Chapter 5
I hold my swollen hands under the cold water.
It doesn’t exactly help, but it feels better momentarily.
We made good progress today, and I’m more confident than when I got here yesterday and saw the pile of parts.
But I’m tired; today was a long day. My feet, hips, and back are sore.
My hands are even worse. Maybe there will be drinks at this mandatory-fun “welcome party.” Can’t have too much fun, though.
I have my technical writing project to work on tonight, too.
I am definitely not thinking about our first fight and who it’s against.
I sigh as I dry my hands and grab my room key and my cane.
Fatimah is in the hall as I step out of my room. “I figured you were in this hall, too,” she says as we walk towards the elevator. “Our entire team is. Minus Joel, who said he has a presidential suite somewhere that ‘isn’t the slums.’”
“Wow,” I laugh. “I wonder what it’s like to have that kind of money.”
“I wish I knew. I heard he’s incredibly cheap.
One of my colleagues used to work closely with him and said he was constantly trying to seem like he spent a lot, but he’s broke.
He’s got a Rolex, but everything else he wears is a knockoff.
Orders a coffee and adds the free cream and sugar to make a fancier drink because he doesn’t want to pay for one.
That sort of stuff,” she giggles as we board the elevator.
“Hell, the stipend he gave us for travel wasn’t even enough for a flight. ”
That’s why I drove. I shake my head in disbelief. “It’s weird we’re not even using his electronics on the robot, right? Though I’ve written some of the technical documentation for his company. I don’t know if we’d be better off.”
“According to Travis, he’s the smartest man alive, and we don’t understand his genius,” she snickers as the elevator door opens. “Travis!” She greets the greasy man waiting outside the elevator doors. “You didn’t have to wait for us.”
“Didn’t want you lovely ladies to get lost on the way to the arena,” he says with a smirk as we step out.
His eyes crawl over Fatimah lecherously before flitting to me.
He stares openly at the way my black denim skirt clings to my thighs and frames my round, hanging belly.
It doesn’t bother me, but I roll my eyes just to let him know he’s on thin ice.
He turns on his heel and leads us through the hotel to the audience doors to the Circuit Smack arena.
Fatimah catches my eye, rolls her eyes dramatically, and makes a gagging motion.
The doors to the arena are roped off, and we give our names to a large security guard before entering. My heartbeat ratchets up to an impossible tempo as I walk through the doors I have dreamed about for most of my life.
There it is. The arena. The battle box. The space around is packed with contestants and crew, tables scattered around the space, and a couple temporary bars. But all I can focus on is the arena, lit up in all its showtime glory.
It’s magnificent. Nothing could have prepared me for how big it actually is.
Though I knew the dimensions were forty-five feet by forty-five feet, with twenty-five-foot-high, thick, shatterproof, and fire-resistant, clear plastic walls, it seems even bigger in person.
The black frame of the arena is inlaid with glowing neon strips of pink and teal and edged with gleaming chrome, giving it the vibes of a super-sized ?80s arcade cabinet.
The surrounding floor is covered in black carpet with colorful geometric shapes and squiggles reminiscent of the same era.
I thought it looked cool on TV, but in person it’s breathtaking.
I find a bar top table close to the arena, slide into the seat, and stare at it in awe, my reflection is teal and pink on the plastic.
Fatimah appears and hands me a watered-down but free drink. “I never really cared much about being here, but it is incredible, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I croak.
How could she see this and still not care?
Every cell in my body has wanted this since I saw it on television as a kid.
Every robot I’ve ever built since I realized I could make one of my LEGO creations move has been so I could get here.
I’m a fool for not trying harder. I tried but clearly not hard enough.
I love Ava, and I love my dad, but after my mom left, my life never stopped revolving around them.
His mom died shortly after, too. My dad struggled with depression and coped by throwing himself into his work.
Not that he could do anything else—he suddenly had to make ends meet as a single parent with a small business.
I gave up the chance to go to more prestigious colleges so I could stay home to help with Ava.
