I remember Mitch made me tackle him one day when I was fourteen. He said I never unleashed my full force on the field. So he had me attack him in our backyard. No pads, no helmet. I was terrified I’d hurt him. Hewas in great shape, but I was already taller and weighed a good twenty pounds more. After every hit, he’d rise, insisting he hadn’t felt it, baiting me until I slammed him so hard we both went sailing into a bed of October leaves. “Okay, you just hit the man who loves you most with all you’ve got. No reason you can’t do that to a stranger,” he said. “If you break someone, it’s their fault for getting in your way…”
“Cameras rolling! Standby, horn!” Zara called, snapping me back.
I anxiously regarded the chintzy apple above me one last time, fully aware there was a very real chance I was about to totally shit the bed. But as I took one last deep breath, it struck me that even though I was here for my kids, at least I wasn’t here toshieldsomeone else. Every Trial I’d competed in previously had been to protect Barnes or Arjun, and the various iterations of absorbing someone else’s hit—in politics, in football, in a stupid reality show—ultimately aren’t that different. Or rewarding. At least every bruise I’d earn tonight was mine alone.
The bustling set faded to silence, and at last came the horn. Time to work.
Balthazar and I leapt onto the mats and sprinted at each other, neither of us even bothering for the branch. It had been years since a grown man sailed into my chest; I was unprepared for the reminder. Balthazar tucked his shoulder into my stomach, and I promptly flew off the mat, ass over head.
I slammed into the dirt, the strap of the helmet chafing my jaw as I bit the side of my mouth. Wisps of torn flesh fluttered against my tongue, and I tasted the chalky iron of blood. Voices rang hollow, the Angels encouraging Bal. He vaulted up to grab the first branch but couldn’t lift himself, legs dangling like ham at a butcher’s. If he mounted that branch, I’d never catch him.
I hoisted myself back on the mat. Time to try again. Time to make the kids proud. Time to remind everyone—myself included—what I had in me…
I launched myself at his swinging thigh to rip him down. After he fell,I leapt for the branch, knowing I couldn’t make his mistake and leave my legs exposed.
I rapidly pitched myself up, landing roughly. The branch slammed into my hip as a winded Bal clawed for my feet, but now I was the one already out of reach.
The peanut gallery was silent as I climbed the next branches, all easy now. I was twenty feet off the ground, but somehow I wasn’t afraid. I could see the apple, gleaming and tacky, hanging four feet away from the trunk of the tree.
Underscored by awestruck gasps, I sailed from the branch to grab the apple before I dropped into the embrace of the safety mat below, sending shock waves across its dusty tarp.
“Damn right, Luke!” Melange cheered, igniting the Devils’ feeble applause.
Bal quickly overpowered them, screaming at the fleet of cameras. “Screw all of you! I will get every LGBTQIA+ organization in America to boycottEndeavor, because you are sending a message to queer children that they are unwanted and unvalued by mainstream media!” He whipped to me next, shoving my chest. “And get that smug look off your face, you fucking fool! What do you think you just proved?”
And then I said it. Because I wanted to. Because I meant it. “That I can win.”
It was inarguable. As inarguable as the hot saliva blasting across my face when Bal spat on me. Zara swiftly had the two security guards escort him off. I imagine one had been dispatched to restrain me too, but I wouldn’t lose control. The only way I’d leave was if I got beat. And with the stadium lights illuminating my every move and the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I finally remembered how electric victory felt.
17
2015
SEASON 20, EPISODE 2:
“The Greta Vendetta”
Speak more about Fortune kicking your ass today.”
“Doesn’t that sum it up, Troy?” My ego boost hadn’t lasted long; battling big boy Fortune in Episode 2’s Tribulation was a far cry from besting yappy Balthazar. We’d squared off in mud wrestling duels, and Fortune needed only to sit on me to win his round. I wasn’t looking forward to tangling with him in the future, but it was a women’s Trial this week, so I’d at least bank another $25,000 for surviving this episode. All I had to do at the next day’s Trial was cheer on Melange while she faced Winston.
“Say what motivated you. Maybe talk about the kids?” This was Troy’s third time suggesting this, but I still hesitated to mention them on camera. “Luke, it’s key to your story…”
Troy’s cajoling was halted by the operatic wail of “JOCKSTRAPS!” He opened the door—a blond blur in a baby-blue camisole bolting past—and sighed wearily.
The ruckus led us to the kitchen, where Greta railed at a baffledShawn. His eyes were wide behind clunky glasses, clearly blindsided on the way to bed. I hadn’t seen him in glasses yet, but he was somehow even more attractive, almost a hapless academic rather than a lad mag coverboy. “Someone’s messing with you, Greta!” he protested. “Those were in my laundry!”
“Then explain how your cheap, dirty Underoos ended up ON MY BED!” She chased him to the pool, madly brandishing the jockstraps like a racing flag, the whole house pursuing the floor show. I spied Chrissy and Solana stifling laughter, enjoying this escapade too much to be innocent bystanders. They must have orchestrated this, but why target Shawn?
“Greta, stop! You owe it to me to listen!”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, mania in her eyes. “Ioweyou? I oweyou!I… owe… you…”
“The classic three-peat,” Melange assessed dryly at my side, sipping rosé from a coffee mug. “I’ll say this for her, she always gives the editors options.”
“Here’s what I OWE YOU!” Greta summarily fled inside, leaving Shawn dumbstruck.
“And now she’ll guarantee she’s in the season trailer,” Melange continued, one master evaluating another, before Greta appeared on cue at the balcony above like a possessed Juliet, Shawn’s suitcase in her arms. She then tossed the unzipped bag, showering jewel-tone tank tops, stylish sneakers, and silver chains upon the pool and surrounding brick pavers.
