More skimming. More blah, blah, blah.
“Their relationship ended in August of this year when Boone died in a tragic accident.”
My stomach hit the floor.
Shit.
A tragic accident. That was bullshit if I’d ever heard it. Rooke’s ex-girlfriend had died, and I had to assume it had something to do with the game. I handed Hannah’s tablet back and lowered my forehead to the metal table. I already felt like an idiot. Might as well look like one, too.
Hannah nudged me. “Get up, Kali. He needs you now.”
I groaned. “I know, damn it.”
After everything he’d done for me, helped me through my addiction, helped cover up what was going on from everyone, now it was my turn to help. I stood from the table and started walking away. As an afterthought, I spun around and returned to retrieve my coffee mug. Hannah was holding it out for me like she’d read my mind. I downed the remaining coffee and slammed the mug down like I’d just done a shot.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“There isn’t enough caffeine in the world.”
Hannah chuckled, though the joke didn’t make me feel any better. I took a breath and forced myself out of the cafeteria, each step getting heavier than the last as I ventured through the facility’s corridors. When I finally arrived at his bunk, I pressed the buzzer on his keypad and waited. Footsteps followed inside. The door slid open. Rooke tensed as soon as he saw me, swallowed thick, and turned his eyes to the floor. His arms folded across his chest, though it looked like his whole body was trying to follow suit and fold in on itself. Shame, embarrassment, and fear had contorted him into one awkward pose.
I spoke before he could say anything or close the door in my face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His brow furrowed and he looked up at me. “About what?”
“Your ex. The one that died.”
He sighed. No hiding now. He stepped aside and nodded for me to enter. I walked in and sat on his bed.
“You can talk to me,” I said. “Nathan OD’d right next to me, and I had no idea he was dying. I understand tragedy. I know what you’re going through.”
“It’s not the same thing.” His voice came out dark and gruff, as if he had to force the words out through an ironclad clenched jaw.
“Why not?”
“You didn’t push him on, did you? Did you encourage Nathan to get high every night just to enjoy the ride?”
“No. Why?”
“I did. She died because of me. We did so much junk, I don’t know how I’m not dead.” He began pacing around his bunk, eyes fixed on the floor. “You get wrapped up in this sport, this lifestyle. You live in a virtual world. You die every day and come back to life. You kill other people, and they just keep breathing. You start to think you’re invincible. And you know what? We are. Nothing happened to me for what I did. You know why I wasn’t convicted of any wrongdoing? Why I wasn’t charged with possession or distribution even though I was the one feeding her the drugs? Because I’m a gamer. Because of my status. Can’t ruin the chances of a rising star. Just sweep it under the rug. Who will ever know?”
He sat down on the edge of his bed and dropped his head in his hands. The fingers covering his face trembled and clenched, and I half expected him to punch himself in the mouth. I let him have a minute to himself before I spoke.
“Can you tell me what happened? Did she overdose?”
His jaw clenched even harder, and he shook his head. No.
“Then how did she die?”
He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he gave in.
“One night after a match, we were partying in a high-rise with a bunch of other gamers. Everyone was so hopped up on HP we couldn’t even tell we were in reality anymore. I remember sitting on a couch next to her when she turned to me and told me she could fly. Then, she went out on the balcony.”
My stomach twisted, and my heart dropped down to my toes. She jumped. Holy shit, she jumped off the side of a building. Because of HP. Because of the games.
“I didn’t stop her,” he continued. “Because I believed it. I didn’t even know what was real myself. Then they covered it up, just like Nathan. She died, and no one cared.”
He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor.
“After that, I just had to get away from the rest of the team,” he continued. “I knew if I came down here, the U.S. was a different league, so I’d never have to see them again.”
It was quiet for a minute while I thought about what he said. I placed a hand on his arm.
“You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”
“How is it not my fault?”
“You might have been high, and she might have been, too, because of you, but she would have gone there eventually on her own. If it wasn’t already inside her, it wouldn’t have come out. Even teenagers recognize peer pressure when they see it. As adults, our decisions are completely our own. You didn’t hold a knife to her throat and force her to take the drugs. It was her choice.”
He stared at me a long time before he asked, “If it’s not my fault, then how come I feel so horrible about it?”
I slid my hand down his arm until my fingers locked with his.
“Because death is something we wish we had power over. Human beings don’t like it when something is stronger than them. That’s part of the reason why movies about us defeating aliens, or robots, or epidemics are so popular. They represent certain death, and we’d like to think when it comes for us, we can stop it. And as gamers, we cheat death every day. We learned to look it in the face and smile. But death is not something to be cheated. It’s simply the end of a journey. The best thing we can do is move on, live the best life we can, and always remember them and everything they taught us.” I shifted my weight on the bed and turned sideways, so I was looking at him straight on. “She’s not suffering now, and I don’t think she’d want you to, either.”
