Chapter Two #3
That changes Cass’s tune. “Clive, my guy,” he says, shaking his head. “Ya gotta let Zora be Zora, am I right?”
Clive and I are not that far apart in age. Clive was twenty-two when our grandma died and left him the responsibility of raising a ten-year-old me, but that twelve-year age gap made him enough of an adult to give him authority. The older I get, though, the slimmer that margin starts to feel.
“Exactly, which is why I laid the groundwork for this being an all-girls thing early. I didn’t even tell him about the Iv—about that guy from Wizzcon.”
“Dang it.” Cassius snaps his fingers. “I should have set a timer. I thought we’d at least get through orientation before you brought him up, but nope. It’s been, like, ten minutes.”
“It’s relevant to the conversation!” I argue.
It’s possible I may have brought up Ivan Hunt a few times since I ran into him at Wizzcon in January.
But it’s not every day you meet someone with such a legendary capacity for being a dick.
And that’s not just my opinion. There’s a reason Ivan Hunt disappeared for a year before showing up to compete in Guardians League Royale.
He couldn’t show his face after his old team fumbled Wizzard’s Guardians League Online championship by kicking their only female player—who was Ivan’s own in-game damage partner, no less—off their team before the final match.
They kicked her to the curb, sat by while she was harassed and doxxed, and did absolutely nothing to help her.
And yeah, he publicly broke off from his team in the weeks after they lost the championship and did everyone a favor by going away afterward, but our encounter at Wizzcon proves to me that he hasn’t changed.
People like Ivan don’t think people like me belong in their walled-off boys’ club of elite gamers.
For that, he got a laser to the face. Some people don’t deserve a second chance.
That’s what I would think about Ivan Hunt, if I thought about him at all, which I don’t.
“Uh-huh,” Cass continues. “Are we allowed to say his name or are you worried we’ll say it three times and summon him like Beetlejuice?”
“We can say his name,” I say. “It’s fine. Ivan Hunt. Bleh. See, I said it.”
“One,” Cass says with faux foreboding. Then he drops the act and sounds much happier. “But it’s nice to hear I don’t have to be jealous.”
“Why would you be jealous?” I respond. What a weird thing for Cass to say.
“If there’s one crystal clear theme of my past interaction with Ivan Hunt, it’s that I absolutely, one-hundred-percent loathe him and all he stands for, from the top of his perfectly coiffed head to the bottom of whatever gamer boy nightmare hell he crawled out of. He treated me like a prop.”
“I know,” Cass says. “Also, that’s two.”
“And he thought he could charm me into partnering up with him like I don’t know who he is and what happened to the last girl he called his partner in a game. Like that’s not a whole ticker tape parade of red flags.”
“I know.” Cass looks at me sideways, like I’m the one who’s missing something.
“He wouldn’t have fit in here anyway,” I assure Cassius.
“The academy is for the best players, not wannabe teen heartthrobs who think they can smile their way through life and get everything they want. This academy is about skill.” I punch a fist into my open palm for emphasis.
“And … and merit. And ruthlessness. That’s how I made sure I’d never have to see Ivan Hunt again, and that’s what—”
The elevator dings. I step out and motion for Cass to be quiet.
There’s no need to announce ourselves to the rest of the class when we can just slip in the back.
I carefully open the theater doors an inch at a time to make sure Cass and I don’t make any noise when we step in. It could not have mattered less.
The first few rows of the theater are packed with a teeming mass of students in matching black summer academy T-shirts, and they are extremely distracted.
Cass and I could have busted through the wall like a wrecking ball and no one would have noticed.
Their focus is on one person who looks like they’re holding court at the edge of the stage.
My eyes are sharp, any serious GLR player’s must be, but it’s impossible to see who’s standing at the center of the crowd from this angle.
Whoever it is, they’re causing a legitimate sensation.
There had been hints that Wizzard would bring out some of their Guardians League players for a few sessions, but this mystery superstar, from what I can tell, is wearing the same student tee as everyone else.
BOOM! The noise is loud and far too close, and I feel the whoosh of wind from a slamming door on my back.
I whip around and see Cassius wincing, his palm held out an inch away from catching the slamming door.
So much for a stealth approach. Below us, the conversational tone of the room flatlines as every single person in the theater stops talking, swivels their heads on their creepy little necks, and stares up at Cass and me.
And yet, when I look back, I only see one face among the crowd. On a boy about my height. Straight brown hair, strong brows, and teeth so white I half imagine a pinprick sparkle on his canine when he smiles all the way up at me.
“Zora!” Ivan Hunt exclaims from below. “You made it.”
Three, I think, entirely too late. Looks like I summoned Beetlejuice after all.