So this would've been late May or early June. I was only a week or two out of rehab, still feeling pretty raw, pretty jangly about sober life. You'd already gone to toe-to-toe with Mr. Girson, that jerk principal who tried to block my readmission. I was looking at 8 weeks of summer school to make up for all the courses I'd flunked, but I didn't mind. Without drugs, I didn't really know what to do with myself yet, so I welcomed the structure.
The Metallurgists were playing the Wayfarers, and as usual Wyatt had box tickets. But this was the first time I'd agreed to go. Hell, it was probably the first time I'd ever agreed to do anything "as a family." In retrospect, I'm surprised Wyatt was willing to bring his hellion stepson to a public event so soon.
I'd seen teams slug it out on holo before, of course, but it seeing it in the real was a whole other thing. The size of the machines, their speed, the way they bashed each other to pieces - it was intense! All at once my fascination with tech, which had kind of faded as I'd sunk into the drugs, came roaring back. When Homi Raman, the team's engineer, stopped by the box at half-time, I was all over him, blasting him with questions like a one-boy press conference.
Looking back, it wouldn't surprise me if you took me to that game hoping to get me excited about tech before I headed into summer school. Or was it that you wanted me to catch a glimpse of corporate privilege? It was always your dream that I'd end up in engineering or business. Well, there was plenty of engineering on display when CONOR-12 scored with an 18-meter rocket jump. And plenty of VP's and even C-levels in the box with us when we cheered that goal.
Yeah, it was a set-up. You knew what you were doing. Always did.