by Danny Lasko
“Dude! Did you dump Linus Sob in a lake?!” cries Maypole.
“You guys, you didn’t see anything else?” I ask, trying not to show any real interest.
“No, everyone was gone.”
“What is it, man?” asks Tommy. “Where’s Annie?”
“Home, I guess,” I answer with a sigh. Tommy peers at me.
“What do you mean, home?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I search out a donut. A fourth-year grabs the last one just as I reach for the plate.
“What happened last night, man?” Tommy asks again. But to my rescue, a smiling culinary student with brown hair dangling off her forehead presents me with a plate of baked beauty that takes my breath away and gives me reason to ignore questions from Tommy Briggs.
To call them éclairs would be like calling the statue of David a big rock. I bite into the soft, sweet bread and let my teeth drown in the hidden custard. The chocolate melts at the warmth of my tongue, and soon my whole mouth is clogged with the sugared mess. With each bite, the freer I feel. I hand over the plate to Tommy, who happily forgets his questions and immediately digs into one. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he sings. “It’s good to be you, Sooth.”
I wonder if that’s really true.
The culinary students bring out even more doughnuts and muffins, fresh from the massive kitchens in the art branch. After gorging on sugar and orange juice, the party thins, and I’m able to sneak away to read the webs.
Yep, everyone’s discussing the sack. They talk about everything else, I guess, but that’s what I see. I spend the next two hours surfing through the coverage. Every major news outlet in every state is reporting it, mostly regurgitating the original stories by Billy Jack and other local reporters. Some stories are about the reactions of fans in different states and the nation’s capital, and it’s all positive.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” says the familiar fast-talking voice. Billy Jack comes over and sits next to me.
“I don’t even know what that means anymore,” I answer, still surfing through news.
“Don’t worry. Everyone loves Horatio Gaph. And will even more when they find out what happened this morning.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Relax, kid. Magistrate Gravus brought me in. I’m making the announcement in about twenty minutes. I came to see if you have a comment.” He pulls out a small recorder and tilts it toward me.
“I’d rather not,” I say, but Billy Jack sticks a microphone in my face anyway. “I’m overwhelmed and grateful to the Synarch, thrilled for the District of Allen, my team, and the academy. I’m just really happy we found our way out.”
“The Escape lived up to its name.”
“Yeah, it did.”
“That should work great. Thanks, kid.”
I turn back to the webs, hoping the conversation doesn’t head where I think it will. But that’s just wishful thinking.
“How’d the family take the news?”
“They’re excited,” I lie.
“Yeah?”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“Who wouldn’t be, indeed?” Billy’s pulling for something, like he knows more than he’s saying, but he wants me to say it first. Whatever he knows, to tell him the truth would just blow him away. I can’t even imagine what he would say if I told him I’d been recruited for some fairy-tale adventure.
“Thanks for the quote,” he says, putting the mic back. “By the way, I’ll see you in Revolution.”
“You?”
“Yep. Yours truly has been promoted to the pros, specifically to keep my eye on you! You may not have noticed, but no one knows more about you than I do.”
“Is that right?”
“I’m pretty sure I know more about you than you know about you. Scary, eh?”
“I think I’m in good hands.”
“Good answer.”
“Congrats to you, too, Billy.”
“See you around, kid.”
There’s something in Billy’s voice, his half-smile, something about the way he turns and plods out of the room. Labored somehow, as though his body suddenly got heavier. Did I give something away? What does he really know about me? Religion has been outlawed in New Victoria for forty years. But the fact that my family believes they are Children of Hamelin takes it to a whole new level of potential ridicule and persecution. It would cost them their residence in a Citizen city. It may get them the Rim for their trouble. And the Synarch would demand I denounce them, which I don’t want to think about.
Billy makes the announcement just as he said he would. He uses the quote I gave him tastefully and praises the decision by the Synarch and the League officials. Dancing in the streets of Allen commences and doesn’t stop until I’m safely on board a train to the West Coast, to Revolution, New Victoria’s capital.
My parents choose not to come with me for the initial move, hemming and hawing about whether they’ll come at all. We say good-bye at the house, and I’m in a sleek red car provided by Magistrate Gravus taking me in style to the trainspot. Tommy, Hogs, and the rest of the starting team are there to greet me.
“This is a good day, man.”
“Simon’s a good striker,” I tell him, trying to find something worthwhile to say. “He’ll get you your catches. Keep playing hard, Tommy, even if the Synarch’s already granted Allen the prize.”
“I’ll get my catches no matter who’s throwing. But you, you’re my brother. I’m with you. All the way. No matter what.”
“I know that.”
“I’ll join you soon,” he says, breaking the man-hug. “My Trials are next spring. I’ll be on the field this time next year.”
“I hope I’m playing with you, not against you.” My eye catches two people amidst the mist that I don’t expect. Maybe the last two people still not even a little happy for Allen.
