Chapter Four
THERE ARE FIFTY rolling desks set up on the stage of the Wizzard Theater.
Each time Brian calls a name, a player stands up, walks over, and claims a desk as their own.
Center stage fills out quickly, but after those are gone the choices seem more personal, and therefore unpredictable.
If there was a pattern, I’d have figured it out by now, but even if I did, it wouldn’t help me.
We are called alphabetically by first name, so any Zoras in the program are doomed to pick last. Fitting.
At least I have Cass fighting for me down there.
He went down before me and grabbed a spot in the second row and has been defending the seat next to him like a FIFA goalie.
If he can keep it open, that’s my choice made for me and one less thing to think about in what has quickly become a very eventful morning.
We’re almost at the end of the list when I hear the telltale click of a door bar pushed in slowly.
Someone is trying to sneak in like Cass and I tried to earlier, through the door at the top of the amphitheater’s aisle.
I don’t need to look; I know who it is. He wasn’t in his seat when his name was called because he was still avoiding Emilia, but the queen has left the building and it’s once again safe for Ivan to show his face.
The door clicks closed—see, he managed to shut it quietly—and now Ivan is standing in the aisle next to me.
I don’t want to lose this game. What game? No idea. But I know if I look at him I’ll lose. I keep my eyes trained on the stage and ignore him, searching instead for the pattern of desk choice that does not emerge.
“And finally, Zora Lyon!” Thank god. I don’t know what my parents were thinking when they named me.
They were either extremely well versed in the history of Black women in academic anthropology or really into The Legend of Zelda, and I’ve never had the opportunity to ask them which it was.
My mom is a splash of ink on a birth certificate.
My dad lives in some flyover state with the family he made years after I was born.
And Clive, my uncle and guardian for as long as I can remember, has no idea where “Zora” came from.
All I know is it’s at the end of the alphabet and gift shops never have premade items with my name on them.
Think of all the key chains I could have collected, the commemorative mugs I could have used three times and ignored for years!
Still, my name is my name, and it’s my turn to grab my desk.
I stand up and shuffle sideways toward the aisle, where I know Ivan is standing.
I’m smart enough to ignore the scent of soap that washes over me when I shuffle closer.
I’m above noticing how the soap smell blends in with a faint whiff of boy sweat just smothered by deodorant.
I’m so good at ignoring Ivan Hunt that I think I’ll just go the entire summer without talking to him.
“Surprise,” Ivan whispers as I slide past him with great elegance and condescension. “Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”
“You know, I actually did,” I snap back reflexively. “Mostly because I shot you.” Dang it. I’m going to never talk to him again starting now. I start to descend the precarious steps toward the stage and feel my shoulders slump when I hear the sound of Ivan’s footsteps following me down.
“You know it’s just a game, right?” Ivan leans down a bit to whisper. “Just because you betray someone and leave them to die on the little computer screen doesn’t mean they die in real life.”
“Not yet.” Oh my god, Zora, stop talking. “But gaming technology makes new and exciting strides every day.”
Ivan laughs. That wasn’t supposed to be funny. It was supposed to be a threat.
“Besides,” I continue. If I’m going to talk to him, I may as well make it hurt a little. “You would know all about betraying someone and leaving them to die, right?”
“I—” He doesn’t know what to say to that. Point to Zora! If I give him credit for somehow getting me talking, the score is 1–1, and I can work with that.
We’ve reached the bottom of the steps. Ivan shoots a glare at me and wordlessly breaks his stride to head center stage, where Brian Juno himself greets him with a high five.
I cannot ignore the stab of jealousy that shoots through my chest, but I’ll unpack that later.
Here is when I get my first good look at the full roster of the academy.
Is it mostly white and Asian boys? Yes, but that’s to be expected.
The next biggest demo is white girls. Also expected, girl gamers for the win, love it.
The smallest group is my group: Other. Nonwhite people of all persuasions and three Black guys I spot chopping it up in the back.
Honestly, it’s more diverse than I thought it was going to be.
My brain attributes this to Brian being awesome, but then I remember everyone had to win to get here.
Then I double remember that’s not exactly the case.
How much of this crowd did Brian engineer?
How many were hand-picked instead of competitors?
