by Kobe Bryant
Pretia’s heart skipped in her chest. This was her time to shine. This was her moment to show the world that she was more than a princess, more than the Child of Hope. She could show everyone who she really was—a Junior Epic—and what she was capable of.
The gate to the Junior Epic Village lifted. Vera reached over and squeezed Pretia’s hand.
“Are you excited?”
“I can’t believe this is actually happening. I mean, the marathon was one thing. But this is so much better.” Pretia had been walking on air since the tribunal’s decision.
“You got this,” Vera said. “If I have to lose to someone, I’m glad it’s you.”
“We’ll see,” Pretia said.
“It’s going to be you or me with the gold,” Vera continued. “I just know it. Julius holds the record for this event at both the Epic and the Junior Epic Games. Hopefully one of us beats his time.”
“It’ll be symbolic either way,” Pretia said. “He can protest all he wants, but we’ll have the record.”
Vera gave her a wide smile. “Well, I was thinking it would be more symbolic if you did. But you know, taking down Julius’s record in this event would be pretty awesome. Snooty Realist.”
“Here’s to dreams that never die!” Pretia said. They slapped hands.
The entrance to the stadium was mobbed. A dozen eager kids swarmed up to Vera, demanding her autograph. She gladly signed caps, programs, T-shirts, even sneakers and water bottles.
“It’s going to be you whose autograph they’ll want after this race,” Vera said.
“I’ve signed enough autographs,” Pretia laughed. “I’m happy it’s someone else for once!”
Vera took her by the shoulders and spun her around so they were face-to-face. “No joke, Pretia. I want you to promise me that you’ll show everyone what you can do.”
Pretia met Vera’s eye and felt a warm rush of gratitude for her fiercely loyal friend. “All right. I promise.”
The stands were packed when the athletes entered. Pretia grinned when she saw the crowd speckled with signs bearing Vera’s name and cheering her on. She glanced at the royal box to make sure it was empty, that her parents hadn’t turned up to watch her race—or, worse, stop her from racing. To her relief, flags from their respective houses occupied the seats reserved for the king and queen.
She began to warm up by running three laps of the track. She passed Vera and nodded. She passed Eshe, who waved and tried to tag along with Pretia. On the final turn, a runner sprinted past her, knocking into her slightly.
“Watch yourself, Princess.” It was Rex Taxus, the Realist who’d challenged her at the first protest.
“You watch out,” Pretia retorted.
But Rex was out of earshot. Well, she’d show him on the field. She’d heard he was great, but he was certainly no match for her shadow self.
Pretia sat in the grass and stretched.
The stadium roared. Banners flapped. Pretia tuned it out as best as she could.
“Runners!” a voice boomed across the stadium. “Assemble at the start.”
Pretia joined her fellow competitors as an official drew them into heats. She was in the second heat with Eshe. All she needed in this round was to make the top five. Then she’d be in the semifinals. And there, once again, all she needed would be a top five finish. In the finals, however, it would be different. She wanted that gold medal for her place in the record books.
Pretia took a deep breath. Top five. She could do that. No reason to worry just yet.
Rex Taxus was kicking off the opening round. He strode to the starting blocks as every Realist in the audience rose to their feet, clapping and chanting his name.
“He’s amazing,” Eshe gushed. “If only he wasn’t a Realist.”
“Which means,” Vera retorted, “that he actually isn’t amazing.”
“All I’m saying is that he’s an amazing runner. The best I’ve ever seen.” Then Eshe shot a bashful glance at Pretia. “I mean, almost.”
“Well, this is his chance to prove it,” Pretia replied.
The starter’s horn sounded. Rex took off like a cheetah. He moved effortlessly, like he was flying or gliding. He crossed the finish line before Pretia had time to process what was happening. The other runners were so far behind, it seemed as if they were in a different race.
“Wow,” she said, despite herself.
“He reminds me of my brother,” Vera said.
“He’s really good,” Pretia said.