They aren’t approaching. I don’t think they know how. Linus Sob and Annie Walker idle by a fuzzy lamppost, Linus kicking at something on the ground. Even from forty yards away, Annie’s emerald eyes tug at me.
“I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but you gotta get it right. Okay?”
“Tommy–”
“This ain’t about Tommy,” he says in a high-pitched voice. “Look man, you lose a girl like Annie and it won’t matter nothing how much money you make, what you do with your life, or how many other people love you. You ain’t ever going to be what you’re supposed to be without her.”
I hesitate. Tommy pushes.
“Go.”
My first couple of steps toward Annie are more embarrassing than anything. Whatever I’m going to say, I don’t want to say it in front of Linus. Annie seems to sense this, and she mercifully meets me out of earshot of the band geek. She finds something on my jacket that needs sweeping off. I enjoy the attention. It gives me courage.
“The offer still stands, you know. You could come with me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re not staying, either,” she announces, finally looking at me, her hands resting on my chest. “The Sobs, my parents. Your parents left minutes after you did. We’re leaving Allen, going to the Garden to join the rest of the Children.”
“So you’re all in with them.”
Annie nods.
“I so want you to come with us, Raysh. Don’t you want to know who you are? Where you come from? Why you’re here?”
“Since when did raising hundreds of thousands of people out of poverty become not enough for one guy to do?”
“When the guy is capable of so much more.”
“So this is it, then.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
The announcer calls for all
passengers. I move a strand of Annie’s red hair just to touch it one more time.
“Be careful, Annie. They aren’t who you think they are.”
The train rolls out of the station, and Tommy stays until I can’t see him anymore. My guess is he’s still there, thinking about what’s coming for him. Annie leans out at the far end of the platform, but I can still see her arm raise to her face. I want to believe that this is as hard for her as it is for me. I don’t get it. She lived in Allen, too! How can she just turn her back on them? How can they all turn their backs? Because they did, I can’t. I turn away from the horizon, sink into the plush leather seat, and will myself to think about where I’m going instead of what I’ve left behind.
If the private train car Gravus reserved for me is any indication, I’m about to enter a land of literal milk and honey I can’t begin to imagine. Six leather seats, a table stacked with luxurious foods, a private bedroom, a wash sink with running water, and a button that apparently calls three attendants to fulfill any whim. The floor is plush with carpet. And that’s just on this side. A dividing wall of mauve separates me from the official League escorts who are experts at being invisible. After a quick introduction, they leave me alone and are happily out of sight.
Lunch is big enough for my whole family to enjoy for days. I nibble at the spread, but I’m not really hungry. I’ve just left the only world I’ve ever known, heading for the world I’ve always dreamed of. It’s happened so fast that my brain is still catching up. I gaze out the big bay window at the blurred scenery, most of it wild desert, a great chasm between where I’ve been and where I’m going.
“Hello, Mr. Gaph.” A sweet, soft voice pulls me from my gaze. It’s attached to a breathtaking beauty, I’m guessing twenty-three, with her blond hair pulled up and neatly piled, standing with welcoming grace in the middle of the room. “My name is Lara, and I have been assigned as your assistant.” Her blue eyes smile just as big as her full red lips, making the outlines of a circle around a short, dainty nose. She is highly polished and a brilliant first impression of my new life.
“I didn’t know I had an assistant.”
“As of yesterday, you do.”
“Great. What do assistants do?”
“At the moment, bring you up to speed with the events of the last few days, beginning with this morning.”
“What happened this morning?”
“You were auctioned.”
“What? Without me there?”
“Your presence wasn’t necessary, sir. They have quite enough data about you.”
“So what happened? Who do I play for?”
“You were won by the most storied team in the League, the Knights of Revolution. For the last fourteen years, James Walcott of the New York Lightning has been the highest paid player in the League. Not anymore. Now, with your standard rookie salary and ten percent of the auction price, it will be at least another fourteen years before another player reaches your income. Congratulations.”
I’m sure she tells me the actual numbers, but I’ve missed them. I still can’t get past the fact that I will play for the Knights in the Tower, their home stadium. Every kid everywhere who plays The Escape wishes for what I just got. It isn’t Texas, but it’s good. Maybe better. I sit down in one of the plush chairs before I fall down, letting it all hit me at once.
“The doctor will be in momentarily to give you your official physical,” she says. I look up because of the silence that follows and find Lara standing there, just beaming.
“If you’ll permit me, Mr. Gaph,” says Lara, hopping a small step closer, “this is the most exciting assignment of my career. You are a true hero to all lo-pry and an enormous hit with the Citizens across the country. I am and will be, until you say otherwise, at your complete service.”
Again with the smile. I really have no idea what she means, and I refuse to let my mind consider it any longer than it takes to formulate a way to change the subject.
“Which are you?” I ask.
“I’m sorry?”
“Which are you, lo-pry or Citizen?”
