippled from one Realist to another.
Rovi felt anger coursing through his body. If he were back on the streets of Phoenis, he knew what he’d do. He’d fight back. But h
e had to remember he wasn’t a Star Stealer anymore. He was a Dreamer, and he was competing for his house.
He felt a hand on his back. “Ignore them.” He turned and saw Vera standing next to him.
A hunting horn blared, signaling that the Field Day athletes were meant to start parading out of the stadium.
“Ignore them,” Vera repeated. “Rovi didn’t do anything to that tree,” she told the others.
“Well, his father did,” Castor said.
“You don’t know that,” Rovi said. He’d balled his hands into fists. He was ready to strike. But he felt Vera’s grip on his arm, restraining him.
“Castor,” Vera said, “maybe you should stop focusing so much on trees and start worrying about why you weren’t chosen for Field Day and Rovi and I were.”
“Be quiet, Replacement,” Castor snapped. “You wouldn’t have been chosen either if you were a Realist. But then again, you’re not.”
“That’s right,” Vera said. “I’m something better. I’m a Dreamer.”
Before the fight could escalate, Janos blew his whistle, urging the athletes onward.
The Infinity Track was hovering between the Decision Woods and the cliff up which Rovi and the rest of the recruits had climbed on their first day at Ecrof. It was about ten feet off the ground. A quarter of it dangled over the cliff, and a small section was tangled with a few trees that stuck out from the woods.
A large set of bleachers had been assembled on the ground underneath the track. Rovi, Vera, and the rest of the Field Day athletes stood to the side, watching the rest of the school approach through the woods. The Realists came right down the middle through the path that was now clearly visible, and the Dreamers approached from either side through the many obstacles. The students raced to the bleachers, eager to get there before they lifted off the ground.
Rovi watched as Pretia took a seat in the front row. Suddenly the bleachers began to rise. If Rovi’s stomach weren’t fluttering so badly, he would have been able to admire the floating bleachers. But it was doing flips. Were those nerves? He couldn’t actually be nervous at the prospect of running around a track, could he? He’d never been nervous running from the plaza in Phoenis before, and back then, guards had been chasing him. Back then, the stakes had been real—if he’d been caught, he could have been sent to make sand bricks. This was just a race. This was just a race around a track.
