2 #2
The expletive comes from my right as Iggy Benson rises from his seat across the room, the energy on his suit casting a deep green glow over his face, only emphasising the grim look on it as he runs an agitated hand over his buzzed hair.
He moves to the end of his row and makes his way down the steep steps to the front of the room, where his name is kicked off the screen in place of more rushing by.
I don’t talk to Iggy, never have, but then I don’t talk to anyone.
But from what I’ve seen of him, he’s a good man—friendly and respectful and just doing what he can to get by when we’re forced to base our lives around violence.
He’s one of the ones who holds no excitement for the Games, no eagerness to compete, so I know as much as I can see that he’s not at all happy about this.
I’m also aware this was his last Name Generation Day, his twenty-sixth birthday arriving in around six months, so I can’t even imagine the devastation that must be crushing him right now when he could have avoided The Bonding Games altogether if he hadn’t been generated this year.
Jolting so hard my ass leaves my seat when the buzzer goes off again, my eyes snap back to the screen from where they’d been lingering on Iggy, a woosh of air leaving me when I see another name that isn’t mine.
A trickle of guilt pricks my conscience for being relieved at anyone being forced into the Games, and I hope it doesn’t make me a shitty person that I’d never willingly trade places with the girl who heads stiffly down to the stage, or any other student generated, even if it were possible to do so and they begged.
But that guilt goes flying out the window when I process the new name on the screen:
Aider Cole.
My jaw cramps from how hard I clench my teeth.
Another one of my bullies and closest friend of Troy, Aider has made my life since second school as hard as possible.
Troy might seem like the leader of his and Aider’s little posse, but the latter is the real mastermind behind my treatment as an unskilled Evot: He spread embarrassing rumours, encouraged verbal and physical attacks on me, whispered in Troy’s and the rest of his group’s ears about all my little quirks and qualities in a way that made them sound shameful.
Possibly worst of all, I’m almost certain he’s the reason my personalised meal and fitness plans are the way they are; his father is an important member of the school board and has control over both.
My meals don’t provide all the calories and nutrition I need to be as powerful as an Evot should be, and my fitness plan is so shitty it’s a joke.
Aider is the reason I’m so weak, the reason I can’t get any stronger no matter how much I train.
So he is the real villain here.
Once my best friend, he became my tormenter.
And of course, said tormenter stands with an arrogant smirk amid the rowdy cheers and backslaps from the men surrounding him. His friend group has always viewed The Bonding Games with a sick sort of enjoyment, so I’m sure the whole bunch of them is thrilled.
While Aider is making his way to the front, another loud buzz sounds out, and a petite girl with pale blonde bangs—who might actually be classed as a girl since she looks no older than seventeen—timidly makes her way down too.
By the shade of her Avri cluster, she has a Score in the high 70s, but I’m not sure that’ll save her in the Games when she looks like a baby deer ready to bolt at the first sign of possible danger.
Not that I’m judging. Not at all. I’m sure I look the same most of the time, after all. But you have to be ready to do whatever it takes to protect yourself, and she seems like she’d refuse to harm an ant to save her life.
BZZZZZT!
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Troy Hurst.
My face scrunches up as another round of cheers erupt from the same guys as before, Troy strutting down the steps like he owns the place before high-fiving Aider as he comes to stand beside him on the stage.
My disgust is almost enough to temporarily make me forget my dread.
Almost.
Licking my dry lips, I remain unblinking, leg starting to bounce as I focus on the scrolling names once more.
BZZZZZT!
Jodine Highbeam.
I start chewing on my thumbnail.
BZZZZZT!
Mavry Stone
Using the back of my hand, I swipe the dampness off my forehead.
BZZZZZT!
Dex Silvers.
Only two more. The odds of one of them being me is practically non-existent, right? Righ—
BZZZZZT!
Alby White.
I freeze.
Stop breathing.
Blink.
Blink again.
My eyes scan the two words . . . then another time. And another.
I’m trying to figure out if my brain has somehow mixed up the letters, if maybe everything is so hazy from the fear in me that my vision is currently impaired—
It hits me.
Oh, holy shit. Holy shit, holy fucking shit—
A high-pitched yelp crawls up my throat and escapes before I can stop it as I feel something prod into my arm, forcefully yanking me back down to earth. I slap my hand over my mouth, but the damage is already done, snickers filling my ears from the students around me.
Face flaming, I look at the boy sat beside me who poked me when he says, “Go on down there, then. That was your name, in case you can’t read either.” His finger points at the large screen, which has already started its search for the tenth and last name.
I swallow down bile and hide my reaction to the insult casually thrown my way as I force myself to my feet, the jelly that is currently my legs leaving me battling with every step I take to the end of the row.
Even though my hair is hardly long enough, I subtly shake my head that hangs as low as usual to try and get some in my face, hoping to gain at least a little coverage from all the probing eyes pointed my way.
Dodging feet and knees, I shuffle along.
I’m mostly left alone when I’m not being picked on by Troy or Aider. But their influence has always spread wide, and some like to join in on the fun every now and then with a comment or two.
Luckily, I wasn’t sat too deep in the row, and I suck in a greedy breath when I escape it.
Moving to the stage down below, I find my place beside Dex, who gives me a pitying look that does absolutely nothing to soothe my nerves.
On my other side, the last Evot generated stops, giving me a tight-lipped smile before wiping a fair hand across her thigh, the limb quivering as much as every one of my own is.
And from the other side of the line we’ve formed, two faces with matching promises of pain and suffering written across them stare straight at me, Aider and Troy’s eyes dancing with sadistic delight.
I’m so dead.