dealing with it. After today, there shouldnât be a problem. There will be nothing leftââshe wonât let her voice catch on the wordsâânothing left to distract me from what matters.â
Pravheet takes her hands in his. They are large and calloused and strong, and make her feel very small. âShari, you know that no two Players are alike, do you not?â
âYouâve told me many times,â Shari tells him. Pravheet is the only one of her trainers who has been sympathetic to her desire not to kill, at least not until it becomes absolutely necessary. Pravheet himself swore never to kill again, after he lapsed. He defended her choice to the other Harrapan, and has always encouraged her to stand up for what she believes, to Play the way she feels she should.
âThere are some Players who feel they need to purge their lives of everything beyond the game,â Pravheet says.
âOf course,â Shari agrees. âAbsolute focus.â Thatâs what sheâs always been taught, and, until recently, itâs what she has always practiced.
âBut you have to find your own way.â Pravheet gives her a strange, kind smile. âDo you see what Iâm getting at?â
âHonestly? Iâm not sure.â
His smile widens. âDonât worry. You will be.â
She shows up early; Jamal is already seated and waiting for her. He has ordered her a mug of chai, prepared just as she likes, with milk and three spoons of sugar.
Shari has spent the last two hours meditating. Sheâs ready for whatever Jamal has to tell her.
The session with Pravheet has convinced her that she will be better off without Jamal. This relationship has been a distraction from her training, from her duty.
The fact that she actually let herself think she couldnât live without him? That was melodrama and weakness that should have been beneath her.
Thereâs only one thing she canât live without, and thatâs her responsibility to the Harrapan line.
She reminds herself of this unshakable truth, then sits down.
âSo,â Jamal says.
âSo.â
They watch each other.
Even now, under these circumstances, itâs good to see him. Her eyes have been thirsty; now, in the long silence, they drink.
She likes to imagine he is doing the same.
âI believe you,â he says.
âOkay.â
âAbout all of it. The things from the stars, the game, the Player, your weird secret superhero life, the thousand-year conspiracy, my . . . my dad, all of it.â
She sips her tea. âI said okay.â
âYou donât want to say anything else?â
âLike what?â
âI donât know, donât you want to ask me why I believe you? Or what I think? Or what I want to do?â
She sighs. If he thinks he can sucker her into breaking up with herself , then he doesnât know her at all. âWhat do you want from me, Jamal? I told you what was true; I told you why I lied to you before; I told you I was sorry. I told you I loved you. I told you everything I had to tell. I came here because you said you had something to tell me.â
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Shari readies herself. This is it.
âNot tell you, exactly,â he says. Then he puts a small cardboard box on the table and removes its lid. The thing inside sparkles. âAsk you, really.â
Shari reaches for the box, takes out the sparkly thing.
âWhat . . . what is this?â Itâs a stupid question; itâs obvious what the thing is: a ring.
âItâs not real,â he admits. âI mean, itâs not exactly from a gumball machine, but . . . close enough. Best I could do on short notice.â
âIs this what I think this is?â
âMarry me,â he says. âPlease?â
Itâs the last thing she expected, and without thinking, she bursts into laughter.
Jamal grins. âNot exactly the answer I was
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley