Arena

by Holly Jennings

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, with Nathan.”

  “Well, to lose a teammate is—”

  “Listen.” He gave me a look. “I know you two were . . . umm . . .”

  I threw my arms up. “Is there anybody who didn’t know?”

  “The press didn’t. That’s what matters.”

  Was it?

  The mention of Nathan churned my heart. Not because of me, really. Nathan and I hadn’t been much more than friends with benefits. But for his family. His future. Gone at twenty-one. All the things people say when someone dies young crept into my thoughts. So much potential. So much talent. Wasted.

  Could I have done something to save him? If I hadn’t gone to Clarence’s office . . . if I’d taken the drugs away . . . Oh hell, I didn’t know.

  Clanking footsteps echoed in my ears. I snapped back to reality and glanced at Derek. He stared at me with squinting eyes and a furrowed brow. I must have been quiet for a several minutes since he’d asked.

  “I’m fine,” I finally said.

  “I heard you saw the shrink.”

  I waved a hand to dismiss it. “Clarence’s orders. Not my choice.”

  “Still, considering what happened—”

  “I said I’m fine,” I snapped.

  Derek recoiled and held up a hand. “Just checking.”

  I pulled back and glanced at my feet. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Whatever. It’s fine.”

  But silence dominated the conversation between us as we reached the elevator and stepped inside. It started the slow climb to Clarence’s office at the top of the tower. For once, I found myself wishing for some cheesy elevator music to ease the weight of the crushing quiet around us. I had a topic to break the silence. Hey, guess what? I’ve been named team captain, not you. Yeah, that would go well. I sighed. Better to tell him myself. He’d find out eventually.

  Okay, here goes.

  “I need to tell you something you’re not going to like,” I said, as if it would buffer the blow. I kept my eyes pinned on the elevator’s doors. “Clarence appointed me team captain.”

  After more seconds of silence, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His features were soft. No set jaw or grinding teeth. Well, at least he wasn’t too pissed about it.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Yeah. At first, I thought Clarence just did it to keep you and Nathan from killing each other. But now, even with Nathan gone, he’s not changing his mind.”

  The elevator dinged. We walked down a hallway of floor tiles and drywall. Green and white. What else?

  “Has there ever been a female captain at the pro level before?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He looked up at me. “Then you need to take this opportunity and own it. You have to. That’s a big deal, to be the first to do something.”

  I pressed my lips together. It was, but was I ready?

  “Besides,” he continued, “I’ll be captain one day. Come on, look at this face.”

  He unleashed a million-dollar smile. I laughed.

  Of course he’d be captain one day—IF I didn’t screw it up for him. My stomach twisted sideways. The team’s fate now rested on my shoulders. Their careers, their futures, their hopes and dreams, all depended on my ability to lead them to victory. I took a deep breath and swallowed, but my stomach kept swirling. Why had I been so eager for responsibility as a kid? Was this what it was all about? Seemed ulcer-inducing now.

  We pushed through the double doors to Clarence’s office. As Derek had mentioned earlier, Hannah and Lily were already inside.

  Hannah hurried over to me.

  “Something’s wrong,” she announced in a hushed voice.

  I stopped dead. “What?”

  “I was gay before I entered the office. And then, that happened.”

  She pointed to the guy standing with Clarence on the other side of the room. My mouth dropped open, and my swirling stomach became an inferno, spreading heat . . . everywhere else. His chiseled cheekbones and hard jaw looked as if the Romans themselves had carved him out of stone. But wait, hello, a statue didn’t boast tanned skin or piercing, dark eyes. Along with his six-foot frame and perfect build, give him a couple of scars, and he’d be a gladiator in true form. And, who knew? Maybe he did have some scars, hidden somewhere beneath his clothes.

  Clarence’s gaze fell on the four of us, and he led the new recruit over, motioning with an outstretched hand like a used-car salesman leading his newest victim through the lot. He smiled, and I thought his face would crack.

  “Good morning, everyone. Allow me to introduce your newest teammate: James Rooke.”

  So, the statue had a name.

  Clarence motioned toward us again. “James, meet your team.”

  “Rooke,” the recruit corrected. “I go by my last name.”

  Clarence studied him for a minute. “Good. I like that better.”

  Of course he did.

  “This is your captain,” Clarence told him, nodding at me. I stepped forward and started to extend my hand when Clarence turned back to him, and asked, “Is that going to be a problem?”

  Rooke studied me through the slits of his eyes. Then, he scoffed and shook his head.

  “No.”

  Wow. What the hell was that about?

  Rooke stared at me and blinked once, emotionless. Then his gaze flicked back to Clarence and never left, as if the rest of us weren’t even in the room. Jeez, he really was a statue, and had brought with him a front colder than anything that had ever passed through California. Was there any personality behind that stone façade? Hell, was there a person back there?

  Or was it all just part of his image? A hard-ass. A stone-cold soldier. Sounded like something Clarence would come up with.

  “We have only a few days before the start of the tournament,” Clarence said to the group. Like he had to make the announcement. To gamers, these tournaments were religion. Except everyone in this room prayed to the gods of Xbox and PlayStation.

