Arena (11 page)

Oh, fantastic.

“Make sure you hold off on getting too physical in front of the cameras,” he continued. “We'll decide when the world is ready for that.”

No problem on the first point, and my ass you will on the second.

I gripped the door and pulled. Six inches open, it stopped dead. I looked up to see what it had caught on and found Rooke's hand bracing the door a foot above my own.

“Shouldn't I get that for you?”

Cute.

Rooke stared down at me as he held the door. My gaze flicked to the wall behind him, where the
Pro Gamer Weekly
cover still shimmered on the screen, and for the first time, I really looked at it. My head rested against his chest, in the crook of his unbuttoned shirt. A coy smirk curved through my lips, the one I'd been taught to portray. A cunning warrior's grin. Still, I couldn't remember smiling like that during the shoot. And Hannah was right. Nestled against the recesses of his muscular build, I did look comfortable.

Rooke leaned toward me and kept his voice low, so our team's owner wouldn't hear. Didn't he know gods were omnipotent?

“We should talk about this.”

“There's nothing to discuss. Clarence made the decision. It's not our choice.”

“But—”

“No. No ‘buts.' That's it. End of discussion.”

I needed time, and space, to process all of this. Time alone. So before he could say anything more, I squeezed through the small gap in the door and jerked the handle as hard as I could, slamming the door shut in his face.

—

Of all the places in the facility, this was the one where I felt most like myself.

I sat on the roof of the central hub above Clarence's office, overlooking the facility. Below me, people moved through the tunnels and hubs, little blips in the windows. An ant farm, and I was the rebel, the five-year-old boy on top of it all. Too bad I didn't have a magnifying glass and a target on Clarence.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, feeling the warm, late-August breeze caress my face. Fresh air. An endless morning sky. This was rebellion, freedom, and countless possibilities.

“Hey.”

So much for freedom.

My shoulders tightened at the sound of someone else on the roof. I glanced behind me to find Rooke strolling across the metal canopy.

“I'm not even going to ask how you knew I was up here, but you can leave,” I said, returning my gaze to the sky. “There aren't any cameras around now.”

“You never know.”

My jaw clenched as he threw my own words back at me. Rooke reached my side and sat.

“You okay?” he asked.

“This is fucking ridiculous.” I exhaled, letting out the steam still coming out of my pores. “Why doesn't he just whip his dick out and piss directly on Nathan's grave.”

“We don't have to go along with it, you know. Image isn't everything.”

I threw my head back as laugher spilled out from deep in my stomach. “You are in the wrong sport. Maybe you should try golf, where they wear plaid pants.”

His face lit up. “Hey, you ever try virtual golf?”

“Oh God, you play virtual golf?” I held up my hands so they blocked his face. “I can't even talk to you now.”

“Everyone needs something to relax. I'm sure you've meditated before.”

My jaw clenched. “If this is about the Taoist thing, just leave it alone.”

He turned to me then, sitting cross-legged, so he faced my profile. “Look, I only mention it because I'm interested.”

“You mean because you're nosy.”

“No. Because I'm interested,” he stressed.

I glanced at him. He stared back, expressionless, like a blank slate. Like he really was just interested in what I'd say.

“I just don't practice it anymore.”

“Why?”

“It doesn't have a place in my life now. I'm in the sport of the future, and I believe in the philosophies of the past?”

He blinked. “Isn't that what a yin yang represents?”

Smart-ass.

“My father taught it to me as a child, okay? I really admired my dad as a kid. I tried to do everything like him. But living in America and practicing Taoism, it's just . . .”

My words trailed off as a knot formed in my throat. As if growing up half and half wasn't hard enough at times. But then, add in anything that made me non-American? Forget about it. Maybe as a kid I didn't care, but as a teen—no way was I keeping Taoism in my life. Try being different in high school. Noticeably, physically different. To everyone. My friends just didn't understand even when they tried, let alone the bullies who seized every opportunity to point out the color of my skin or shape of my eyes—until I'd punch them in the mouth.

