The Gamers' Academy

By Shanice Williams

Seventeen-year-old Letti has shown enough talent to be living the dream as a student at the prestigious and private Gamers Academy. When she’s not in weekly meetings that push her buttons, she’s having practice gaming sessions and hanging out with Eric, her boyfriend and fellow teammate.

But there's a new arrival - A mysterious, elite gamer who is beginning to grab everyone's attention, and if Letti’s not careful, hers too.

With the most important tournament coming up, concentrating just got a little more difficult and the only one who seems to notice is her.

But maybe being pushed out of her comfort zone isn’t so bad... isn't gaming supposed to be entertaining and challenging anyway?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lands Atlantic Publishing
• Release date: May 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9798215581315

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Games

RoTY 2, League of Heroes, Galaxycraft II, Contra-Force,Planets of Warriors, A.L.O.W, Call of Comission,  Legends of  Herthland, B.U.R.N, Quiver Live, Gears of Duty.

Games. Massive online, multiplayer games. That paid. Well, they themselves didn't pay. But playing them at a competitive level definitely did.

Did your parents ever tell you that gaming was a waste of time? That it didn't pay the rent or get you a career? Ever used to have them standing there while your heart pounded as you tried to find the last sucker on your Seek and Destroy final round, shouting at you to 'do something with your life'?

Yeah, me too. It's funny, isn't it? How things change? This time ten years ago, my mom probably would have been right. Was the electronic sports scene huge then? Hell no. (And come on guys. They're just trying to look out for us, make sure we have a bright future). Of course, that didn't stop me from telling my mom to sit on her ass and shut the hell up. Not that any of you should ever treat your mothers that way. Not unless you want to get shipped to your Aunt and Uncle Stefan; the hippie enthusiasts who would do just about anything to braid daisies in your hair and feed you organic goat’s milk. (w.t.f.)

Though I can't complain. My mother's lack of understanding and her sister's over compensating on my fashion sense and nutritional health led me here. In a different state. With new people, a new home and a new life.

The G.A.

And if you haven't heard of it, well, good. A multi-billion dollar academy doesn't want just any newbie  rolling up to the front door asking for a place because your Kill-Death ratio was really, really good. (Something which totally happened. I was there, it was hilarious). To get into the G.A. you have to be good. I mean really, really good. The 'one in a million' kind of good, where people are always awe-struck at just how good you are.  And if you've ever had a friend who you'd sometimes play a few rounds of Call of Commission with after school, listen to him laugh at how you sucked and how last night he was playing a scrim against some top people and he totally owned them, then you know the type of good we mean. Also, if you haven't heard from that friend again, there's a reason.

He's at the G.A.

And if you're a Legends of Herthlands player and had to hear this one guy whine about carrying you so hard, and how you were constantly feeding the enemy team with your endless deaths, how you were all bringing him down and that he needed to find himself a decent team, don't worry. The reason why that friend of yours is no longer at  level Rubin IV, but is now at Crystal 12 (the highest ranking level) is because he got noticed.

He's at the G.A.

And although to you, these guys sound like arrogant assholes, (which they totally are and I pretty much hate them), to us, to the G.A. they're like gold dust. The G.A. feeds off of the arrogance, the conceit. It relishes in the daddy issues, the mommy issues, the depressing issues, the 'forever alone' issues and uses it as a driving force so that the students here can be the best. Which is exactly what we are. 285 LANs a year (that's almost one every day), with some of the best teams, the biggest sponsors and the largest coverage on all the social network sites. The streams, the tweets, the statuses, the commentaries, the interviews, the reviews. They happen here.

Did I mention the after parties? Oh man. If you've never seen a drunk Asian Legends of Herthlands player try to shout-cast a Contra-Force match, or a Dutch RoTY 2 player high on Red Bull try to play darts, then you're seriously missing out on life.

