Grid Seekers (Grid Seekers Book One) by Logan Byrne Page B

we wanted to get ourselves dolled up. I didn’t care too much about makeup anyway, let alone here, but I did put on a little mascara and the tiniest smudge of eyeliner, just in case Chet came back and shoved a camera in my face, which I knew he would at some point.
    They had some breakfast waiting for us in the lobby area, a wide array of breads, pastries, fruits, cereals, and even some meat, which wasn’t always on the menu back home because of the price. In fact, I didn’t eat many fruits either, their deliciously sugary nectar too rich for our blood. I took full advantage here, though, piling strawberries, blueberries, pineapple, and watermelon on my plate, other competitors doing the same. The food always seemed to be fully stocked, even when we clawed and heaped piles of it for ourselves. This must be how the ultra rich ate their breakfast every morning.
    “I hope you’re all filling up. You’re in for a rough time today,” Christian said, startling me as a piece of strawberry fell out of my mouth.
    I looked at him, all of us looking at him, as we continued eating, stuffing our faces like a bunch of starved children who hadn’t been fed in days. Christian smiled, looking at his digiboard, before he opened his mouth again.
    “You guys will start your actual training today. You will be graded after each phase, and if you pass, you will get one card choice for the competition,” Christian said.
    “What’s the phase we’re training in today?” someone asked.
    “Self-defense and attack with Borgis. We’ll see what you all have, so finish up your meals, because I’ll be coming back in fifteen minutes to pick you up,” Christian said, before walking away, a guard whispering something to him as he walked.
    I wasn’t too thrilled, dreading having to do the self-defense and attack phase, as I knew it wasn’t one I was really going to use. I could use strategy and survival, as those would be necessary tools inside the grid, but I didn’t plan on attacking anyone, and I knew Liam wasn’t going to either, unless it was imperative for our survival or would keep us in the game. He promised me he would only do it in self-defense and only if his life or mine were on the line.
    I soon stopped eating breakfast, my stomach starting to stick out as I felt more full than I had ever been before, which might backfire with this kind of physical training. I didn’t think I’d get a card for throwing up my breakfast on the middle of the stage. I might even lose a card for something like that. They didn’t play around here.
    True to his word, Christian came back fifteen minutes later on the dot, rounding us all up, a guy from Chicago continuing to stuff his mouth even as we were walking away. A woman, also from Chicago, slapped him and gave him a mean look, like he was embarrassing her. He must be the husband from the married couple. It looked like he was happy to be away from her cooking.
    We walked into a room that was different, yet the same as the one from yesterday. The floor was comprised of black mats, the walls where white and sterile, and there was a stage up front, with Borgis, our instructor, standing atop of it with his hands behind his back. Weapons were all laid out on racks in front of him, tons of them. He looked at us all come in, watching us, before pulling his hand to his front and stroking his chin as we piled in, standing in front of him in groups of two.
    “Good morning, and welcome to my training session. This is your first of five sessions, and if you pass today and master your skills, you will move on and get a card to use during the competition. If you should not pass, you won’t get another chance to make it up, so you better hope you do well,” Borgis said.
    Borgis walked down the steps on the side of the stage, walking out in front of the weapons rack, before grabbing a staff from the rack and slamming the butt of it on the ground, his knuckles turning white as he squeezed it tightly. He gave