Chapter 21
My alarm shrieks across the room. Early morning light filters through the half-open curtains.
I’m still wearing my clothes from last night because I passed out the second I sat down.
Fortunately, I put my leftovers in the mini fridge before I did.
Unfortunately, this was not an ideal position to sleep in, and I hurt.
I could have spent all night jumping off cliffs, and the outcome would be the same.
Tears spring to my eyes as I push myself up, and I’m deeply grateful that I don’t have to share a room.
I can’t stand for people to see me like this—helpless, hurt, weak.
I try so hard to keep it together, to show that I can do everything and still be okay, to not be a burden on my already overburdened family.
I try so hard to balance it, so hard not to let it bring me down.
The pain still wins. And every time, it feels like my fault for overdoing it, for not being able to handle it.
It’s like the world is spinning out of control, but I put it in motion.
I finally make it upright on the bed, but I cannot stop the sob that overtakes me.
The fear wracks my body. What if I can’t do this?
I have to keep going. I need the money. Being at Circuit Smack was my dream.
I can’t squander it because I’m having a bad pain day.
Even if I only came because of the money, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I want to be here now. I want to win. I can’t ask the team for any more help.
They’re already working hard, even Travis.
I’ve been using my cane more, but I’m still in so much pain.
I’ll have to rest more tonight. If we make it to the championship, I can rest as much as possible while the Last Shot Bot Trot is running.
Pushing through the pain isn’t worth it; I’ll pay the price later.
But this team doesn’t revolve around me, so I have to push through for now.
“On your bad days, who is helping you?” I shudder at the memory of his intense stare. Anger at his boldness courses through me. My heart hurts in a way that has nothing to do with my faulty genetics.
I push myself off the bed with great effort and shuffle towards the shower.
When I get to the booth, there is a small box next to my ring splints, which are laid in a neat row. Something I rarely take the time to do, even if it saves me the time of finding the correct ones for the correct fingers later.
“What’s that?” Sonny asks.
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Chris asks as I stare at the little box with neat lettering. MARI.
“What if it’s a bomb?” Travis supplies unhelpfully. Everyone rolls their eyes.
“Probably a secret admirer,” Fatimah giggles.
“The sooner you open it or throw it in the trash, the sooner we can get to work,” Sonny says.
I’m holding us up now. Even with how slow I was getting up and ready this morning after my little meltdown, I beat everyone down here by a few minutes.
When I noticed the box, I checked over the bot, still in pieces, to make sure nothing had been tampered with.
After I confirmed nothing had been touched beyond my rings, I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
When the team showed up, I had already been staring at it, frozen, for a couple minutes.
“Right, sorry.” I pick it up swiftly and pull the lid off like ripping off a bandage. Inside, in two neat rows, lay purple plastic ring splints, waiting for my hands. The purple matches my hair exactly, and I can tell that they are exact copies of my metal set.
“Those are cool,” Fatimah says, peering over my shoulder. “Are they a present?”
“No. I ordered them and forgot them here last night.” I force a laugh, hoping the lie lands without question.
I slip them onto my shaking fingers, one by one.
Each fits perfectly. He must have made a 3D scan of my metal rings and printed these last night.
He brought his own printer with him. He’s always prepared to make any fix he may need.
My heart hammers as I flex my hands. They don’t pinch or rub.
Even the edges have been filed smooth. The plastic is flexible and sturdy but easily cut.
If they get caught in machinery, they’ll snap apart before I get seriously injured.
My eyes are already raw from the amount of crying I did this morning, and they sting again as I examine the purple plastic hugging my digits. I roll my eyes to the ceiling, begging the tears to stay behind the dam of my lids as I examine the struts of the ceiling.
When my eyes make it back to earth, tears contained, they land on the crafter himself. His lips part as our eyes connect. Even across the large room, electricity crackles over my skin. His mouth closes, and he nods tightly before he turns back to his team. What does any of this mean?
“Earth to Mari.” Travis snaps in my face. He looks extra punchable today.
“Yeah, sorry. I stayed up too late.” I flex my hands again, making sure the ring splints are real. To my continued bafflement, they are.
We set to work on ZetaMax, its new skeletal form beginning to take shape under our hands like Frankenstein’s monster.
Sonny and Fatimah go out in search of the new wheels while Travis, Chris, and I work on finishing the frame and molding the plastic around the bot.
Slowly but surely, it looks like a real robot instead of a pile of spare parts.
Joel appears midday in a flurry of designer clothes and too-loud laughter. “Why is it all just metal still? Where’s the paint?”