Staring right into my eyes, his muscles unclenched, and he sighed, like he’d been holding his breath for minutes. He wrapped me in his arms and held me tight against his chest as he shook. I knew he was finally letting it go.
I circled my arms around him and lightly stroked his back. His heart beat hard against his rib cage. His entire body trembled with each raspy breath. He murmured words to me. Most were inaudible, but I caught sorry more than a few times. Sorry for leaving me in the night. Sorry for not saving her. Sorry for every mistake he’d ever made, and even some he hadn’t. I said nothing and let him have the moment.
Time hung in suspended animation as we cradled each other. I had no idea how long we sat there together on the edge of his bed, but it didn’t seem to matter, either. I could have stayed there for hours. Maybe days. My head fit just so in the crook of his chest. His arms wrapped perfectly around me, strong but comforting. We were equal. Balanced. Like we were each other’s halves, and we’d just learned how to become whole.
Finally, he took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, his trembling left with it.
“You’re pretty wise, you know,” he said. I nodded against his chest.
“Look at me. I know some stuff.”
“Yeah,” he began with a chuckle, and followed up with a statement that left my knuckles craving to crush his nose.
“Good thing I gave you those books.”
CHAPTER 23
Life was in balance now. Literally.
With less than a week left before the championship match, I thought I’d feel any other way. Nervousness, excitement, anticipation. But inside the training room, as I sat cross-legged on a balance beam, the sounds of punching bags and bodies hitting mats echoing around me, I felt only one thing.
Peace.
The team was strong, stronger than I ever thought we would be. Every day we trained together. Every night we played games and studied. Sp
ending every waking hour at each other’s sides, we’d become like family. Life was good.
Footsteps padded along the mats toward me and stopped a few feet away. Eyes closed, I focused, trying to sense who it was. Breaths came from above, signaling height. My admirer took a few steps closer, light steps hinting low weight. Then I caught a whiff of coconut-scented shampoo.
Hannah.
“Kali!” she shouted.
I startled, and my eyes flew open, but I kept my balance.
“What?”
She gripped my arm and rocked my entire body, as if trying to capsize me off the beam. I steadied myself, swaying with her like I was water in a storm. No resistance. I swatted her hand.
“Hannah, what the hell?”
She pulled again, hard, and when I merely bowed with her, she was the one who fell, landing on her butt on the mats.
I peered down at her from my spot on the beam.
“What is with you?”
She huffed and pushed herself up. “How are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“That.” She motioned at my body resting on the beam. “How are you so balanced?”
I smiled and patted the beam in front of me.
“Sit. I’ll show you.”
She glanced between me and the beam a few times with a curled lip, as if I’d just told her to jump in ice water. Then she climbed on the beam with the same grace as a puppy trying to climb stairs. After some fumbling and a few choice swearwords, she managed to mirror my position. Legs folded, hands resting on her knees, she met my eyes.
“Now what?”
“You focus on your chi,” I told her.
She wobbled, and caught herself with her hand. “What’s a chi?”
I frowned. “You took martial arts for years, and you never learned about your chi?”
She shook her head. Inwardly, I groaned.
“It’s kind of like your life force,” I explained.
She scrunched her nose. “Is this a Chinese thing?”
Wobble, wobble.
“Yes,” I answered. “But think of it however you want. Your soul. Your essence. Your energy. Whatever. Just close your eyes and picture it inside you.”
She studied me again with that same unsure look, then eventually closed her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered a few times, like when someone dreams. After a minute, she drew a deep breath.
“Okay. I think I’ve got it.”
“You feel it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the middle of my chest, near my heart.”
“Push it down,” I instructed. “Below your belly button.”
“How?”
“Just picture it sinking slowly, like it’s submerging below water.”
She adjusted her balance on the beam and took another deep breath. As the seconds passed, her spine straightened, and her wobbles subsided. Her chin tilted slightly up, as if looking toward the heavens. She was a yoga goddess.
For now.
Without a sound, I slipped off the beam and walked up beside her. After a few seconds, I grabbed her arm and pulled lightly. Her eyes flew open as she flailed and gripped the beam. She gasped for air, and I could practically hear her heart thumping against her chest.
She shot me a look. “That wasn’t funny.”
“You’re doing well,” I assured her. “Just focus. It takes time.”
She did, closing her eyes again. After a minute, I repeated the same action, with the same results.
“This isn’t working,” she concluded, digging her nails into the sides of the beam.
“Can you still feel your chi?”
“Yes.”
“Picture it like a weight, holding you in place. But flexible at the same time.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
I sighed. “Like a buoy. Picture it like a buoy.”
She scrunched up her nose again and shook her head.
“Think of the wind,” I tried. “The wind is one of the strongest forces on Earth. It shapes mountains. It snaps trees in half. But it can also bow around anything, right?”
She thought about it. “Yeah, right.”
“So, it’s strong, and it’s flexible.”
“. . . I guess.”
