Page 23 of The Summer Show
After the first two episodes, Greece’s Top Hoplite switched things up for each season. There was always some kind of individual hand-to-hand combat. But there were other physical challenges, too, and they were tailored to the contestants.
“That’s the fun of the show,” Lina told me. “They dig deep and personalize the challenges.”
“How deep?”
Yiayia passed me the bread basket. I took another chunk because three pieces of Greek bread was never enough. “What scares you, eh? Spiders? Snakes? Wood thieves? Bare feet?”
“When books in a series aren’t the same size,” I answered.
She patted my hand. “That is strange.”
“Not if you love and collect books.”
My answer was partially mired in fiction. Truthfully I was horrified when publishers released series books in different sizes, but I could move past the disappointment. What really scared me? What fueled my nightmares? The acrid smell of books vanishing as fire devoured their pages.
Nobody outside of my family knew about the burning books and the scar Mom carved into my psyche. They would never know. And Greece’s Top Hoplite’s team would never be able to dig that deep into my background.
Why not?
Because I was never going to be a contestant.
This body wasn’t built for fighting. My physique was carefully crafted to acquire books and hold books and read books in a variety of formats. When I wasn’t acquiring, holding, and reading, I was encouraging children to love books. I made worlds come alive, not war.
Also …
This summer was supposed to be about me sitting on the beach under an umbrella with books.
And maybe finding love.
Aided by dozens of romance authors, I had imagined a whole scenario where I was reading on the beach, when suddenly a handsome and available—that part was very important—man crouched down beside me to ask what I was reading. He didn’t pooh-pooh my choice of reading material. Instead, he sat beside me and shared his good snacks while we discussed all the books we had ever loved.
“Cockroaches,” I said. “I don’t like cockroaches, either. Especially when they can fly. I know everything in nature has its places, but roaches are a big no.”
“Then they will have cockroaches,” Yiayia said with absolute confidence.
Roaches were fine. Roaches I could survive.
As long as it wasn’t fire and books.
nine
So. Greece’s Top Hoplite, the promised marathon. As soon as it was cool enough to fling the shutters wide and the light was starting to dim, Ana was ready to stream.
We had snacks.
We had drinks.
We had a couple of donkeys resting their chins on the windowsill.
Naturally there was a delayed start because Ana and I needed to pet Delilah and Petunia and reassure them that they were Very Good Donkeys. Through the sliding back door, my pal Murder Goose stared at me, unblinking. Chances of being murdered by a goose on this couch were low, but not quite zero. As what I hoped was an insurance policy, I smiled at her.
Then it was game time.
Greece’s Top Hoplite aired in Greek, naturally, but subtitles saved me from missing too much. Safe to say, I was instantly hooked. Easy to see why the show was a hit. The lights, the color, the drama, combined it was fun. They blended humor with action, and most of the contestants were ordinary folks. Nobody had to be one of the “pretty” people, they just had to show up and be themselves.
At some point the back door opened and Nick wandered in. Without a word he sank down into the armchair across from me. I’d let Ana and Thanos have the couch to themselves. Honestly, I was more comfortable draped over the armchair, within reach of my drink, the meatballs, and the feta pies. Despite stuffing myself with bread at lunchtime, my stomach couldn’t stop ordering more food.
Nick leaned forward, plucked the remote off the coffee table. Paused.