Arena (32 page)

—

Inside his office, Clarence paced over the same line so many times, I thought he'd actually wear a path into that industrial-strength carpet. His blazing red skin and snorting breaths made me think of a bull from an old-fashioned cartoon.

“What the hell was that?” His eyes remained fixed on the floor as he fired the question at me. “You can't just announce that you're leaving.”

“Oh, you mean that wasn't cut from broadcast?” I asked, suppressing my grin. I sat in the chair, the same one where I'd been named captain, and watched him pace. “By the way, my contract was only one season.”

“Contracts only last for one season in case the player doesn't work out for the owner.”

“Well, that goes both ways, doesn't it?”

Clarence stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at me. Then his face returned to the same angered expression it held before. “You don't like me? Fine. That doesn't mean you announce that you're leaving on my time. No one quits these games. Not by choice.”

“I seem to be a first for a lot of things.”

He scoffed. “Like declaring all that bullshit about drugs in this game?”

“Hey, I wasn't the one to announce it. And it's not bullshit anymore.”

“As far as anyone knew, it was.”

I narrowed my eyes at him but kept an even and innocent tone to my voice. “You mean you've never had a member of your team lose their mind or dabble in drug usage?”

Clarence shook his head, but if it was from denial or overflowing rage, I wasn't sure.

“So,” I continued, “you're saying you've never falsified drug testing. Are you sure you want me looking into that?” Clarence didn't answer, but he snorted again. I cleared my throat and remained calm. “The world knows about Nathan now, even if you've forgotten him.”

Even as the words left my mouth, my brain wouldn't register the impact. The world knew the truth. About Nathan. About gamers. About the virtual world. Finally, things would begin to change. For the better. Not for the owners. Not for the sponsors.

For us. For gamers.

Speaking of the sponsors . . .

“Besides,” I continued, “who do you think the sponsors are going to be interested in now? You, or me?”

Clarence sat in his chair as if it would somehow contain his fury. He swiveled a few times, hand over his mouth as he thought to himself. “You won't see a penny of the winnings. I don't have to pay you anything.”

“I have a contract that says you do.” I stood from the chair. “I expect my share of the winnings or every tabloid in the world will know how you never paid the first female captain in history to win a championship.” I leaned toward him across the desk and lowered my voice into a rolling growl that would have made a tiger tremble.

“People will love it.”

Clarence's face blanched, and his eyes darted around like cornered pray. His lower lip trembled. Barely, but enough. Then his lips twisted into a scowl, and he stood up from his desk.

“Get the hell out of my facility.”

I smiled at him, enjoying how real it felt to smile. Not a condescending smile. Just a genuine, happy smile.

Happy, because I was free.

When I turned to leave his office, I paused at the door and studied the poster of yours truly hanging next to it.

“What are you doing?” Clarence demanded.

I glanced back at him and shrugged.

“Packing.”

I pulled the poster off the wall, rolled up the screen in my hands, and walked out.

—

I walked through the hallways toward my bunk, screen under my arm, with the heavy realization that I was leaving this place just beginning to settle over me. Weeks ago, did I ever think I'd be here? No. I never thought I'd leave. Ever. But now, it felt good.

It felt right.

When I rounded the corner, Rooke stood leaning against my bunk door.

“Are you really leaving?”

“Yes.”

I entered the code on my bunk, and Rooke followed me in. He sat on my bed, and I placed the rolled-up poster next to him. He peered down at it with uncertainty but didn't ask.

“When are you going?” he asked.

“Sooner than you'd think,” I said, wrestling a pair of metal suitcases out of a compartment. “Clarence just kicked me out.”

Rooke stood up off the bed and raised his voice. “He can't do that.”

“Yes, he can.” I slapped the suitcases down on the bed and flipped them open.

“That's ridiculous.”

I agreed but said nothing as I folded up training gear, red-carpet outfits, and everything in between and piled them neatly in the suitcases.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked.

“Home, to visit my parents for a while.”

He nodded. “San Diego. Right. Are you leaving right away?”

I motioned at the room. “I can't really stay here.”

“We can get a hotel room for the night, and rent you a car tomorrow,”
he offered. “You can't leave now. We just won a national championship. I think we have some celebrating to do.”

I gave him a sly glance. “You mean, with our teammates?”

“Uh, sure, but I'd prefer if they were in another room.”

I laughed.

I reached under my bed, retrieved a stack of hardcover books, and held them out to him.

“These are yours.”

He glanced down, and pushed them back until they bumped against my stomach.

“Keep them.”

My mouth dropped. “But . . . I can't.”

He took them from my hands and placed them inside a suitcase. “Yes, you can. I don't know how to say this without sounding weird, but I think you're starting on some sort of path.” He nodded down at the books. “Maybe they'll help you along the way.” He pushed his hands in his pockets. “So, your own team? What brought that on?”

I thought for a minute and finally gave up. “I don't know. I just decided right then. It felt like the right thing to do. Is that strange?”