Is that American enough for you?

“You know what most people think of meditation?” I began, my voice higher and shakier than intended. “That it's New Age mysticism. That it's magical bullshit. They don't realize it's as old and sacred as prayer.”

I met his eyes then, and we just stared at each other for a while. His expression went hard until he was all jaw and cheekbones. But his eyes looked distant, foreign, as if he'd just peeked at the world through mine, and it was a place brimming with shadows and hate.

“People are stupid,” he finally said. “But not being yourself because of their ignorance is worse.”

My lips split apart, and my insides went cold. He was wrong. So very wrong. In this life, no one was themselves. We were whoever the media and the masses decided we were. In this world, so plastic and fake, what did it matter, anyway?

“If your beliefs came from your father,” Rooke began, eyeing my pendant again, “is the necklace from him, too?”

I glanced down it. The golden pendant shimmered in sunlight, reflecting the brilliance of the sky above us. There were no engravings marking the necklace, front or back. He wouldn't know.

I tucked it in my shirt.

Rooke looked me over, but didn't push it further. Hmm. Arrogant but intelligent. Point for him.

One point.

Rooke turned his attention back to the sky. “I'll admit I have an ulterior motive—”

“Here we go.”

“I got into Asian philosophy when I started studying martial arts, but I've never had someone to talk to about it.” He glanced at me. “I was kinda hoping you were it.”

Given the recent deluge of books at my door, I wasn't that surprised by this little admission. But reading Asian philosophy and playing virtual golf for fun? This guy was as interesting as my grandfather.

“Not all Chinese people care about philosophy,” I told him.

“They're not all Taoists, either. I know.”

I drew a deep breath, one that came from my belly.

“I'd be open for discussions,” I began, “if you're really that desperate.”

He opened his mouth, and I held up a hand.

“Not now. This is about as much coolness as I can handle for one night.”

“Can I ask something else instead?”

“No.”

“You said you're only half-Chinese.”

I blinked. “That's not a question.”

“You said no.”

A scoff stifled the laughter rumbling in my chest. This guy was a pro at getting to me, in a good way.

A good way?

Finally, I sighed.

“My mother's American,” I told him. “My father immigrated here as a teenager and enrolled in the same high school as Mom. Mom said she just couldn't resist helping the cute, foreign boy with his English.”

“And did she?”

“No. Dad spoke English better than she did. But,” I stressed, “that didn't stop him from
pretending
he didn't speak English just to keep her attention.” I winked at him.

Rooke made a sound at the back of his throat, like he was trying to stifle laughter—if he was even capable. “So, what do they do?”

“They're both in engineering. They own a firm back home in San Diego.”

“Do they watch the tournaments?”

“Not really. They're not much for violence, even if it is all virtual. Do yours?”

He nodded. “Yeah. They watch, back home.”

“Which is where?”

“Never mind.”

He grinned one of those grins that stretches from ear to ear. An honest-to-God, wholesome grin. I think it was the first time I'd genuinely seen him smile. Oh, now I had to get it out of him. I nudged his shoulder, hoping to coax out this suddenly playful side of him. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You'll laugh.”

I gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, no. It's one of the square states, isn't it? Which one? Wyoming? Nebraska?” I cringed. “Utah?”

“Canada.”

CANADA? I pressed my lips together, as if it would restrain my giggles. It didn't. I snickered through my nose and had to slap a hand over my mouth to contain the rest.

He frowned. “I told you.”

I giggled more, wiping my eyes. “So, are you from the whole country, or . . .”

He frowned some more. “I'm from Vancouver, okay?”

“Aren't there pro tournaments in Canada?”

“Yeah, but not like here.”

“What do you mean? What's different?”

“It just is,” he snapped, and looked away.

The shimmering mirage of a friendly Rooke faded in an instant. Like the illusion in the desert, apparently I'd gotten too close.