  “I expect you to train a minimum of ten hours each day,” he continued. “I also expect you to be out every night. You need to be seen by every camera in the city.”

  “Why?” Derek asked.

  “Why?” Clarence spat. “First you lose, and now this little disaster.” He flicked a hand toward a poster of Nathan. “We have to damage-control this situation before no sponsor will ever touch us again. Expect a barrage of interviews and photo shoots and whatever else I can land us. If you can still see after all the camera flashes, then we haven’t done enough. Is that clear?”

  None of us answered, or argued. We all knew what was expected of us.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Clarence continued, “I have some announcements to make regarding our new recruit.”

  When he exited the room and shut the door behind him, he left behind the awkward silence that usually accompanied him on the way out. I stood with my teammates on one side while Rooke stood alone on the other, a good five feet between us. No one made a move to welcome him. Oh wait, I was the team’s leader now. Guess that was my job.

  I took a step forward. Rooke stared straight ahead, as if admiring some spot in the wall beyond me. Heat burned in my chest, though not the enjoyable kind like earlier. My fingers itched to clamp onto his jaw and force his head down, to meet my eye.

  Just then, his gaze flicked to mine, dark eyes penetrating right through me.

  The good kind of heat was back. I ignored it.

  Mostly.

  Rooke stared at me, unwavering, with the same stone-faced look as always. Did this guy have another expression? Or did he really think he could intimidate me with that glare?

  It was time for him to meet the warrior.

  I stepped up to Rooke, closing the gap between us, folded m
y arms as I stared up at him, and let a cunning grin curl through my lips.

  “Okay, pretty boy. Let’s see what you can do.”

  —

  I worked with the new guy.

  Well, worked was a generous word. It implied progress, like the kneading of clay. It starts out tough but gradually warms up until the sculptor and material become one. Rooke was nothing but a concrete block, refusing to mold at all. I felt like a toddler trying to smash the square peg into the round hole.

  “Okay,” I said, standing across from him on the mats. “I’ll attack first. I want to get a feel for your defensive skills.”

  I took up my position and attacked.

  So did he.

  He swung, knocked my sword to the side, and rammed his shoulder into mine. I spun, lost balance, and hit the mat. Hard.

  Okay, yeah. The guy had skill. But for everything he had in talent, he completely lacked in teamwork and personality. This guy belonged with InvictUS, not us.

  I pushed up to my feet and retrieved my sword.

  “You fight like InvictUS,” I told him. “And I mean that as a compliment. They destroyed us in the Death Match.”

  “I saw it.”

  Three words. That was the most I’d gotten out of him so far. I was starting to wonder if this guy was really on the team, or if Clarence was just paying him to test my leadership skills. And my temper. What the hell was I supposed to do with him? I was Kali Ling the warrior, not the diplomat.

  After three more rounds exactly like the last, I called a break before I went all Incredible Hulk on his ass.

  Leadership skill -5.

  I plopped down on the nearest bench, scooped up a water bottle, and chugged half, straining not to crush the bioplastic beneath my grip. Across the room, Rooke pressed himself into a corner and stared at the floor. His jaw was clenched so tightly, it looked like he’d bitten his own tongue off. Did this guy have some kind of injury he was hiding? He didn’t move like it on the mats, but now, huddled in the corner, every muscle taut, he looked like he was trying not to vomit.

  “How’s training with the new guy?” Hannah asked, sidling up beside me.

  “I think I’d rather chew scrap metal.”

  She chuckled and glanced at him in the corner. “Maybe he’s just nervous or feels left out. He is coming into this late.”

  “Yeah. He’s not exactly making it easy, either.”

  She shrugged. “Well, you’re good at finding ways to make this fun. Why not show him that?” She looked across the training room and caught eyes with her trainer. He hooked his finger at her, a signal to return to the treadmill. Her shoulders sank. “Fun. Heaven forbid.” She pushed up from the bench and started toward the trainer, looking back at me as she left. “I mean, isn’t this supposed to be a game?”

  As Hannah resumed her workout, I sat on the bench a minute longer, letting her words sink in. Make it fun. I took another swig of water before getting to my feet. As I walked toward the mats, I waved the recruit over. Rooke stood and met me halfway.

  “Before we begin again,” I said. “Favorite classic video game. Go.”

  He blinked. Come on, guy. Give me something. I crossed my arms and waited him out. Finally, he sighed.

  “Final Fantasy VII.”

  I resisted the urge to take a step back. The man had taste.

  “Not bad,” I said, “if you like turn-based.”

  I grinned. He didn’t.

  Arrrgh.

  Kali! Smash!

  The rest of the morning played out the same. I did everything I could think of to make it fun, trying to draw Rooke out from his rock-hard shell. All I got in return was a combo of icy stares and grumbled half sentences.

  We had forty-eight hours to prep for the next round. Since the Death Match loss had landed us in the losers’ bracket, one more loss meant we’d be kicked out. Every Saturday, another round of the tournament would air. Those victorious in the winners’ bracket advanced. Those who lost dropped down to the losers’ bracket. Those who lost in the losers’ bracket went home.