She wasn’t even three years old when Mom left. I couldn’t leave her, too.
As time went on, Dad became more present in our lives again.
As frustrated as I felt, I never judged him.
I was happy to have him back, so that Ava wouldn’t miss out on the same father I got.
But as a small business owner, he was never less busy, especially after he was forced to cut staff.
Then Ava started transitioning, and it was even more important for me to be around to support her.
Then Dad’s accident happened almost four years ago now.
Nothing like $80,000 dollars in medical bills to make a tight budget even tighter. Even after financial assistance.
Not to mention all the time and money it takes to keep my continually deteriorating body moving. Even ignoring half the things I should deal with, it’s time-consuming and expensive to be disabled. Physical therapy, medications, braces, supports.
I tried. I tried for years to find a balance.
I moved out. Sure, it was only a couple blocks away and over Dad’s shop, but I still did it.
I tried to date, but no one understood my responsibilities.
I kept building my robots and competing, even when I was exhausted.
Ava got into bots as well, which made it easier to continue.
Then Jacob came back and changed everything about that, too.
Now I’m thirty-two, single, and working two jobs. All I have is a car, a closet full of clothes, a busted body, and a couple of small robots to my name.
I should have tried harder. How could I forget how much I wanted this?
How could I let anyone stop me from getting here?
I should have found a way to fight more.
I could have worked on my bots during every break instead of just some.
I’m burned out, and I don’t even have anything to show for it.
I’m terrified we’ll lose, but I’m here. I’m at Circuit Smack.
I have to make the most of it, even if it’s in less-than-ideal circumstances.
I will make the most of it.
I hear Fatimah’s name called. “I’m going to go say hi; I’ll be back,” she says before darting away.
“Yeah, no worries,” I say, finally pulling my gaze away from the arena, unable to stand my reflection anymore.
I scan the room and see a host of familiar faces among the hundreds of people.
Some people I recognize from Circuit Smack episodes, smaller bot fighting circles, online forums, and various spaces.
However, there are plenty of people I don’t know.
I zone out while I let the cold drink soothe my tired hands.
My mind whirls around the amount left to do on the bot.
The team is making progress, but while other teams are doing test drives, we’re still building.
I’m desperately hoping tomorrow’s weapons and drive check goes well.
We’ll likely end up running a vertical disk as our weapon most of the time.
“Mariah, right?” A cute guy I recognize from Team Blade Roller has snuck up on me, shy curiosity enveloping him. He’s got dimples framing his tentative smile. His eyes flick over me before he’s back at my face.
A long shadow appears before I can begin to speak. “Mari,” Jacob says as he approaches. “Her name is Mari.”
The hair on my neck rises as my knuckles go white around my glass. Would tackling another contestant get me kicked off the team?
“Right,” Cute Guy says. “Mari. I, uh.” He looks nervously at Jacob. “I saw your fight against Hot Potato on the Twin Cities stream the other week. I was wondering if you know what kind of motor Dave’s using on his new shuffler? He doesn’t answer emails.”
“You’re seriously asking her about someone else’s bot right now, Tom?
” Jacob scoffs. “She shredded Hot Potato like tissue paper, and you’re asking about someone else’s bot?
She’s the runner-up for the last four years in the Midwest Bot Tournament, as well as a two-time champion, and you’re asking about a plastic potato?
” His perfectly defined jaw twitches as he scowls at Tom.
What the fuck is happening? The shock knocks the wind out of me. He hasn’t talked to me in years. Yesterday, he couldn’t wait to tell everyone I wasn’t going to win. Now, he’s defending me?
“It’s fine,” I say to Tom.
Tom nervously shuffles his feet. “Sorry.” Jacob’s glare is ice-cold. “You know what? I’ll try Dave’s email again,” he says before making a hasty retreat.
It’s my turn to glare at Jacob, but with Tom gone, he’s unbothered, even at ease, as he stands as tall as a building over me.
I hate to admit it, but Jacob is as handsome as ever.
