by Kobe Bryant
Somehow that was worse. Pretia was torn between horror and grief. There was no reason to fear her. She had a talent for splitting herself, which meant she could win races when she did so. There was nothing scary about that.
“Well, everyone except Vera,” Rovi added.
Pretia smiled. “Vera says my talent makes her work harder. She thinks she can beat me and everyone else no matter what.” Pretia glanced around the cafeteria. “Speaking of Vera, where is she?”
“She was in the Hall of Victory when I came down,” Rovi said.
“Again?” Pretia asked. For the last month Vera had been spending every spare moment staring at the pictures and memorabilia of famous Dreamer athletes.
“I bet she’s still there,” Rovi added.
Pretia picked up her tray. “I want to see how she’s feeling about tomorrow.”
“All right,” Rovi said. “I’ll see you later.”
She returned her tray to the kitchen and exited the cafeteria, aware of dozens of eyes on her, assessing her, judging her, envying her. A group of recruits were whispering over their trays. They fell silent as Pretia passed. “What?” she said. There was no answer.
“What?” Pretia repeated.
Eshe lifted her head from the cluster. “They want to know if it hurts when you split yourself,” Eshe said.
Pretia locked eyes with her. “Would it matter to them if it did?” She held Eshe’s gaze for another moment, enjoying her speechlessness, before turning on her heel and striding out of the cafeteria in search of Vera.
* * *
Vera was exactly where Rovi said she’d be, staring at a picture hanging on one of the marble walls of the Hall of Victory.
Pretia reached out and tapped her on the shoulder. Vera jumped, obviously startled.
“Sorry,” Pretia said.
Vera’s eyes were wide, an excited smile on her lips. “It’s him!”
“What? Who?”
Vera jammed her finger against the glass protecting the photo. “There.”
“I can’t see anything with your finger in the way,” Pretia said.
Vera removed her hand.
The picture showed the opening ceremony at what Pretia assumed must be the Junior Epic Games about twenty years earlier. It was a group picture of the entire Dreamer squad from all the academies wearing official Epoca Dreamer tracksuits from that year’s games. She peered at the smudge left behind by Vera’s finger and saw a slender teenage boy with a mop of dark hair falling over his brow. He had the complexion of a Sandlander and was shorter than his teammates.
“Who’s that?” Pretia asked.
“That,” Vera said, “is Farnaka Stellus.”
Pretia scanned the caption on the wall below the photo. It identified none of the athletes by name, just the year and location of the Junior Epic Games in Hydros.
“How do you know?” Pretia asked. The boy looked like a lot of the other Sandlander kids in the photos on the wall.
“Process of elimination,” Vera said. “I found him twice.” She moved to another similar group picture of older athletes at the Epic Games held in Phoenis two years after the previous photo was taken. “There,” she said, pointing at the same face, slightly aged. “I can identify every single person in these photos but this one.” She jammed her finger into the glass again. “That Junior Epic photo is of the year I read about, when Farnaka set the Junior Epic Medal record.”
“I thought you said he didn’t compete in the Epic Games,” Pretia said.
“That’s what I thought,” Vera agreed. “But he did. That’s him, right there. Look.”
Pretia glanced at the Epic photo. The guy Vera was pointing at certainly did look a lot like the person in the earlier, Junior Epic photograph.
“But he’s not in any of the record books as an Epic Athlete. Only a Junior Epic,” Vera said.
“Maybe he got injured.”
Vera paused, considering this. “That would make sense. But I’m certain this is the guy with the Junior Epic record. And he’s the one I’m going to beat.”
“Well, if that’s the plan,” Pretia said, “you better take it easy tonight. It’s a big day tomorrow.”
“Wrong,” Vera said. “There’s something else we need to do.”
“Please, please don’t say training,” Pretia begged.
“Not training—visualizing. I borrowed two Mensa Crowns from Satis so we can visualize our swim trials. Let’s go. I think the common room is empty.”