  That afternoon, I gathered the team around and threw together a plan for the matchup on Saturday.

  “Are you comfortable with going on offense?” I asked Hannah.

  She nodded. “It’s been awhile, but I’ve done it before.”

  “Good. We’re going two on three. Hannah and Derek on offense. Lily, myself, and Rooke”—I glanced at him—“we’ll go on defense.”

  Rooke stared back, expression cold, but didn’t argue. Good. Given his unsportsmanlike attitude, I wanted to keep an eye on him.

  “Three on defense?” Derek asked. “That’s a little basic.”

  “It’s standard, but we’ve just reformatted the team. We need to play it safe.”

  Derek considered it. “Yeah, you’re right. Sounds good.”

  We had a plan. Everyone on the team had their place. Too bad the next forty-eight hours didn’t follow suit.

  Derek and Hannah worked together in the training room with practice swords. Derek attacked, holding nothing back. He pummeled Hannah’s sword again and again until she tumbled off the mat.

  “What is your problem?” she demanded, pushing herself up.

  “You have to fight hard on offense. Step it up.”

  Hannah scowled and shook her head, but they paired off again. When Derek swung, he hit Hannah’s weapon so hard it went flying to the side, where Lily sat watching. It smashed into her ankle. Lily’s yelp echoed through the training room. The trainers had to carry her to the medical wing. A sprain. She’d be playing on a weak ankle. Even in the virtual world, the injury would carry over. The pain would be much less than here but would still affect her speed and mobility.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  Speaking of injured players, Rooke was definitely hiding something. During training, he’d grimace and grit his teeth when he thought I wasn’t looking, had to take way too many breaks for someone in top physical condition, and was locked in his bunk any minute we weren’t training together or doing media events. Even when we sat down for meals, he’d take his food and leave, head held high like he was better than the rest of us. I felt like gouging out his eyes with my spoon.

  The virtual simulations weren’t going any better. Long after I’d jolted back to reality, I sat in my pod, shaking my head. We’d already wiped three times that morning.

  Derek shot out of his pod the second the doors opened.

  “Hannah, how many times do I have to say it?” he demanded. “You can’t fight cautiously on offense. You have to charge, no holding back.”

  She threw her arms up. “I haven’t gone on offense since the amateurs! What do you expect? I need time to adjust.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “Guys,” I began. “Let’s reevaluate the gameplay—”

  “What do you want to do?” Hannah continued, staring straight at Derek. “Change our format?”

  “We can’t change our format. It’s less than twelve hours until the matchup.”

  “We’re not changing our format,” I tried again. “Listen—”

  But my words were drowned out by Hannah and Derek’s argument. Every attempt I made at neutralizing the situation failed. I sighed and looked around the room. Lily stood off to the side, well out of the fight, leaning against a wall to keep the weight off her swollen foot. Rooke watched for a minute, too, and left, disappearing through the exit without a word to anyone. Goddamn recruit. I considered going after him; but what was the point? With Hannah and Derek screaming at each other, Lily not caring to get involved, and Rooke only focused on himself, something inside me simply gave up. I shuffled over to my pod, climbed inside, and buried my head in my hands. After a minute, I pressed my back against the seat, silently praying for the jolt out of reality, out of this situation, and out of my life. It wouldn’t have
mattered. There was no escaping the hopelessness of the situation.

  We weren’t a team, we weren’t even close to being ready, and we were out of time.

  LEVEL 2:

  THE TOURNAMENT

  CHAPTER 8

  For what seemed like the last time, I stood inside the tower. Now that the tournament had begun, and we were already sitting in the losers’ bracket after the Death Match, one loss would send us home. After what I’d witnessed in the past two days, there was no way we’d make it through this round. Even if I’d had any inkling of hope of us working together and making it through the match alive, it had since been crushed by Rooke. As soon as we loaded into the game, he turned away from me and stared at the wall.

  Teamwork. What was that again?

  In standard play, the matches endured until the last man died or the tower was captured. For tonight’s matchup, Hannah and Derek had run for the enemy’s tower. Lily hid in the trees. Rooke and I guarded our tower. Two on offense and three on defense, as was the plan. For what it would be worth.

  The match was thirty seconds in, and while InvictUS had shown how quickly a team could sweep through the fields, no one could make it to the opposing tower in under a minute. Which meant I had a bit of time to check Rooke out—for his injuries, of course.

  I looked at him. Er, no—I dug holes into his bare back with nothing but my eyes. He wore plated armor, not much more than wrist bracers and shoulder armor, and enough leather to cover his feet and goody package. Sunlight streamed in through the tower’s barred windows and glistened across his tanned skin and on the dual short swords he wielded. Yup, a gladiator. Traditional to the core. But it was what I didn’t see that bothered me. No wounds. No burns, scars, or signs of broken bones. Either his injuries were internal, or something else was going on with him.

  Maybe he just plain hated working with me. I had two guesses why.

  “Hey.”

  No response.

  Rooke kept his back to me. A quiet calm filled the tower, a direct contrast to my trembling fists and clenched teeth. I drew my sword from its sheath and smacked the flat side against his leg. He jumped and turned enough to glare at me over his shoulder.