“I am a lo-pry, Mr. Gaph.”
“Right,” I say, nodding my head. It was a dumb question. No way a Citizen would serve a lo-pry. No way a Citizen would serve anyone.
Lara tells me she was raised in Olympia, near the northern border of the country. Small town compared to the capital.
“It’s never happened before, right?” I ask. “An auction?”
“Never.”
I take a deep breath and let the air dance in my lungs before I let it out. This should feel better, I think. It should feel like breathing for the first time after being buried in the sand my whole life.
“You’re sad,” she says.
“What?” I ask, startled by her candor.
“And angry. You miss someone. You wanted to share this experience, but they chose not to share it with you.”
“Well, I’ll have two hundred thousand fans to share it with come our first game, right?” I say, trying to deflect the accusations. The panic begins to rumble from within. It makes sense now why I have an assistant. She’s a spy. And she’s very good.
“Applause does tend to help the broken heart.”
“So that’s it,” I say, “I’m a Knight?”
“There was a bit of a battle about the fairness of the auction,” she says. “Anton Boxrud, owner of the California Magic, presented a passionate speech about fairness and tradition and essentially begged the League Governors to reconsider the auction and allow you to enter the draft just as any player would. His team will undoubtedly come in last place, as it has for several years, and would get first pick. But in you he saw a new hope and beginning. That’s why he invested in a new stadium. But now he has no money to seriously bid for you at auction.”
“I guess he has a point.”
“Not unless the Synarch says he has a point, which they did not.”
“Of course.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Gaph, but I must tell you the order of tonight’s events.”
“Okay.”
“Right through that door is a stylist named Giselle who will attend to your needs after your physical. Your shower and suit are waiting for you through the bedroom door.”
“Where am I going?”
“To the Lily Rust Theater, where a reception is being held in your honor.”
“Tonight?”
“This is a fast-moving world, Mr. Gaph,” she smiles expertly. “Takes a little getting used to, but you’ll find your place in no time.”
“You can call me Horatio or Raysh, you know, whatever.”
“Yes, sir. Can I get you anything?”
“No—wait, this train, will it go by the Knights’ stadium? The Tower?”
Lara smiles.
“Perfect timing.” She nods to the rushing scenery beyond the windows. I turn just as the train rolls over a small hill to reveal the site in all its glory. The Tower, the first and grandest League stadium in the country. Holds 250,000 fans. Its facade is square shaped, and situated at each corner is a giant statue of a medieval knight in full armor, holding aloft a sword, angled so that the light of the setting sun reflects against its blade as though it catches fire at twilight. Its iconic tower stands one hundred eighty stories above the ground, dwarfing all other skytowers surrounding it. Beyond, the sea’s crystal blue backdrops the silver steel and stone of New Victoria’s most important city.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I breathe.
“Welcome to Revolution, Mr. Gaph.” And as though on cue, the lights burst from the corners and tips of the Tower, lighting up at least the six surrounding blocks.
Soon after Lara leaves, a doctor performs the quick physical, paying particular attention to my left knee, the knee that had taken
me out of the game for a year and has been the talk of Allen ever since.
“You look good,” says the doctor, pulling away the portable X-ray machine. “A little too good.”
“What does that mean?”
He pulls the tie from the side of his potbelly to straighten it as he talks. “Your left knee was supposed to have been shattered two years ago.”
“Supposed to have been?”
“I can’t find any evidence that it was ever even twisted, let alone an injury serious enough to take you out for a year. With lo-pry medicine, Mr. Gaph, there would be significant evidence. Scarring, odd healing, that kind of thing. You have none of that.”
“So you’re saying that my knee was never hurt?”
“I’d bet my career on it.”
“I was out of the game for a year and a half based on that lying snake’s diagnosis. … Why would he … ?”
“But that’s good news, right?” the doctor says, trying to bring me back. “I can go back to the owner and tell her you are in phenomenal shape and game ready, day one.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, pleasantly surprised at the appreciation. Another reminder that I’m not in Allen anymore.
“All us lo-pry are pulling for you,” he says, leaving. “Not that you’ll need it.”
I step through the designated door to find Giselle patiently waiting for me. She sits me down on a swivel chair and cuts my hair. Or at least tries to. Once lo-pry pass their Trials or invited to a Citizen city, they are allowed–encouraged–to cut their hair shorter. Now that I can, I don’t want to. We come to a compromise that she will trim the wild edges but will leave the length. I’ve always worn my hair long enough to fall over my ears. I’m not about to change that on the most important day of my life.
She evens out my nails on both my hands and feet and plucks my eyebrows (a new and mostly uncomfortable experience for me), runs humming light sticks over my skin–which she tells me evens out the tone and texture. I don’t even know what that means. By the time she’s shaved the stubble off my face, I look like the best version of me I could have ever imagined. She’s an artist. A remarkable one. Wait ‘til Annie gets a look at–