Chapter 41
Jacob is on the curb waiting for us, pulling me into his arms the second we’re out of the car. “You’re okay. You made it,” he reassures me.
“I am,” I reassure him. “I did.”
“There you are,” says a harried producer as we limp, roll, and walk backstage of the arena. “Not a minute to spare. We were about to give the win by forfeit to TechNova.”
“I told you she would be here,” Jacob tells him, in a tone eerily similar to the ER doctor’s.
The producer blinks slowly and grabs his walkie-talkie. “Team Zeta is here ... Yeah, they’re good to go. Okay, Zeta, you’re on in two minutes.”
“Oh shit, that was close,” Ava says.
“Language,” my dad reminds her. “But yeah, that was fucking close. You got this, Peanut.”
Jacob puts the lanyard of my controller around my neck, fingers skimming my tear-swollen cheek. The electricity between us crackles against my skin, revitalizing my battered body.
If I win this, there’s a chance he and I will fight in the championship. A fact that places a thick lump in my throat as he murmurs, “Unstoppable.”
Ava does a triumphant fist pump. “Let’s kick some bot!”
“Alright, Zeta! You’re on!”
“ZetaMax’s new owner and driver, Mari Williams, is sporting some new hardware of her own as she makes her way to her battle station.”
“That’s right, Mark. Mari had an accident while getting ready for this last fight and almost had to tap out. We’ll find out shortly if this injury will affect her driving tonight.”
From my stool, I watch Jacob offer to help the show crew get Zeta into the arena.
They gladly accept. The surprising muscles of his arms flex as he lifts the 250-pound bot with a couple of other guys off the dolly.
He’s all amiable smiles and laughs with them, knowing them all by name from his repeat appearances over the years.
As he goes to the stands, all the different versions of him swim in front of my eyes—kind and warm, caring and devoted, closed off and viperous.
I close my eyes, willing all the confusing and conflicting versions away.
There’s no reason I should be this conflicted still, but it’s hard to forget the repeated devastation and years of anger. The wariness is muscle memory.
“Zeta, you ready?” the ref asks, and I give him a thumbs up. TechNova is ready, too. Their driver stares me down like looks alone could win the match. They must be bitter about that last-minute entry.
“THREE ... TWO ... ONE ... FIGHT.”
TechNova is aggressive, taking all their frustration of ending up in the trot out on me, but I’m faster.
I can’t hear the crowd, or the announcers, or my family.
All I can hear is my heart skipping every time we get hit.
The lights of the arena dance in front of my eyes like fireworks.
Each hit I give them back is an exhale of relief.
I pursue them relentlessly, blocking out everything else but chasing them like prey.
I hit them until their wheels are in pieces.
Until their weapon stops working. In the final hit, so does mine. They can’t move, but I can.
There are eleven seconds on the clock as the referee counts down.
Ava is hugging me and cheering as TechNova’s driver swears at his controller in futile frustration.
I spin Zeta around in triumph until the batteries run out, and it stops in its tracks.
I’m screaming, too, when it hits zero, fists raised in the air.
There are tears streaking my cheeks as my team, my family, crushes into me.
“ZETAMAX WINS!”
Celia and her camera flood in immediately. “Mari! You won! You’re going to the championship!”
“I’m going to the championship!”
“Incredible last-second victory there, especially given how close you came to tapping out due to your injury. How confident are you in your championship chances?”
“I wouldn’t have entered the Trot if I didn’t think I could win the championship,” I say.
Doubt threads through me, but it’s woven and tangled up with confidence, secure in the knowledge that I know what I’m doing, and I know how to win.
I can’t pull one thread without the other, so I’ll have to wear them together.
“The championship is the best of the best. It’ll be tough, but Zeta and I are just getting started. ”
“Ava, I can’t breathe. Ava, seriously,” I croak.
“Okay, okay. I’ll miss you, so I had to pack all the hugs for the next couple of weeks into that one.”
“We talk literally every day.”
“So?”
My dad swoops in for a hug of his own. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back with us? Take a break for a couple of days?”
“It’s easier to stay,” I tell them. Long car rides are hard on my body, and Zeta needs a lot of work and prep for the championship. “Thank you for all your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I wish we could stay for the rest of it.” Their lives are waiting for them at home. Work and school come before robot building. It usually does for me, too, but I’m trying something new, I guess.
“It’s okay; I can do it.”
My dad is solemn. “I know you can, Peanut.”
We all hug again, saying our farewells, so I don’t have to get up early to see them off in the morning.
In the elevator, I sag against the wall, exhausted. With the adrenaline of injury and winning finally wearing off, pain radiates from my knee through my entire leg. And like many things with this disability, the tradeoff of having the crutches for my knee means they’re hurting other parts of me.
Jacob is waiting for me when I get to my room, patiently leaning against the door. “What are you doing here?”
He holds out a bag of takeout. “Wanted to make sure you ate something.” His expression is soft but doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he examines me with concern. I’m grateful as I let us inside.
I’m ravenous the moment I smell the food.
It’s the same Greek restaurant that was delivered to our booth earlier in the competition.
I can hardly taste how delicious it is through the haze of my crashing energy.
I’m swaying, barely awake, as he takes the takeout container from me.
“Come on, let’s get you into something more comfortable. ”
“I can do it,” I say, not even convincing myself.
“Where are your pajamas?”
“Grab me a shirt from that drawer.” He comes back with an oversized, black crop top, soft and perfect. Jacob cleans up while I maneuver myself out of my clothes with all the grace of a chimp building a rocket. I re-wrap my leg and decide to give up the idea of a shower tonight.
He hands me a pillow to elevate my knee. “Do you want me to stay or go?”
My voice is pathetically small. “Stay. Please.” Maybe it’s unfair to ask. I know I’m crashing hard, and I won’t make for good company.
He kisses me on the forehead. “Of course.” He undresses and crawls into bed beside me, steady and warm in the chilly hotel air. “I’m not going anywhere.”