“Come on,” Lee said. She stood, sidestepped past the empty space left by Rusty, and started to make her way through the seated spectators.
I stayed close to her.
“Excuse me,” Lee said to the people we had to disturb.
We were facing forward. The knees of those behind us jammed the backs of our legs. Our thighs rubbed the backs of people the next row down. I’d lost my boner by then, or it would’ve poked some heads.
“Excuse me,” Lee said. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”
A few people stood up to let us by. Others didn’t budge and we had to shove past their legs.
“Excuse me. Excuse me.”
As we struggled across the row, I watched Rusty scribble on Vivian’s clipboard. She took his arm and led him up the steps to the cage. As they entered the cage, another tree of lightning cracked across the night.
Lee and I broke through the end of the row.
Thunder crashed.
But still no rain.
If the rain starts, I thought, will they stop the fight?
Probably not.
I followed Lee as she raced down the stairs toward the arena.
“I SEE WE HAVE AN EAGER YOUNG VOLUNTEER,” Stryker said, his amplified voice loud and crackling.
“I’M RUSTY,” Rusty said into the microphone.
The audience cheered.
Rusty turned all the way around, grinning like a dope and waving at the crowd.
Someone called out,
Another,
And worse.
Suddenly, near the bottom of the bleachers, our way was blocked by half a dozen black-shirted members of Stryker’s crew.
“READY TO TAKE ON VALERIA?” Stryker asked.
“Excuse me,” Lee said, and tried to keep going.
“YOU BET,” Rusty said.
The man directly in front of Lee shook his head and spread out his arms.
“Let us through,” Lee said.
“You’ll just have to wait your turn, miss.”
“That kid can’t fight Valeria,” Lee said.
“Sure, he can.”
“He’s underage.”
The man smirked. “Big deal.”
“I’m his mother and I forbid...”
“BEST OF LUCK, RUSTY!”
“His mother, my ass.”
“THANK YOU, MR. STRYKER.”
A thin, tough-looking woman beside the guy said, “We don’t want any trouble here.”
“Then don’t let Rusty fight!”