When it was her turn, she lined up in the starting blocks. She had an outside lane, which made chasing down opponents slightly more difficult, but she didn’t let it faze her. She crouched down. She uttered the Grana Prayer. She heard the other athletes do the same—most in traditional Epocan and others in their local dialects. The horn sounded, and she was out of the blocks. “One, two, three, four, five,” she started to count. But it was unnecessary. Her feet found a rhythm ahead of her mind. They flew faster than she could count. And before she had time to process the race, she was across the finish line. She checked the result. Fourth. Not bad.
She had barely exerted herself. She’d conserved energy. She could push harder in the semifinal and final stages.
She exhaled the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding all morning. She was finally doing what she had set out to do ever since she’d made the decision to run away from Ponsit Palace. She was competing unhindered by others’ judgment. She was allowed to be herself—to be her best self.
She took a deep breath and looked into the stands. A mass of purple flags was waving. Purple banners were flying. And people were chanting her name.
Pretia’s heart swelled. She would make them proud.
Eshe ran over and hugged her. “We made it.” Eshe finished fifth in the heat, just sneaking into the next round.
“Not so fast,” Pretia said. “This was just the first step.” The sun glowed fierce and beautiful overhead. The sky was faultless blue. But there was a cool breeze that rippled across the field. It was perfect weather to run her heart out.
Pretia jogged in place as she waited for Vera’s heat to start. Vera took to the starting blocks to thunderous applause. Her fame as a breakout star of these games was spreading. People waved signs with her name painted in Dreamer purple. A few had even drawn pictures showing Vera’s trademark puff of hair flying behind her as she raced. But Vera didn’t even notice. She was a pro, stone-faced as she said the Grana Prayer.
She went off like a shot, dusting the competition to win her heat by a full second. She checked her time, then trotted over to Pretia and gave her a fist bump.
When the whistle blew to start the semifinals, Pretia and Vera moved to the blocks. Rex Taxus and Eshe were in the second heat.
“Top five,” Vera said.
“Consider it done,” Pretia promised.
Pretia got in position. She said the Grana Prayer and heard it echo up and down the line of runners. And they were off. Once more, before she knew it, she was across the finish lane. Fourth place again. She’d made it, barely. Vera had bested her by a millisecond.
In the other semifinal, Rex Taxus once more beat the rest of the field. Eshe finished sixth.
“If I’d been in your heat, it would have been different,” she said when Vera and Pretia went over to console her. “It’s so unfair that I had to race with Rex Taxus.”
“Well, now we have to,” Vera said.
“Yeah, but in the final,” Eshe moaned. “That’s not fair.”
“Who told her sports are fair?” Vera asked when she and Pretia walked off.
“You still don’t think she reminds you of anyone?” Pretia asked.
Vera gave her a confused look. “No? Why do you keep asking me that?”
Pretia put on her tracksuit to stay warm during the round of javelin that took place before her fin
al race. She walked to the far end of the field, away from the competition, her footsteps hammering a twelve-second count. This time Pretia knew she’d need to pull out all the stops. She lay on the turf, closed her eyes, and visualized the race. She went deep into her mind, drawing out her shadow self, seeing herself splitting apart. Over and over and over she made herself split. Each time she saw herself win.
She was dimly aware of the javelin contest unfolding somewhere else on the field—the roar as the contestant hurled the javelin, followed by the applause as his or her distance was announced. Pretia was barely conscious of the stadium, the crowds, the flapping banners, the golden sun hanging in the azure sky. But she was conscious of her small and important part in all of this—the special talent she held inside her that would take her to the top of the race.
Suddenly a different sort of cheering erupted. Pretia opened her eyes and sat up. She could see a group of people racing around the track. But there was no scheduled race. She squinted across the stadium. They weren’t even dressed in racing gear.
“Pretia!” She turned. Vera was dashing toward her from the other direction.