“Vera, come on,” Pretia pleaded. “Give me a break.”
“We don’t have time for breaks,” Vera insisted.
Pretia knew better than to argue with her friend. She only hoped that Vera would be so distracted by her own visualization that she wouldn’t notice Pretia’s exhausted mind drifting off.
* * *
In the morning, the Temple of Dreams was unusually silent. Vera had disappeared before daybreak for whatever last-minute preparation she felt she needed. Pretia walked down the halls. Her housemates were absorbed in their pregame preparations. Some were visualizing using Mensa Crowns and other devices. Some were listening to music. Others were in deep consultation with their Grana Books. Best friends were keeping their distance, eyeing each other mistrustfully, as if a smile might cost them a spot on the squad. No one spoke over breakfast.
Eventually the hunting horn sounded, summoning the students to the pool. Pretia slipped into a long line of stone-faced Dreamers heading for the trials. They were joined by a throng of Realists who were equally serious and silent.
Pretia loved the pool. She loved the way it seemed to appear magically when you least expected it, when you thought you’d descended too deep into the cavern and had somehow become lost. She loved the towering walls that kept the water perfectly cool and the echoes that bounced around the massive room. But today it did nothing to soothe her.
When everyone had assembled, Janos blasted his whistle. The kids fell silent. “Lavinia will explain how our trials work,” he said. “I ask only that you compete with grace and dignity. Honor yourself and your house, and respect your competitors.”
Then Lavinia stepped forward. “In addition to our Epic Elites, we will be taking ten swimmers to Phoenis. Those trying out will be divided into heats of ten. The race is an individual medley—a lap of each of the four swimming strokes.” A murmur rippled through the stands. Lavinia held up her hand for silence.
“The top five in each heat will progress to a following round. Then five from following heats will progress until we are down to ten swimmers. Three heats to show us your stuff. When we are done with swimming, we will move to the end of the pool for diving. Since two of our Epic Elites are diving in Phoenis, we only have room for two more divers on the squad.”
“Stop reminding us,” Adira groaned.
Pretia didn’t pay much attention to the rules for those trials. She had no intention of trying out for diving.
Of the roughly one hundred Ecrof students, eighty had signed up for swim trials. The Epic Elites, of course, were exempt. Some of the older students had grown too specialized in sports besides track and swimming to revert. Others had physical challenges that allowed them to excel in certain areas but prevented them from taking to the water. And some, like Rovi, understood that they had little chance of making the team and didn’t want to waste their energy.
The names of the eighty students were put into a hat and drawn into eight races of ten. Pretia found herself in a heat with Myra. They were to swim fourth.
Pretia put on her swimsuit and her long swim coat that enveloped her like a sleeping bag to help her stay warm and went to chat with Rovi, who was sitting close to the pool. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a few packages of Power Snacks. “So do you think she’s going to do it?” He gestured at the pool with his snacks. Vera was on one of the starting blocks, ready
to race.
“I think she’ll make the team,” Pretia said.
“What about breaking the record held by the guy no one’s ever heard of?” Rovi asked.
Pretia watched Vera touch her hands to the block. “Seems difficult. But who knows. When Vera’s determined to do something . . .”
“Let’s hope so,” Rovi said. “We’ll never hear the end of it if she doesn’t make it.”
The race started. Vera cut through the water like a seal, graceful and elegant. Her strokes were controlled. She didn’t waste any energy. Pretia felt a little sorry for the swimmers in her wake, Vera was so far ahead. After two lengths she had already dusted the competition. On the backstroke she put another half a pool length between herself and the second-place finisher. “Whoa,” Rovi said, “if she keeps this up, what’s his name’s record doesn’t stand a chance.”
Despite the statement she’d made in the pool, Vera clearly wasn’t pleased with her victory. She toweled off quickly and marched away to cool down and prepare to swim again.