It’s infuriating. He’s not even looking at me, instead scanning the room, but I know the dark silver of his eyes as well as I know the blue of my own.
His artfully messy black waves are a torrent of shadows, highlighted pink and teal by the arena lights.
I have no idea how he finds the time to work out, given how busy he seems, but clearly, he does.
The pushed-up sleeves on his hoodie tell the truth of his strength, the gently worn cuffs stretch over his forearms deliciously.
It only makes him hotter, and it’s entirely unfair.
My mouth waters traitorously at the sight of him and the thought of his stubbled jaw rasping under my lips. Get a grip, Mari.
All I wanted to do was avoid him, and now, for the second time in two days, he is talking to me.
Not only that, but I have to fucking fight him.
I just wanted my chance in the arena, as drama-free as possible.
I’m sitting feet away from the place where I will make my dream of fighting at Circuit Smack come true in less than forty-eight hours, and all the excitement has been sucked out of me.
He’s here to watch me fail. Here to take every chance from me, again.
I’m going to lose to him, and no one will be surprised.
“He was just trying to make conversation.”
Jacob is unreadable as his gaze finally stills. “You shouldn’t waste your time with people like him.”
“I don’t even know Tom,” I mutter. Who does he think he is telling me who I can and can’t talk to?
“I was talking about Joel,” he deadpans.
I follow his line of sight and see Joel talking boisterously as he shares a bottle of champagne with the show organizers. His expensive watch flashes in the light. It costs more than I make in a year. Probably costs more than our robot. “Oh.”
We used to know how to talk to each other.
We used to know how to be friends. I still don’t know what happened.
Neil, a mutual friend, as well as Jacob’s best friend and team member, had said they barely talked after Jacob moved away, but they were as thick as thieves again when he returned.
Maybe it was just me he soured on. Certainly, everything he’s done since then has proven it.
Between avoiding me, making rude comments, and lying to everyone, our friendly past seems like it was only a dream.
Jacob takes a slow sip of his drink, tongue darting out to taste the remnants on his lip as he pulls the glass away. I hate how captivated I am by the action. “How’s the build coming?” he asks.
The first time he’s talked directly to me in eight years, and of course, it’s to get the details on our robot. My body temperature and anger rise a degree with each word. “Worried about your chances?”
His gaze comes back to mine, settling with a weight that makes me a little breathless, though I cannot even begin to parse what his expression means.
“I didn’t believe anything Joel Jaxon has a hand in was worth worrying about until you showed up.
” His voice is low, and the commotion of the room makes it sound like a growl.
If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s jealous.
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leans closer like he’s about to tell me a secret. My traitorous body mirrors him. It’s been so many years, and I still can’t break the habit of paying attention to him, even as much as I hate him now. I’m as angry at myself as I am at him.
His face is as cold and sharp as jagged stone. “It means: what are you doing here, Mari? A team like that isn’t the place for you.”
Suddenly, I’m standing in front of him all over again. You’ll never be a good fit for this team reverberates in my head. The words erode me like waves on a shoreline. My hands shake as I set my drink down with a thud.
“Mari, hey!” Neil appears next to Jacob.
“Been a while.” He smiles at me. He’s got a warm smile, coffee-colored eyes, and shaggy, brown hair.
He’s tall and strong, with a generous, gorgeous layer of padding rounding and softening him.
He’s a welcome sight most of the time. Right now, he’s a reminder of the past. There was a time when all three of us hanging out was normal and fun. “How are you?”
“Hey, Neil,” I say, sliding off my seat, grabbing my cane from where I hooked it on the back of my chair. “It’s good to see you. I was just leaving, though.”
He looks at Jacob, and their puzzled expressions match.
I’m shaken from the dichotomy of the fake, smiling interview yesterday to this cold, classic Jacob. I abandon my drink and quickly push through the crowd and back out of the arena doors.
It’s only when I’m back in my room that I can breathe again. Why is he still throwing me off balance so hard after all these years?