He shook his head. “For a lot of people, maybe. But you know who you are now. You know what matters to you and where you want to go in life. So it just came naturally to you.”

I considered his words. “A wise man once said, ‘When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.'”

He shook his head. “I don't remember saying that.”

We laughed together.

“So,” he began, “do you really think you'll do this? Create a team?”

“Yeah. I don't know how yet, but I'll find a way.”

I would find a way. Clarence was right about one thing. Gamers never quit. At twenty years old, an entire world of possibilities stood before me. I'd won a national championship. As the first female captain to claim the title, sponsors would be throwing themselves at my feet. Everyone would want me to represent their products. I'd have my choice. Those who'd get me would bow down to my terms, not the other way around. And with
their money, along with what I'd won from the championship, I could build my team. Living on our own. Playing whatever games we wanted. Creating our own images, or none at all.

Having fun the entire time.

I already had four other players ready to stand by my side, and I had a vision. Now, I just had to bring them together. Take two halves and make them whole. Luckily, I'd gotten pretty good at doing exactly that.

I finished packing and shut the last suitcase. Together, we lugged my belongings down the hall, toward the door we'd snuck pizzas through.

“I'm just going to visit my folks for a little while,” I told him. “I'll be back in L.A. in a few weeks to find a place to live. You aren't getting rid of me that easily.”

I playfully nudged his shoulder, and he grinned.

“I'll call,” he offered.

“You better.”

His grin grew wider. Then, it faltered as he grew serious. He set my suitcases down and turned to me. “With everything and anything you're planning, you know I'll be there, right?”

“I know.”

“And . . . I'm kinda proud of you.”

“I know that, too.”

He took me into his arms and pulled me tight against him. I didn't protest. I melted into him. I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations. His strong arms enveloping me. The perfect way I fit into the crook of his chest. He pulled back and brushed his lips against mine once, then twice. Three times. Like hell, I'm a lady.

He picked up my suitcases, shoved the door open with his shoulder, and held it for me with his foot. I started to move forward, and paused.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

This wasn't just about creating my own team, or figuring out my path in life. This was about something more.

I could change everything.

They say you have to know the problems, really live them, to understand how to fix them. Good thing I'm so stubborn, because there was a lot in
need of repair. Gamers deserved the same rights as any athlete. Respect. Freedom.

Safety.

From the industry, the owners, and themselves. It was time to prove we'd earned it. And if no one else was going to fight for it, I would. I'd fight until the world knew our story. Not one of the glitz and glam of the red carpet. Not one of magazine covers, television interviews, and all-night parties. No. They would know one of hard work and perseverance. Of unfair treatment, sponsorship abandonment, and life inside the games. One day, everyone would know the truth, and apparently, I was the one to speak the word.

My voice would be heard, even if I had to scream louder than anyone else. I'd brought my opponents to their knees in the arena. I was sure I could do the same in any office, boardroom, or conference center, and I wouldn't even have to wait until Saturday night to do it. The thought itself made me smile. I'd done a heck of a lot of smiling lately. Maybe that was my new standard programming.

It would take time to accomplish everything. Years, probably. I glanced down at the break between the facility's exit and the concrete sidewalk. If a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, this was mine.

I smiled at Rooke.

“Nothing's wrong. Absolutely nothing.”

I stepped forward, crossed the line, and walked outside, into the real.

THE END

PERCENTAGE OF GAME COMPLETED: 100%

THANK YOU FOR
PLAYING

First, thanks to Leon Husock for believing in the book, and to Anne Sowards for making the story stronger than I ever thought it could be.

Thanks to my family for your love and support over all these years, especially my mom for teaching me the importance of books, and my dad for teaching me the importance of
Star Trek
.

Thanks to Jessica Parker, Jessica Farwell, Melinda Moore, and Shari Klase for cheering me on and putting up with messages, blog posts, and e-mails that consisted almost entirely of updates about my writing.

Big thanks to Joe Walker and Jason Rush for reviewing and critiquing this novel in its early stages. You're braver souls than most.

Thanks to Michelle Hauck, Michael Anthony, S.C., and the Query Kombat team for all you do in helping writers achieve their dreams. This is in print because of you.

Lastly, thanks to Chris Sedlacek for always knowing I'd be a writer, even when I
didn't.

Holly Jennings
is a self-proclaimed nerd and lover of all things geeky and weird. She was the firstborn to a sports enthusiast, and it was soon discovered that the only games she'd ever learn to master involved consoles and controllers. Her childhood was spent crushing virtual foes, racing on simulated tracks, and rescuing digital princesses. As a young adult, she fell in love with English class, speculative novels, and comic books, which inspired her to create stories of her own. Eventually, her passions converged and she started writing about the future of video games. She lives in Canada.

For more information, please visit Holly at authorhollyjennings.com or follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/HollyN_
Jennings.

Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!