Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [95]
There are certain people I could talk to in my head who might try to convince me that I should or shouldn’t fight today and that this avatar idea is frantic or clever or chickenhearted or right. I could reach out to Tommy’s spirit, I could wrestle with Allison’s, but that’s just battling myself in a way. And I have to stop doing that and get a clear mind. And I have to accept that even if I pull this off, people, a whole lot of people—maybe tabloid-reading millions?—will have opinions about me, most of them pretty whacked.
I can see most everything through the gate, except for the stadium seats above and behind me of course. The night sky is overly dark and with the lights, it’s impossible to find the moon or stars. The air is muggy. I know from being in the seats that no one can see me in my corridor waiting for this gate to lift. Standing here, I’m thinking passages of birth and death, water bottles and alter egos, the screwed-up life I’ve lead—when someone grips my shoulder from behind. I quickly spin round and grab my heart to stop the pressure. Uber’s in gear, in his part.
—Don’t creep up on me like that, I say.
—I have to talk fast, he whispers. —I know you’ve gone to a million matches, but it’s a little different when you’re in the arena. You’ve got to be ready for anything.
The one eye is still covered by a patch, gauze visible around its edges. He touches my arm and his hand is warm. I’m aware that he’s taking a huge risk being here. There are rules about opponents conferring before a match. There are rules.
—They could send a lion out, another warrior. Watch the gates, he says.
—But the contract states . . .
He shakes his head.
—Caesar’s doesn’t care. Just assume that anything that enters the arena is there to take you, or your avatar, out. I never wear glasses in the arena, but I’m great with shapes. If I see something coming your way, I’ll signal. I’ve told Mark if that happens, he has to be quick and aggressive. There’s no time to stop and think.
—No time to think, I say, suddenly aware that I am trying to memorize his face. The marks in his face. If I had a mirror, I would memorize my own. We are fleeting at best.
—If you end up in the arena, he says, and hands me a small vial.
—Poison? You want me to take poison?
—Rub it on your arms and legs. It’s an anesthetic. It will numb your skin, but it won’t last long.
I feel pinpricks in my feet now, as if they’re going asleep.
He leans in and kisses me on one temple, like I’m his sister or his girlfriend. And I go with this momentary impulse and grab him by the armor and hug him briefly, kiss his unscarred cheek.
—It’ll be over soon, he says.
I almost say, That’s what worries me, but just then Lyn walks up behind Uber, pats him on the back, though he can’t feel this, I know. But he can see I’m staring at something, and he turns.
—Wish me luck too? she asks.
He looks from one to the other of us. I should have asked her to wear the sunglasses. Her eyes still have that unreal quality and she’s a little too bright in the corridor.
—I’ll try to go easy on you, she says to Uber.
But Uber appears to have lost his sense of humor. —I hope you know what you’re doing, he tells me.
—Probably best if you don’t say anything in the arena, I tell her.
She just laughs. —But this is my big moment.
—Please, I say. —For Thad.
for thad.
Uber gives me a concerned look and says, —I have to go.
He takes off at a run through the passageways.
It’s hard to express how completely disconcerting her look is, especially since it’s almost my look. It’s like standing in front of a mirror, only the mirror walks and talks and goes into battle for you.
—We’re just sparring, right? Lyn asks.
How can I feel remorse over what I’m doing to her?
—That’s the idea, I say. —Take your time. Pace yourself.
Just then the horns ring out. We see Uber step into the arena from a gate opposite ours. The crowd goes manic. Popcorn and crazy hats are tossed into the