Chapter 22
“NA-NA-NA-KNOCKOUT!”
The roar of the crowd is little more than a breeze through a barren tree in my ears. I’m laser-focused on ZetaMax, dead in the center of the arena, and the fifteen seconds left on the stopped clock.
We were so close.
If we had lasted even six more seconds, the fight clock would have run out before the knockout countdown, and it would have gone to a judges’ decision.
There’s no way we’ll get to the championship now without the Last Shot Bot Trot.
Even if we win our remaining fight, there's almost no way we'd have the points to qualify due to the amount of knockouts and tap outs.
It had been a close fight until the other bot, Harder Drive, hit us with such force that we went flying into the arena ceiling, hitting a light.
Falling to the ground in a shower of sparks would have been a much cooler sight if it wasn’t my bot.
Now ZetaMax is an immobile hunk of metal and plastic in the center of the arena, as dead as my dreams.
“Driver Mari Williams seems stunned by this last-minute turn of events,” one of the announcers says as the world returns to me. The static of the crowd cheering for the winner overwhelms my senses.
“ZetaMax seems to have finally hit their stride,” says the other. “What a close fight. I’m sure the judges are relieved they didn’t have to score this one. It would have been a tough call.”
Tears threaten to make an appearance, but the cameras are closing in on me. I can see my grim, pink-washed reflection in the thick plexiglass of the arena. I plaster on what I hope is a convincing smile and give the other team congratulations.
Their team cheers all the way back to the Builder Bay, their second win of the competition putting them that much closer to the championship. Joel’s constant stream of screaming frustrations announces our loss to people in the Bay who weren’t watching.
“That’s it.” He stomps his designer-shoe-clad foot. “I’m taking matters into my own hands.” He throws up said hands as he storms off.
“What does that mean?” Chris worries as Joel storms off. I shrug. It could mean I’m out. It could mean we’re going home. It could mean many things, equal to me in terror and relief.
Too defeated and demoralized to start fixing our bot, we slump into the workspace chairs and stare at the TVs placed around the space.
Kilowatt, Jacob’s bot, lands a brutal knockout blow to his ironically named opponent, C3P-KO.
A night of knockouts at Circuit Smack, I guess.
Jacob has more knockouts in his Circuit Smack tenure than anyone else in the competition’s long history.
I lean over and bury my face in my hands, trying to hide from the lurking sense of doom.
What if this is it? What if this is the moment everything goes to shit for real? What if I go home with nothing? $7,500 for three fights isn’t nothing, I suppose. I’ll still come out ahead financially at this point.
“Mari, are you okay?” Chris asks delicately as I pry my hands away.
“Yeah. Yeah. We were so close, you know? I’m disappointed.”
Fatimah hands me a juice box. I must really look bad. “It sucks, but your driving was amazing.”
“Thank you.” I take a sip. The restorative powers of the juice box help me recenter. Sweetness and tartness soothe me and give me energy. “The bot held up great. We did well on the rebuild.”
“That hit would have knocked almost anyone out,” Travis says, surprising all of us. It would have, but I can’t help wondering if I could have dodged it. If we were a little faster, our turns were a little tighter, if I were more focused.
Classic Mari move. Nothing I do is ever quite enough.
Not the two jobs, not the bots I build, not looking after Ava and my dad, not my driving, not my relationships, not trying to keep my body from collapsing.
Everything is out of reach, slightly beyond what I’m capable of.
If I were a little better at, well, everything, maybe I wouldn’t be so burned out and miserable.
If, if, if stampedes through my head. Any levity I felt yesterday is now dashed to pieces on my hard, jagged doubts.
My rib binder is too tight suddenly, my skin too hot, the fluorescent lighting too bright.
I sip the juice, trying to see if its magic still works to calm the panic coursing through me.
It does not. My mind is a flurry of how we could turn things around.
The rebuild made us better, but not as good as we need to be.
We can’t practice driving without running down our limited batteries.
Jacob’s team bursts through the doors of the Bay, boisterously cheering and whooping.
He’s laughing and smiling as he pushes the dolly with his robot.
He doesn’t even glance my way as he passes.
Why would he? We’re not friends; we’re rivals.
And in his eyes, I’m not worth the gloat.
He’s never even bothered to taunt me about his wins. I’m simply not worth his time.
That indifference does not extend to his teammates, though.
One of them drums his hands on the table at the edge of our workspace as he passes.
“Good thing you don’t have to fight him again, Marilee, huh?
Can’t contest these results.” He smirks as he winks at me and saunters off.
“We’re number one! We’re number one!” He takes all the warmth in the room with him.
Fatimah and Travis both turn to me, the former pale and the latter smug.
I groan. “Why won’t people let it go?”
Travis sneers. “You tried to smear the name of the best guy in combat robotics. You really think people will just let that go?”
“That’s not what happened.”
“What happened?” Sonny whispers to Fatimah, but I hear it.
I shake my head. I thought I could escape that mess here. I guess not. I click my rings together. “I contested the results of a Twin Cities championship fight between Jacob and me,” I say quietly.
Travis crosses his arms and sneers. “And you escalated it all the way to the Midwest Combat Robotics Commission. Don’t leave out that part.
” Any potential I thought Travis might have to be a good person is wiped away with his expression.
“They oversee all the clubs and championships,” he explains to the others.
“Why?” Chris asks, mouth rounded in surprise.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I shrug, but the real answer is bitter on my tongue.
“She said that his robot malfunctioned and he stole her win. She said he lied,” Travis says, continuing with his dogged douchebaggery.
I grit my teeth hard enough that I’ll need to go to the dentist when this is all over.
“Drop it. It doesn’t matter anymore. It was almost eight years ago.
” I wish I could take my own advice. Maybe I should try harder to let it go, even if every time I think about it, I get a sinking pit in my stomach.
“You must have had your reasons,” Chris says to me before glaring at Travis.
“She did,” Fatimah says without elaborating.
Travis pouts angrily as Sonny takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Alright, why don’t we call it an early night?”
“We’ll have to start early,” I mumble.
“Correct,” he sighs. “But I think we could all use some time to cool off.” Sonny pats me on the shoulder. “You drove well, Mari.”
“Thank you all,” I smile weakly at them. Jacob’s team is still celebrating over in his workspace, cheering and smiling. He’s confident and radiant, while I sit in a brewing storm cloud. “I think that’s a good plan, Sonny.”
I grab my things and trudge back to my room. Tomorrow, I could go home, but either way, I’ll be getting up early. Might as well enjoy the hotel bed while it lasts.