“We were getting to that. We were thinking about refreshing the paint scheme away from solid black,” Fatimah tells him.
I run my fingers over the new black plastic wedge. I know it’s a pile of metal and plastic, but it radiates hopefulness. “Since ZetaMax sounds similar to Betamax, we want to lean into that joke—”
“Betamax isn’t a joke. It’s how my dad made his fortune,” Joel says, clenching his fists to compensate for his Botox-still brows.
“The Betamax vibe,” I correct. “And vintage video and game design. Think 1980s arcade. Bold color stripes to add some flair on the black backdrop. The back panel can stay blank so we can still have the Jaxon Electronics logo on it, but it’ll give the bot a chance to stand out.”
“When we win the next two fights,” Chris says with excited sincerity, “we’ll stand out visually to the judges.
If we’re on the edge of being chosen for the championship, it could make a difference.
” While only damage, driving, and aggression are part of the judging criteria, standing out visually makes a difference when it comes down to it.
Joel strokes as he thinks. “Hmmm. As long as the logo stands out, you win, and it doesn’t cost me more, go ahead.” Chris and I high five, Fatimah claps in excitement, and Sonny throws his arm around her shoulder.
After a few more hours of work, a wide-eyed and distracted delivery guy drops off an abundance of Greek takeout at our booth.
“Did Joel send this?” Sonny asks him.
“I don’t know, man. I just pick up the order and drop it off. Is Joel a good tipper?”
“Probably not,” Fatimah says under her breath.
“Well, whoever did left a nice tip.” The driver shrugs. “Enjoy?” he says awkwardly before walking slowly back the way he came, neck craning to see what’s happening in all the different booths.
We clear away the parts on one table and sit down to eat together for the first time since we got here.
It’s always been snacks devoured quickly as we work, coffee chugged as we walk between different equipment stations.
With our jubilant discussion, bellies full, and hopes high, I realize this is how it used to feel.
Building with my friends, showing my dad and sister my latest robot, the nervous excitement of bringing it to the arena.
The hope and determination. The familiar feeling smooths my jagged edges from this morning.
When dinner is done and cleared away, I carry the top armor and front wedge to the paint station and begin taping off the stripes. Having used airbrushes on my own bots, I volunteered for the task.
A pink container from the rainbow rows of paint is set in front of me as I carefully lay the line of tape. “This one matches your hair,” Jacob says. “Well, the bottom of it.”
“You sure spend a lot of time color-matching things to my hair.” There’s a levity in my voice that surprises me as I stand up. Crossing my arms, I lean against the table behind me.
He gives me half a smile, ignoring my comment. “I think it’s your bot more than anyone else’s, especially Joel’s. You deserve to leave your mark on it.”
Not that I want to stick up for Joel in the slightest, but I’m curious. “What’s your problem with Joel?”
He wrinkles his strong nose. “Well, first, he’s the least philanthropic rich guy I’ve ever met.
He doesn’t even pretend to care.” It’s a known fact, and now that I know how cheap he is, it makes sense.
He’s hoarding his wealth, if he really has as much as he seems. “Second, his products are shit. And last ….” He takes a deep breath.
I click my rings together quickly, in time with my rapid pulse.
“He’s a douchebag. An absolutely massive prick.
” He hangs his head in laughter. His eyes twinkle up at me through thick lashes.
I bite my lip, trying to keep my smile in check. My lip balm is sweet on my tongue. “That’s fair,” I snicker. I push off the table and stand straighter. “He is a giant asshole. I’ll give you that.”
“I’ll take anything you’ll give me,” he says with a conciliatory shrug. Huh? He motions to my hands. “Do they fit okay?”
“Did you scan my metal rings?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, but the plastic has an amount of shrinkage while cooling, so I had to scale it up a fraction and—”
“Thank you,” I whisper. Even though I knew it, a confusing current travels through my nervous system at the confirmation. It settles in my belly, buzzing like a beehive. “They fit perfectly.” I should be mad that he touched them without asking, but I’m too grateful for their existence already.
I think a smile might flit across his features, but it’s gone in a blink. He shrugs again. “It’s nothing.”
It’s not nothing. I want to say. Why did you do it? I want to ask. At this point, I’m not sure which “it” I’m talking about anymore. The nice things and the horrible things are stacking up side by side in confusing, unstable towers.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” he says.
He taps the lid of the paint container before he backs away.
“Use this one, though. Even if you deserve a better robot, Zeta is still yours.” I deserve a better robot?
Is that what he’s been trying to say? Like so many of our fights, Jacob has me in a tailspin, and I try to quiet the buzzing in my body to no avail as I grab the pink paint container and get to work.