Read Girl in the Arena for Free Online Page B

packaged and unpackaged and rolls out before us. He grows larger and larger. He becomes the sign. He becomes a giant where endorsements are concerned. He helps the population to buy poorly assembled vehicles with tires that will blow out, and small over-wrapped meals, and trillions of bottles of diluted water. His face stops the world. I’d say  she  but no woman has ever won the title, though a couple have gotten close.
    We take heat because there’s no Glad Husbands Association. But give Caesar’s time. They’ll find roles for all of us.
    We’re pretty high up in the stadium here and in many ways I actually prefer this. Because when the American Title is awarded and the victor raises his fists, the fans start pushing against the reinforced steel fencing around the arena. If they knock it over, they flood the arena and hoist the dude up on a carpet of shoulders. But then a lot of fights break out and sometimes people get trampled to death, the tally of bodies appearing in a small box in the upper right-hand corner of the jumbo screens, each one a tiny skull and crossbones.
    Uber enters the arena first to thundering applause. I’ve read in  Sword and Shield  that he rubs a quart of Glow on his skin before a match. With the black lights that rim the stadium, as soon as he starts to overheat it will look as if that peacock green sweat is pouring out of him like in those sports drink commercials.
    Thad tugs at me until I get a Freeway bar from my sack and peel back the wrapper for him. They make my mind too speedy and I think it would be easy to go into road rage even if you weren’t driving, but with Thad, they soothe him. His whole sense of time and space has always been jumbled up. Sometimes I think he’s living at the speed of light, only I can’t see it.
    Uber checks his helmet repeatedly and then crosses himself.
    When Tommy steps into the arena, all of us stand and flood the air with sound. Everyone loves Tommy.
    I see he’s chosen the short sword today. But he still looks off to me. There’s almost no swagger as he walks into the center of the arena and raises his arms.
    —Tommy looks good, I say to Allison.
    —Do you think so? Allison shouts above the cheering.
    —He’s all over this, I say.
    —I’ve heard Uber wasn’t  born in  to the Helmet Wearers, she informs me.
    Allison likes to make a point of these things. Born Ins are first-generation Glads, their relatives and descendants. Tommy’s a Born In. It’s a point of pride. I don’t know if Uber’s a gladiator born and bred but the blog  Desperate Glad  says:  He lights up the game.  And the  Chicago Tribune  says:  He’s money in the treasury .
    Time feels sped up as the cheers build. Tommy and Uber start to circle. I don’t know why, but I thought they would take longer to size each other up, that time would stretch out on this one. Competitions often feel slow to me, especially at the beginning.
    Tommy slams his shield against Uber’s. They deliver several blows in succession, each one striking the other’s shield or sword, each sound enlarged by the sound system and the roar of the arena. I want to look away, but today I can’t.
    Tommy knocks Uber’s shield so hard it flies out of his hand. As Uber moves to pick it up, Tommy makes several small slices up Uber’s left arm. That’s Tommy’s signature as he’s warming up, to make the small cuts. The crowd loves this. They chant, — Tommy, Tommy.
    But then in one move, Uber suddenly grabs his shield, turns, and strikes Tommy with his long sword. When I open my eyes I see he’s practically taken off Tommy’s left kneecap. There’s blood everywhere, spurting and soaking into the sand. Before Tommy can right himself, Uber slices him across his stomach. Thank God that one’s a shallow cut.
    —Why isn’t he fighting back? Allison asks.
    —He’s waiting for the right moment, I say, though I’m wondering the same thing.
    Thad’s trying to say something now, his mouth