After Vera, Nassos was the only member of the second-year class to make it out of his heat until it was Pretia’s turn. When she’d finished a brief warm-up on the pool deck, she took to the starting block. The water welcomed her when she dove in. She found her rhythm, and her breathing came easily. At the wall, her turn was efficient. At the end of two laps she felt herself tire but reached down for another reserve of energy. When she touched the wall after her final lap, she was surprised to see she’d finished second.
As she pulled herself out of the pool, she felt the entire school staring at her. She knew they were wondering why she hadn’t split herself.
She did her best to ignore these questioning looks and just went about her business of cooling down.
The first round of heats concluded. Forty students moved on. Cyril had also qualified for the next round.
Rovi joined Pretia on the pool deck where she was keeping warm. “Only two more rounds,” Rovi said, slapping Pretia on the back. “You got this.”
“We’ll see,” Pretia said. She felt confident, but she knew not to be complacent.
Vera’s heat went first again in the next round. Everything seemed to go wrong from the start. She slipped off the board, resulting in a graceless and inefficient entry that cost her time. Instead of refocusing her energy, she seemed to panic, chopping at the water with uncharacteristically frantic strokes. Rovi and Pretia got as close to the water as they could, chanting Vera’s name.
Vera’s struggle was evident. She was swimming desperately.
“What if she doesn’t make it?” Pretia whispered.
“Come on, Vera,” Rovi shouted.
Pretia cupped her hands over her mouth. “Let’s go, Vera,” she cheered.
Vera touched the wall and threw off her goggles to look at the clock, then heaved a frustrated but relieved sigh. She’d squeaked into fifth place by a split second. She was into the final round.
Then it was Pretia’s turn. This time when she dove, her movements felt clunkier. The water felt like a burden, something she had to battle. She pulled through it like it was mud. She could sense several of her competitors ahead of her, and could tell she was losing ground. She tapped the wall and surfaced. She, too, had finished fifth, but barely. It hardly felt like a victory.
Nassos, Cyril, Vera, and Pretia were the only second termers to make it to the final round of twenty that would determine the team.
Pretia found Vera recovering in the whirlpool. Her face was stern and stony. “Don’t,” she said when she saw Pretia.
“Listen, I struggled, too. You’re going to have to relax and let it go,” Pretia said.
“Let what go?”
“You can’t be perfect every time,” Pretia continued.
“Not all of us can split ourselves, Pretia,” Vera snapped.
Pretia’s eyes widened in anger. “For your information, I’m working just as hard as you are. I haven’t split myself once today,” she said. “But maybe I should.”
Vera punched the water, then exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Do whatever you need to do to qualify.” Then she dunked her head, letting Pretia know the conversation was over.
There was a long break before the final heat, to allow for recovery.
Pretia wrapped herself in her warm jacket and watched as Vera emerged from the whirlpool, where she’d been soaking her muscles, and started to pace nervously. “I can’t even visualize,” she said to Pretia as she passed by.
“Maybe that’s because you’re ready,” Pretia said. “Maybe your mind already knows what it needs to do.”
“Maybe,” Vera said. She sounded less certain than usual.
A blast from Janos’s whistle echoed off the cavern walls. Vera snapped to attention. “Showtime,” she said.
Vera and Pretia got on their starting blocks for their final heat. They were drawn next to each other. To Pretia’s surprise, Eshe had also made it to the last round. Before they bent down, Pretia reached out and took Vera’s hand. “You got this,” she said.
Vera met her eye. This time she looked like her old self. “I know.”
The starter’s bell rang. Pretia was off the block in an instant. She felt confident and in control. She breathed effortlessly. The water enveloped her, cool and silken. She felt like she could shape it as she wished. But she could sense something else as well, a current in the pool that was carrying her forward.
Pretia allowed this current to take her. The water moved her. It was as if she had to exert no effort at all.
And then it happened. Without her bidding. She watched herself swim away. She pulled away from Vera and Eshe. She passed three powerful seventh-year swimmers.
She watched herself move into the final turn.