So, leaving home was a sore spot for him. I tucked it away for future consideration. Maybe I'd be able to use it at some point. To my advantage.

If Rooke hadn't snapped, I wouldn't have thought twice about his
reason for coming here. Most gamers came to Los Angeles to play. This was the home of the championships. Sure, people played in their own states and countries. They could plug in and join from anywhere in the world. But this was L.A. This was Hollywood. If you wanted to be noticed, you had to be here.

I turned away and gave him space. Usually, I might have enjoyed pissing him off, but he'd given me an ounce of respect regarding my necklace. If I paid it back now, I wouldn't owe him anything more.

I looked back over the facility again, counting the insects scurrying through the tunnels. In the background, the sun glistened in the sky just over the horizon, highlighting the thousands of vehicles driving themselves through the streets. The warm, morning breeze picked up, pricking at my skin, but stopped suddenly, as if even it couldn't cut through the tension in the air between us.

“I suppose L.A. is the best place to be if you want to go as far as you can,” I tried, “especially in the RAGE tournaments.”

Nothing.

No response. Not even a nod. Okay. I tried. This was over. I threw one last glance out at the city and started to push myself up when he spoke.

“Sorry about your friend.”

His tone was hard and unemotional, and he kept his gaze fixed on the sky, but at least he was talking and trying to keep things civil.

I lowered my butt to the roof. “What?”

“Your teammate. The one who died.”

Nathan. My stomach sank, and I let a slow breath pass between my lips, hoping Rooke wouldn't notice.

“Were you close?” he asked.

What was I supposed to say to that? Tell this guy I was screwing Nathan when we weren't even dating? No. That didn't match my image.

I clicked my fingernails against the roof as I searched for an answer and eventually settled on a neutral one.

“Close enough.”

“Will there be a memorial for him?”

I scoffed. “Didn't you just hear what Clarence said about the whole
thing? The sponsors will never go for that. Can't do anything that might upset the perfect world of gaming. People might realize it's as fake as the worlds we fight in.”

Rooke stared at me for a minute. Maybe it was the first he'd known of it. Sure, there were whispers in the amateur tournaments. Gamers still lost their marbles at that level, too. Not as often, given they didn't put in the same number of hours or deal with the same level of stress. Looked like Rooke was unaware of the dark side of virtual gaming.

Finally, he blinked and shook his head.

“You know, the original gladiators fought for honor.” He waved a hand out at the facility. “Is this honor?”

I smiled at the error in his words. “The original gladiators were slaves and forced to fight. We're not slaves.”

“You signed a contract, didn't you?” He met my eyes, and that dark stare pierced through mine. My stomach turned, though I wasn't sure if it was because of the weight of his words or the weight of his stare.

“Were you surprised when Clarence named you captain?” he asked.

My stomach turned again. Definitely the weight of his words.

“A little, yeah. Knowing him, it's just some marketing scheme.”

“So you don't really care?”

I gnashed my teeth together and pushed down the burning sensation in my stomach.

“Yes,” I strained. “I do care.”

He didn't say anything more. It was silent again for several more minutes before I decided I was done.

“Well, I'm heading in. You?”

“No. Think I'll sit out for a while.”

“All right. See you in the training room.”

He nodded, though he kept his attention on the cityscape. I walked away. A foot from the door, he called out to me.

“Aren't you going to kiss me good-bye?”

I missed a step and stumbled into the door. After steadying myself, I glanced back at him. “Not even if I got that million dollars myself.”

“Some guy could put his kids through college, you know.”

“Yeah, and not much else.”

“Still, you could give someone a chance at a better life,” he continued. “Seven figures is a lot of money to some people. You don't know what kind of impact it could have on another person—”

I left the roof and closed the door on his words. There was no point to returning to the cafeteria now, and I still had half an hour before I had to meet the team in the training room. With all the bullshit of the morning, I was left craving one thing, and it wasn't coffee.