Chapter 12: On Stream

The feature match was in the student union.

The campus esports channel had a little broadcast studio in the basement, with five stations, a green wall and a camera on a tripod.

That was us.

Sutton's team played from the varsity practice room upstairs, behind the arena.

"Her own setup," the senior said, rolling his eyes. "She won't play anywhere else."

On the way in we passed the stairs.

Carver was going up them two at a time, carrying an energy drink with a pink straw in it.

He saw me and raised it like a toast.

"Twenty thousand people, swannsong," he called down. "Try not to cry on camera."

"Try not to spill her drink," Betsy called back.

He missed a step.

The studio smelled like new carpet and nerves.

Betsy wasn't allowed inside, so she stood at the glass with her face pressed against it.

She'd written FTAGH on her cheek in eyeliner.

On the side monitor, Sutton's stream was live.

Twenty-one thousand watching.

She was in her pink ring light, laughing with her chat.

"Okay, so, it's the catfish team," she said. "I'm gonna be nice. I'm gonna let them get a kill so they can feel something."

Her chat filled with laughing faces.

The grad student reached over and turned the side monitor off.

Game one started.

Sutton's team was good.

Four strong players and a shotcaller with a big voice on her stream.

They pushed hard and early, all aggression.

The first fight went badly.

We lost two.

The sophomore swore and shook out her wrist.

"Breathe," I said. "She always does this. She plays like the stream wants. She'll overextend at the dragon at fourteen minutes. Every time."

"How do you know?"

"I've watched forty of her games this month."

At thirteen minutes and fifty seconds, Sutton's team walked into the dragon pit.

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