Then she saw Vera pop up and take a breath and notice what was happening. She saw her friend lose her rhythm.
Pretia’s heart sank. She hesitated. She couldn’t take Vera’s place on the team. She couldn’t be the one to trample Vera’s ambitious dreams. She had to restrain her shadow self. She had to pull herself back. She let go of her drive to swim her best and in an instant her selves collided, not up ahead where her shadow self was preparing to win the race, but farther back in the pool, where the physical Pretia had been left behind.
She finished last.
Vera had finished fifth.
Eshe was fourth.
Pretia climbed out of the pool and hugged her friend.
“What happened?” Vera asked. “You were . . . You were . . .” she stammered.
Pretia wouldn’t let her finish. “You did it,” she cried. “You made it! You’re going to the Junior Epics.”
Vera beamed, but then the smile vanished. “But you didn’t,” she said. “You . . . lost.” She gave Pretia a funny look. “You were winning and then you lost. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Is this about what I told you? About Julius? Are you afraid to split yourself?”
“No,” Pretia said. She wasn’t going to tell Vera the truth about why she’d lost the race.
“You shouldn’t worry about splitting yourself,” Vera said. “Even if Julius leads a stupid protest. I mean, I get how you feel. Everyone looks at me strangely, too—at least every Realist. They think I’m some sort of freak for turning out to be a Dreamer.”
“You are not a freak. You’re the most talented athlete I know,” Pretia said.
“That’s how I feel about you,” Vera said, beaming. “And you need to use that talent! Even if you had beaten me, I’d have your back,” she continued. “Do what you have to do from now on. Promise?”
“Promise,” Pretia agreed. She told herself there would be a time when she had to rely on her shadow self, and she would draw on her remarkable grana then. But she wouldn’t use it to deny her b
est friend.
Despite Vera’s encouragement, though, a lingering doubt was forming at the back of her mind. Was there truly something wrong with her power, something scary like Castor had suggested back at Ponsit? Something worth protesting?
8
ROVI
A TRIAL
Rovi slid on the Memory Master and pushed it into place on his forehead. Then he lay back on the ground under the Tree of Ecrof. Each time he used the device, he felt as if his father were with him, watching over him and helping him.
The first day of track trials had arrived. He had a few more hours to hone his skills—ten skills, in fact.
That afternoon’s events were pole vault, high jump, discus, shot put, and javelin. The 100-meter sprint, the hurdles, the 400-meter sprint, the 1,500 meters (the Epic Mile), and the long jump were scheduled for the second day. It was the first day that had Rovi worried.
He looked up at the shimmering leaves of the tree, wishing his father could see how healthy it was. If only his father could somehow know that Rovi had played a major part in saving the very tree Pallas Myrios was falsely accused of trying to kill. It was too bad his father never knew that he’d been restored to being a Dreamer, and hopefully a celebrated one.
Rovi closed his eyes. He needed to concentrate on the moves recorded by the Memory Master. He needed to revisit and absorb every last moment to prepare, if he was going to return to Phoenis as a hero of House Somni. Rovi’s best chance of escaping his past as a Star Stealer was making the team, and he was determined to do so.
Once more Rovi ran through the discus event on the Memory Master, watching himself spin and let go at the perfect moment. After discus he moved to shot put and then to javelin.
He watched himself go through the javelin again. He could feel his muscles mimicking the recording in the headband. He felt himself let go. He watched the javelin fly. It seemed good. But was it good enough? His grana was strongest in his feet, guiding him across obstacle courses and around tracks with hardly any input from his mind. It allowed him to jump well, perfectly judging where he needed to plant himself to take off in any of the jumping events. But his grana was less helpful with throwing. He could throw decently, but he knew his skills didn’t match up to those of his older and stronger classmates. He was especially concerned about the competition from a few of the older girls, who were surprisingly slight but through some remarkable combination of talent, timing, and coordination could hurl the discus and the shot twice as far as Rovi.
