Warcross (Warcross #1)(19)
He glances over his shoulder. “She’s on. Want a word?”
He’s talking to Hideo, I realize, and my heart leaps into my throat in panic at the thought that he might see me right now.
Hideo’s unmistakable voice answers from somewhere behind Kenn that I can’t see. “Not now,” he replies. “Give her my best.”
My moment of panic turns into a stab of disappointment. I shouldn’t be surprised—he must be busy. Kenn turns back to give me an apologetic nod. “You’ll have to excuse him,” he says. “If he seems a bit distant, I assure you it has little to do with his enthusiasm for you. Nothing can pull him away when he’s in the middle of working on something. He wants to thank you for coming here on such short notice.”
Kenn sounds like he’s used to apologizing for his boss. What is Hideo working on? Already, I’m trying to figure out what kind of new virtual reality they have installed in their headquarters. Kenn’s not wearing any glasses, for one. The fact that I can hear Hideo reply even though he’s not logged in or wearing glasses, or that I can see Kenn talking to me live like this, is definitely new tech. “Believe me,” I reply, glancing pointedly around the plane. “I’m not bothered.”
Kenn’s grin widens. “I can’t give you many details yet about why you’re coming here. That will be up to Hideo. He’s looking forward to meeting you.” Another wave of warmth washes over me. “But he has asked me to tell you a couple of things, to prepare you.”
I lean forward in my chair. “Yes?”
“We’ll have a team ready to take you to your hotel once you arrive.” He holds both hands up. “A few of your new fans may be gathered at the airport to greet you. But don’t worry. Your safety is our priority.”
I blink. I’d seen the list of articles that had popped up this morning, and there had been the crowd of journalists in front of our apartment. But in Tokyo, too? “Thanks,” I decide to say.
Kenn drums his fingers once on the table. I hear it. “After you arrive, you’ll have the night to rest. The following morning, you’ll come here to the Henka Games headquarters to meet Hideo. He’ll tell you everything you need to know about the draft.”
Kenn’s last words make me freeze. It’s such a crazy thought that at first I don’t know how to react. “Wait,” I say. “Hang on. Did you just say . . . the draft?”
“The draft to determine this year’s players in the official Warcross championships?” He winks, as if he’d been waiting for me to catch on. “Well, well, I guess I did. Congratulations.”
7
Every year, a month before the official games actually begin, there is the Wardraft—an event watched by pretty much anyone and everyone interested in Warcross. This is where the official Warcross teams select the players who will be on their teams for this year’s games. Everyone knows, of course, that the seasoned players will probably be selected again. Players like Asher and Jena, for example. But there are always a handful of wild cards thrown into the draft, amateur players nominated because they are so good at the game. Some of the wild cards then rise to become the regularly chosen players.
This year, I’ll be a wild card.
It makes no sense. I’m a good Warcross player, but I’ve never had the time or money to get enough experience or levels to hit the world leaderboards. In fact, I’ll be the only wild card in this year’s draft who isn’t internationally ranked. And who has a criminal record.
I try to sleep on the plane. But even though the luxurious, full-length bed feels better than any mattress I’ve ever been on, I just end up tossing and turning. Finally, I give up and pull out my phone, load up my mod of Sonic the Hedgehog 2, and start a new game. The familiar, tinny music of Emerald Hill Zone pops up. As I run down a path I’ve long ago memorized, I can feel my nerves calming, my heartbeat steadying a bit as I forget about the day and instead worry about when I need to jump-attack a sixteen-bit robot.
I have a job offer for you. That’s what Hideo had said, an offer he’d tell me more about in person. That doesn’t sound like something he’d do for every other wild-card player in the games.
My thoughts go to the stories I’ve heard about Hideo. Most have never seen him without a proper collar shirt and dress pants, or a formal tuxedo suit. His smiles are rare and reserved. An employee had said in a magazine interview that you were qualified to work at Henka Games only if you could withstand the scrutiny of his piercing stare while giving him a presentation. I’ve seen live broadcasts of reporters stumbling over their questions in his presence while he waited patiently and politely.
I imagine what our meeting will be like. It’s possible he’ll take one look at me and send me back to New York without a word.
The time hovering over the ceiling of my bed tells me that it’s four a.m. in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe I’ll never be able to sleep again. My thoughts whirl. We’ll land in Tokyo in a few hours, and then I’m going to talk to Hideo. I might play in the official Warcross games. The thought turns over and over in my head. How is this even possible? Last night, I’d hacked into the Warcross opening ceremony in a desperate attempt to make some fast money. Today, I’m headed to Tokyo on a private jet, on a trip that might change my life forever. What would Dad think?