She considered my words, then sighed and closed her eyes again. I waited a few minutes longer before shoving her. She wobbled, but didn’t need to brace herself to find her balance again. A grin touched her lips.
“I wonder if InvictUS trains like this.”
I laughed. “Probably not.”
I circled the beam and hit her other side a little harder. She had to brace herself but found balance quicker than before.
“Those hard-asses,” she began, still referring to InvictUS. “They’d probably only do something like this if they were twenty feet off the ground.”
“Twenty? Try thirty, without any tie-offs. No, make it forty.”
“Forget it.” Hannah waved a hand, wobbled, and steadied herself. “I don’t know if it would ever be high enough for them.”
I shrugged. “Maybe not, but you never know. I mean, they have to be intimidated by something.”
“If they were, it would be one hell of a surprise.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with a chuckle.
I gasped and went numb as the realization hit. The world around me turned to slow motion as I processed Hannah’s words. Dust floated in the air. The sounds of punching bags and the coaches’ commands echoed in the background. And none of it mattered to the thoughts racing through my mind.
A surprise. High in the beams.
“That’s it,” I exclaimed.
Hannah opened her eyes. “What’s it?”
I took her head between both hands and kissed her nose. She recoiled from shock.
“Uh, you okay?”
I grinned, not offering an answer. I turned away from her to find Lily standing a few feet away, giving me the raised eyebrow. I kissed her cheek, too, and went flying past.
“Kali, what the hell?” Hannah called out, as I raced across the training room to where Rooke sparred with Derek on the mats. The training coaches lined the sides, pointing out errors and weakness. I shoved them aside, burst onto the mats, grabbed Rooke’s arm, and pulled him to the side. He looked down at me, startled.
“Kali, what are you doing?”
I practically bounced up and down. “I know how to do it. I know how to get InvictUS.”
He grinned as he surveyed my boisterous attitude.
“How?”
“We surprise them.”
“What?”
“The Art of War. Chapter Twelve. Using fire to attack your enemy.”
Rooke raised an eyebrow. “We can’t use fire in the arena. I don’t think Chapter Twelve talks about breaking VGL regulations.”
I smacked his arm. “I don’t mean actual fire. I mean using the element of surprise to throw your enemy into confusion. About using the environment of the battlefield against them.”
He shrugged. “Sure, but how does that apply to the virtual battlefield?”
I grinned. “I have an idea.”
—
With only days left before the championship, our training equipment morphed from punching bags to balance beams.
My teammates sat on the beams, one for each, mimicking the pose I’d taught Hannah. Backs straight, hands resting on knees, eyes closed, chins tilted toward the ceiling. I walked between each of them, testing their limits. I teetered up to Lily and waited a minute, before recoiling to punch her side. Eyes still closed, she sensed my movements, blocked my attack, and tangled my arm into a hold. I danced on my tiptoes as pain shot up my limb.
“Okay, Lil. Wow. You’re good.”
She gr
inned and released my arm.
Next was Rooke. Of course, he rested perfectly on the beam. Strong but flexible. Focused and flowing. Balanced. As I passed him, he peered at me through one open eye. I held up my hands.
“Forget it. You’re perfect.”
He chuckled. “About time you realized it.”
I punched him anyway. He teetered and stabilized without using his hands. Show-off.
Next was Derek. I gave him a quick jab in the ribs. He grunted but remained steady on the beam.
“Nice,” I told him. He nodded but kept his eyes closed.
Last was my toughest student. Hannah. She sat on the beam, balanced, not teetering. I gave her a solid shove. She yelped, tumbled off the beam, and hit the mat with a thud. She sighed and slapped the ground.
“I suck at this.”
I knelt beside her. “You’re getting there.”
“We only have a few days.”
I held up a hand. “If that’s all you think about, then you won’t put your focus where it needs to be.”
Didn’t the doc tell me that once? Guess psychology wasn’t so bad after all.
Hannah pushed herself off the mats and climbed back on the beam again. After flicking her ponytail away from her shoulder, she rested her hands on her knees. She balanced, wobbled, and braced herself, and repeated the action several times afterwards.
“I keep telling you, Kali. I can’t do this.”
I climbed up on the beam, mirrored her pose, and pressed my hand against her stomach, just below her navel.
“Focus on my hand.”
Hannah took a breath and closed her eyes. Her stomach expanded in and out against my hand as her breathing slowed. Her muscles softened under my touch. I focused with her, as if I were channeling energy through my hand. I breathed in rhythm with her. We were one.
After watching us for a minute, Rooke stepped down from his beam and stood beside Hannah.
“Focus, focus,” I reminded her, eyeing Rooke. I nodded at him. He shoved her shoulder. She nearly toppled over before grabbing the beam to save herself.
“No.” I pushed my hand harder into her stomach. “Think right here and only here.”
“I am,” she argued. “One hundred percent.”
Arena Page 28