Come on, Zora. Enough. I sound like a conspiracy theorist. Ivan must have been a special case; there is no way Brian Juno manipulated the results for every match because that is deep, deep weirdo behavior.
“Over here!” The girl sitting a seat away from Cass waves to me.
An Other, like me. She is cross-legged on the rolling chair set up at her desk.
When I get closer, I can see her long black hair is tucked under her butt and she has the most perfect brown-skin contour I’ve ever seen on someone who wasn’t waltzing to a string quartet cover of a pop hit on Bridgerton.
“Hi! I’m Kavi, she/her,” the girl says. I manage a wave while fighting the urge to turn around and see if Ivan is still talking to Brian.
Isn’t it kind of unprofessional for Brian to single out a player like that on the first day?
Most people who play favorites have the decency to hide it.
But wait—instead of resenting Ivan, I should find out what he did to get in Brian’s good graces.
If there’s room for one favorite, there’s room for another.
I file this plan away in an accessible corner of my mind palace to visit later.
“I’m Zora,” I say. “Uh, she/her.”
“I’m Trieu,” the boy sitting next to Kavi offers. “He/him/they/whatever. You have very pretty eyes.”
I don’t know what to do with that, or any other compliment, really.
Especially coming from Trieu. He is beautiful in the way the pictures people use to advertise video filters are beautiful; he is meticulous, decorated—a gold hoop through his lower lip, a barbell piercing his eyebrow, with masterful monolid eyeliner and blended streaks of starry highlighter accentuating his cheekbones.
Basically he looks like he belongs in the character roster in Genshin Impact.
I can’t stop looking at him. I get the feeling he knows that I can’t stop looking and is the opposite of bothered.
“And I’m Cassius,” Cass says and sarcastically holds his hand out for a shake. “Super great to meet you, and I think we should be best friends.” This time when I leave him hanging, it’s on purpose.
“Very cute, Cass,” I say, then clarify for Kavi and Trieu, “We know each other from Wizzcon.”
“That’s nice!” Kavi smiles and looks from me to Cass and back to me. “Wizzcon friends taking on the academy together. That’s a great angle!”
“Agree.” Trieu nods. “A solid hook to follow straight out the gate; I’m jelly.”
“What?” I look to Cass, who shrugs, and Kavi, who tilts her head at me like I’m a particularly challenging piece of modern art. “Who’s following what hook?”
“A hook,” Kavi reiterates. “To get people to watch you. Gotta get a gimmick.”
My blank face is all it takes to tell Kavi and Trieu they’re going to need to give me a little more detail than that.
“Like, I do makeup tutorials,” Trieu breaks through my confusion.
“I do them based on the characters from GLR or whenever new skins come out. I’ll do the look live, play as that character for the rest of the stream, and edit the tutorial into a short that I’ll post everywhere linking back to my channel.
It’s going pretty good, though it sucks we have to start on new WiTch profiles.
I’m gonna have to post so much to get my followers to migrate to the new handle. ”
“Uh-huh.” I don’t know what else there is to say. I mean, that explains why Trieu’s makeup is on point, but also, what? He’s here because of makeup? Where’s the love of the game? The spirit of domination over one’s enemies?
“What about you?” Cass asks Kavi. “What’s your hook thing?”
Kavi looks thrilled to have been asked. She sits up straighter in her chair, her small body framed entirely by the broad back of what I now recognize as one of the most expensive gaming chairs on the market.
There are buttons on the armrest, lights embedded around the edges …
It has as much technology in its design as the computers themselves.
“I mostly do reviews, sometimes streaming, sometimes not. I do headsets, keyboards, mice, monitors, focus pills, smart bulbs, custom skincare, teeth-whitening blue lights, skin-firming red lights, hair and nail gummies, apps, aimbots, online therapy, alternative console controllers, and period underwear. As long as the company isn’t literally using slave labor or has one of those CEOs who gets weird about genocide on social media. ”
“Or makes people hate themselves,” Trieu interjects.
“Or makes people hate themselves,” Kavi agrees.
“As far as standards go.” Cassius illustrates his thoughts with a firm thumbs-up while he spins slowly and smoothly in his chair. “Ten out of ten.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not,” I admit. It’s true and I can’t.
“Oh, I am.” Kavi nods solemnly. “All the money is actually from bank fraud, and I’m wanted in the state of Michigan.”