Page 173 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

He does, lifting his arm and bending it at the elbow so his forearm is vertical, straightened hand pointing at the ceiling. Tiger snatches up his tablet that he’s brought and which he cheered about finally having a use for earlier, clicking onto the music app and selecting the opening song for the Halfway Ball dances, the classical music instantly filling the space around us.

“I would not bother with this unless I thought everyone would be anticipating it. Dances such as these are only expected within Bonded groups whose dynamics prompt it. Of course, Player 22’s group, for example”—my stomach turns at just the mention of Aider—“contains three men, and while it would be encouraged they dance if they were romantic, no one will care whether they do or do not as it is widely assumed throughout The Bonding Games’ audiences that they are platonic.” She pauses. “Unfortunately, there are too many speculations, assumptions, and too much excitement for our group, so we must do this.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Cooper mutters, visibly affronted, arms crossed grumpily over his chest. A part of me feels like doing the same in a more subtle, pathetic manner.

“Is it really that bad?” I whisper before I can stop myself, and all the focus shifts to me. I gulp. “I-I just mean, is it— Are you embarrassed by us? O-or—”

“Let me stop you right there.” Ezla holds up a hand. She’s pissed, I can tell. “Do not let your insecurities interfere with this. There is nothing wrong with you—you are perfect. You are the most impressive Evots I have ever encountered.”

Five jaws drop through the ground.

She says all of this like it’s simple facts we should’ve known. Not as if she’s making all of us fall even harder for her as she compliments us like we really mean something to her. It’s not easy to be praised by the Champion—not that I ever really think of her with that term, because it makes her feel more distant when that’s what the rest of the world calls her. But that’s who she is. And I’m proud to call her mine.

“It is not good . . . because my father will be there.” There’s almost . . . caution in her tone.

All my senses go on high alert, warning alarms blaring, flashing bright red.

Of course, Cooper latches onto her words the most aggressively, always trying to figure out the next secret of hers, to discover anything and everything locked away inside our Bonded that she doesn’t want anyone to see. “And it’s a problem he’ll see you dancing with us? Your Bonded? He got a problem with Evots?” He steps forwards, readying to march over to her, but somehow manages to stay put as his brows dip even lower on his next words: “Other men?”

My eyes dart between him and Ezla like a ping-pong ball. There’s always the chance that interactions between them could get very, very messy.

“Does he not like you with other men, Vengeance? Is he—”

“ENOUGH!”

Her enraged shout is the loudest, most deadly, I’ve heard to date.

Cooper’s mouth snaps shut, jaw grinding.

“I will not discuss my father with you. We must practice.” She dismisses him, helmet turning away. “Scotty.”

After a brief, uncertain pause, Scotty raises the arm that had fallen sometime during Cooper’s outburst back up, and thankfully, the latter moves back to the wall, though his dark eyes drill into Ezla furiously.

I want to know everything about our Bonded and the situation with her father, too. From what I already do know, I feel sick, and it seems as though we’ve only scratched the surface of her trauma. But I can tell Cooper’s line of questioning was far too much, and I do wonder . . . Was it also far too accurate?

***

The next day, we’re fighting Ezla again in our private training room, and in my opinion, we’re doing much better than before. And I think she thinks so too.

I’ve even managed to land a few hits, which I despise as much as I feel pride and happiness at achieving something so impossible, not liking hurting her, even if it’s not anything extreme.

And even if the only reason I was able to do so in the first place is because Ezla is fighting four of us at once.

After Game 3, my Score nudged up a little to 73. I’m super proud, and so is everyone else, I know. But I’m still behind them all: Tate’s Score is now a whopping 91, Scotty’s an 89 along with his brother’s—who’s now often having the time of his life boasting about being on the same level as him after so many years—and Cooper’s is an 88. It’s currently everyone but Tate moving, and we’re definitely making progress—to the point I think we could pin Ezla if he was working with us.

My heart leaps when I think we’ve got her, Cooper managing to twist her arm behind her back while Scotty, Tiger, and I distract her like we’d agreed in some sort of silent conversation I can apparently now understand as well as the Gold brothers have been able to for years.

But Ezla throws Cooper’s entire body weight over her shoulder, and he soars straight into Scotty and Tiger where they’d been going in for the kill.

Curses, grunts, and groans sound out as the three of them go down in a painful heap, and I’m ashamed to say I don’t even try to get near Ezla after that, but it seems more stupid and humiliating to attempt it: I’m much stronger than I used to be, my body more muscled—although it’s definitely going to stay on the slimmer side, which I’m learning day by day to accept and, even better, actually like with all Ezla shows me I can do with the agility it helps provide—and my Score could actually be higher than it was a few days ago, though I won’t know for sure until after my performance is studied in Game 4. But that doesn’t change the fact that my Bonded’s Score is in another universe in comparison to mine.

“Up. You are improving. That was almost a challenge.”

“Almost,” Cooper scoffs as he struggles out of the tangle of limbs, Scotty helping his brother to his feet afterwards.

“I will allow everyone to fight me today,” that robotically modified voice says dispassionately. “Together.”

Everyone zones in on her at once, perking up like dogs.