Yup. My anxiety cranked up a notch.
I ran a hand through my hair and pulled forward a long strand, staring at the juxtaposition of purple and green. “Yeah. I don’t know. I don’t think I’m cut out for the pressure. And I’m just going to get eliminated anyway.”
“I see. Well, you know, one hundred percent of people who don’t compete lose.” He laughed. “Wow, that sounded better in my head.”
But it made me laugh, too, and I relaxed a little. “My cross-country coach used to say, ‘Success is for the people who show up.’ And I knew what he meant, but what happens when lots of people show up? It can’t be true for everyone.”
“Oh, my God. You’re right.” He was laughing again, and I settled into my chair, anxiety back down near zero. His voice had such a comforting quality to it—not too low, not too high, a little raspy when he chuckled. I wanted to keep him talking just to hear it.
“We should come up with honest aphorisms. Like: You’ll probably suck, but you might not.”
He snorted. “How about: Giving up is for losers.”
That one made me cackle. “Exactly. Or, Why quit when you can humiliate yourself publicly and still lose?”
“Ouch.”
I may have gone too far. “I’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“But you did so great on Friday.”
“Do you think so?” I nearly whispered it.
“You were incredible.” He cleared his throat. “Listen. I don’t mean to sound like a self-improvement guru, but you have as much right as anyone else to win.”
“Oh, I never expected to win.”
“And yet you had almost as many votes as Tristan.”
“I did?” My heart rate picked up. “I was just trying to make it through one night.”
“And you did.” His quiet encouragement eased my residual embarrassment, but upping the expectations only intensified my stress for next time. Chances are I’d only disappoint him.
“I don’t think I could do that again, though. I just wanted to survive.”
“Tough love right here: Don’t be a loser, Sierra.” There was gentleness in his voice, and it made me smile since I knew his harsh words were an extension of our earlier joke. “Challenge yourself,” he said more earnestly.
I swallowed hard. He was reminding me exactly why I’d started the contest. “Let me think about it, okay?”
“Sure. Just let me know soon so I can contact our alternate.” Back to business.
I don’t know why I’d been reading flirtation into the whole conversation. If he was with Miranda, I wouldn’t want to think of him as a cheater anyway. I matched my tone to his. “Will do.”
After we hung up, I dove into analyzing a defect in level two of Castle Capture, but his words were echoing in my mind.
Testing became more difficult as I progressed in the game because the challenges became more difficult. The monsters were deadlier. The bosses took more skill to defeat. Level one gave a player a chance to explore the world and figure out the rules, how the controllers worked, how to swing the garbage piece of wood players got as a beginner sword. In order to move up to level two, a player would have to gain mastery over these basics, and as a reward, they could collect better inventory and learn more advanced moves. So while the game got harder, they in turn got better at it.
I thought about Alfie’s sports advice as it related to gaming. A player who hung around level one without taking risks could never advance. The game wouldn’t allow them to proceed without conquering the level, but more importantly, they’d never learn enough to help them in their next quest.
In the same way, I’d been a total newbie the week before at the diary slam, but I’d leveled up, just a little bit. I’d gotten the lay of the land. I knew the rules. I knew how the game worked. I knew my competition. I hadn’t won outright, but I’d defeated the first challenge, and I’d earned my spot in the next round.
Wasn’t this entire exercise about taking risks and confronting my fears? If this was a video game, my final battle would be to face Reynold, the big boss, and convince him I could present at Gamescon, and the only way I was going to do that was to better myself, one step at a time.
I sent a text to Alfie: Count me in.
Chapter 10
Friday night, Aida wasn’t feeling well, so Marco accompanied me over to Vibes to check out the scene. I’d let myself believe there’d be fewer people there since the number of contestants had been cut to twelve.
I was in for a disappointing surprise: A throng crowded the entrance.
We squeezed through and pressed against the bar. I waved at Alfie as he whizzed past like a blur and began filling a tall glass with beer. He glanced over once with a quick smile that made me feel self-conscious, and I dipped my head, hoping I hadn’t been too bold with my appearance.
My makeup was still precise. I hadn’t reached a point where I’d show off my freckles, scars, and nondramatic eyes. But encouraged by Tristan’s passing approval, I left my hair down, flaunting all the colors of my rainbow.
Speaking of Tristan, I didn’t spot him near the front, but he may have been farther in the bar near the makeshift stage. I didn’t want to abandon Marco to go find him.
Miranda and Alfie danced a choreography behind the bar, communicating sometimes with nothing more than a gesture. Whenever they’d pause and whisper to each other, I felt a twinge of envy, like I often did when I encountered people who’d found their mates. Miranda was lucky to have nabbed one of the good ones. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was beautiful, blond, statuesque.
I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I really loved watching Alfie’s eyebrows furrow in concentration as he poured drinks, then how his face lit up whenever he interacted with a patron. Same as how he often looked at me.
As if he’d noticed me tracking him, Alfie slowed down enough to materialize in solid form. “Hey, Sierra. Hey, Marco. What can I get you? Club soda?” He narrowed an eye at Marco. “And if I’m not wrong, Dos Equis?”
Marco said, “Hey, that’s pretty good. How’s it going?”
I swung my head from one to the other. “You know each other?”
Marco shrugged. “This bar has been here for a year. I’ve stopped in a few times.”
Alfie didn’t challenge Marco’s claims in any way. I wondered if there was such a thing as bartender-customer privilege, and Alfie was sworn to conceal how often Marco actually turned up on one of these stools.
“Does Aida know?”
He shot me a look like I’d lost my mind. “Do you honestly think I’d do anything without her knowledge? Sometimes she needs space. Sometimes I need the company of others.”
Alfie set our drinks on the bar, then disappeared to handle the increased demand. It had to be good for him the place was hopping. Not so great for me. I was starting to feel like it was a bad idea to come out, wishing I’d stayed home in my pajamas curled on the sofa, testing out the new Black Desert Online.
Before I could act on my desire to translocate, I heard a voice in my ear: “Hey. Sierra, right?”
I spun around to find a vaguely familiar face. I combed my brain to recall how I knew this cute red-haired guy. He shifted a wallet from his right hand to his left and reached out to shake. “Zane. I’m in the contest. You might have missed me since I followed your act. Once I was done last week, I wouldn’t have been able to pay attention to anyone else. Terrifying, right?”