“Vera, slow down!” The last thing Vera should be doing between races was running. But Vera didn’t slow down.
The crowd on the track was drawing close, too.
In an instant, Vera yanked her to her feet, pulling Pretia away from the track, toward the center of the field.
“What’s happening?” Pretia exclaimed.
She glanced over her shoulder. She could see the group on the track comprised five people in Realist blue who were now being chased by a phalanx of Phoenician guards. They were coming right for her. Over the roar of the audience, she could hear what they were chanting:
“Stop the princess.”
The guards tackled three of the runners. But two had started cutting across the field, closing in on Pretia, who was frozen watching them. “Pretia!” Vera shouted. “Come on!”
Pretia could hear that some people in the stands had taken up the chant.
“Stop the princess.”
As the two protesters closed in, Pretia could see that one was a tall girl with flaming red hair. The other, unmistakably, was Julius Renovo.
“Julius!” Vera shouted, skidding to a halt. Her voice was thick with fury. She looked from Pretia to her brother, then reversed course and began to run full tilt at Julius. She didn’t slow down as she drew near to him. The siblings were on a collision course. Vera held her hands out in front of her as she ran.
Then, with all her strength, she shoved Julius to the ground.
The famous track star twisted on the field, struggling to stand.
Vera cupped her hands over her mouth. “Guards! Get this protester off the field. He’s interfering with the race.”
While Pretia watched Vera face off with her brother, the redheaded girl had run an exaggerated loop and was now rushing at Pretia from behind, with a guard in pursuit. If Vera could stand up to her famous and powerful brother, Pretia could address this flame-haired stranger. Pretia wanted to back away, but she willed herself to stay put. She had to face her accuser.
The girl was almost on top of her. Her face was contorted in anger. “Cheater!” she screamed at the final moment before the guard tackled her. “Cheater! This is Rex Taxus’s race!”
Pretia’s heart was galloping, but she tried to stay calm. She needed to speak. “I use my gods-given grana,” she said. “That’s all.”
“We will erase you from the record books,” the girl spat. The guard dragged her to her feet and began to haul her off the field. “You won’t race again. You won’t rule. Your grana is unholy. It’s unnatural. You are unnatural.”
Pretia was shaking, but she tried her best not to let it show. She had so much more to say. She wanted to tell the girl that her protest was unfair—that judging anyone for their grana wasn’t right. But she feared she’d said enough. She didn’t want to draw more attention to the situation.
A few feet away, Julius was picking himself up. “Don’t you know who I am?” he said to the guard trying to haul him off. “I’m Julius Renovo. I won this race in the last Epic Games without the aid of cursed grana,” he added with a dark look at Pretia.
Vera stared her brother down as she came to put an arm around Pretia’s shoulders. “Pretia’s grana is as natural as the sun and the sand—as natural as yours or mine,” she said. “Tell him, Pretia. Tell my snobby, snotty brother.”
Pretia could no longer control her trembling limbs. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her focus.
“Vera’s right,” she said.
Julius snorted. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
“No,” Pretia said. “I—”
“You are as unholy as my misfit sister. If people ever witness what you can do, they will understand how unnatural it is,” Julius announced.
The guard, obviously impressed by the status of his prisoner, started to escort Julius away from Pretia.
Pretia watched him stride off the field, the guard’s arm linked through his, to a mixed reception of cheers, boos, and timid applause.
Vera took her hands. “Shake it off. Shake it off and show them,” she said. “Now it’s more important than ever.”
Pretia clutched her arms around herself to still her shaking body. Everyone in the stands had seen that confrontation.
“Pretia, snap out of it!”
“Sure, um, okay,” Pretia mumbled.
“You don’t sound sure,” Vera said. “Remember what you promised before we entered the stadium?”
Pretia nodded numbly.
“Even the tribunal was in your favor. This is your race. Look.” She pointed at the stands. “Look at all those people. At least half of them are on your side. Maybe even more, since you’re half Realist. You need to show them what you can do.”
Pretia was trembling. “I don’t know—”
Vera gave Pretia a small shake. “Yes. You do know. You know what you can and will do. You have risked everything to be here. Do not let them see they can get to you.” Vera was staring right into Pretia’s eyes. Suddenly the stadium vanished; the crowd silenced. “It’s just you and me here,” Vera said. “You and me. I got you and you got this. Okay?”
“Okay,” Pretia said.
“Just you and me,” Vera repeated.
In a trance, Pretia followed Vera to the starting blocks. The whistle to start the final 100 meters of the entire Junior Epic Games sounded. Vera was on the inside, the lightning-quick Rex Taxus to her left, and Pretia next to him.
On your marks.
Pretia crouched down. She muttered the Grana Prayer, aware of Rex Taxus doing the same next to her. She heard Dreamers chanting her name and Vera’s. She could do this.
Get set.
Vera was right. She had risked everything for this.
Go.
And they were off. But not before Pretia heard “Stop the princess,” crashing through the stadium like a tidal wave.
Pretia’s feet hit the track. One, two, three, four—
She was aware of Rex Taxus at her side. Then he pulled ahead.
There were only a few meters to go.
She needed to act. Faster. Pretia willed herself. Faster.
She was back next to him. She could feel her shadow self trying to break free, but something was restraining it. It was as if it could sense her reluctance.
Five-six-seven. Her feet raced. Her mind fought to keep up. It was now or never. She needed to split. She needed—
Pretia tipped forward, flinging herself over the line. She hadn’t split herself. She’d missed her chance.
She ran until she came to a halt, then turned to check the results. Even though she hadn’t summoned her shadow self, maybe there was a chance she’d made the podium. But before she could determine where she’
d finished, she was tackled by a pack of Dreamers—including Vera, Eshe, Cyril, and Virgil. They were slapping her back and trying to high-five her.
“What happened?” Pretia asked, catching her breath.
“You won!” Virgil screamed.
Eshe and Vera were on top of her. “You won!”
“For real?” Pretia asked.
She looked over and saw Rex Taxus sitting on the ground with his head on his knees. “I beat him without splitting myself?”
Cleopatra Volis rushed over and swooped Pretia up into her arms. “You sure did. You are a Junior Epic Champion!”
“You beat everyone,” Vera said, exuberant.
For a second, Pretia’s joy vanished. “Did you medal, Vera?”
“No,” Vera said. “I finished fourth.”
Pretia’s heart sank. “But your record!”
“Don’t worry about me,” Vera said. “This was your race. And you were amazing!”
It hit Pretia all at once. Vera had been too anxious about Pretia’s performance to run her best in the 100-meter final. “I’m so sorry,” Pretia said. “You were too focused on me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vera said. “I’ve got a few more chances to hit ten medals, including our 4x400 relay. And with you on my team, that’s basically a done deal.” She held up her hand for a high five.
“Now that will be epic,” Pretia said, slapping her hand, “in every sense of the word.”
“And since you didn’t split yourself, no one can even threaten to challenge your record,” Vera said. “Not that I’d let them.”
Pretia wrapped her arms around her friend. She felt as if she were floating. She couldn’t feel the ground beneath her feet as she moved through the crowd of congratulatory Dreamers. She was in a daze as she climbed to the podium for the medal ceremony. She kicked dust from her gold Grana Gleams. How had she won without splitting herself? There was no longer any question that she belonged at these games. Her medal was won on the same terms as anyone else’s.
Her heart lifted when she heard her name announced as the winner of the 100. All her nerves tingled as the official placed the gold medal—the gold medal!—around her neck. She looked into the stands at all those purple banners waving for her and was filled with a happiness such as she’d never felt before as the Dreamers’ flag was raised for her. She put her hand on her heart for the Dreamer anthem and sang the Ecrof fight song. This must be what Rovi had felt when he won the Epic Mile—like he was on top of the world.