But don't get the wrong impression. The G.A. isn't an alternative college where sex, drugs and alcohol dominate the scene. We are professional gamers and playing under the influence is strictly prohibited. Those after parties only occur when there's a big win. I mean, our RoTY 2 team placed first and won one million dollars last year. Of course, celebrations of the alcoholic kind are irrefutably needed when one of our teams pulls in that kind of cash. And of course, the whole academic faculty will partake, resulting in one of our IT Networking lecturers slipping on a leaked can of soda, somehow punching our lead Quiver Live shout-caster in the jaw and face planting into a Russian Gears of Duty player's personal, newly built top of the range desktop PC—Which, at that very moment in time, just happened to have an open case—Ouch. (Without a doubt, the largest amount of concern was for the computer.)

So what is this place, you ask? Where does all of this crazy, awesome, gaming-filled madness take place?

Well... this is the Gamers Academy.

And me? I'm Letti and just an average, gamer girl. And for those of you shocked or surprised or disbelieving of the fact that o.m.g girls play games?!?! the answer is yes. We do. In fact, all the girls that attend this academy are pretty kickass and usually dominate their male counterparts for their chosen game. As for me, well I don't play every game out there, and I don't spend my entire life scrolling through the Bubble sales waiting to get my hands on whatever's trending at the time. My game is Contra-Force. Contra-Force: Last Push to be precise. It is practically the only game I play and, obviously, I play it well. While my team and I are not top of the bunch in terms of our performance and ratings, we are definitely getting recognized. Which, apparently is what the G.A. is all about. Finding new talent, and getting them recognized or something along those lines. If you ever happen to walk into the main building, you will see a very large, silver plaque nailed to the base of a big-ass dark, oak reception desk. The Gamers Academy prides itself on catering to all professional gamers, across all platforms and genres that have the capability of a multiplayer function. You will also see huge ceiling to floor game posters, black marble flooring and a ridiculously hot, brunette receptionist. Not that I'm lesbian or anything, but credit has to be given when it is due.

So, yeah. Being here was a pretty big deal. A pretty big, secretive deal. It is almost guaranteed that if you were lucky enough to be invited to the G.A. no one else would know how or why you got in. Not even your parents, which is exactly why everyone here is eighteen (apparently there's some legal jargon that makes the 'eighteen only' thing a very, very strict rule); everyone except me. I'm seventeen, something which I'm not really allowed to broadcast, but I figure you can keep it to yourself, right?

At the moment, I'm sitting on the best chair, in the best office. Everything in here is spotless, immaculate and oh so pretty. The floors are like white, crystallized, millenstone tiles so shiny you can pretty much see your reflection. I use this to my advantage and take a quick peek at my hair before I divert my attention back to Michael.

Michael, the founder, the principal, the God of G.A. is, luckily enough, a good friend of mine. Well, a good friend of my mother's. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't even be here. Would still be at my Uncle and Aunt's, somehow trying to avoid their 'family bird-watching' weekends. As previously mentioned, his office is an oval-shaped paradise. Floor to ceiling windows frame the entire room except for the entrance wall. But they weren't just any ordinary windows. Made of some weird, special type of glass, they could turn into a projected image of any kind. There were a few times when he had hooked up his computer to the projector and the glass would transform into an amazing panoramic, cinematic screen and we would play a random co-op style game on the maximum graphic settings and life would just be totally epic.

Now though, I can't see anything on or through the glass. Black, electric blinds obscure the outside world as I sit on the massive, plush couch. The material is so soft and white, made of some kind of rich, suede fabric. Michael pushes his glasses further up his nose and leans back as his white, office chair reclines with the movement.

I saw your mom this weekend, he says, his voice relaxed, yet playful. She's looking... Good.

Do you want to bone my mother, Michael? I ask and lean forward to grab some chips that he had laid on top of a black, opaque, glass coffee table upon my arrival.

What? No... God. No. He laughs and clears his throat, sits forward and grabs some chips from his desk.

Cus you know, I say between mouthfuls, I could always put in a good word for you.

He stares at me sarcastically. "When was the last time you even saw your mother, Letti?"

I shrug. It was true that I hadn't seen or spoken to my mom since she had cast me away, but it wasn't that much of a big deal. I mean, I knew she was safe thanks to Michael's frequent 'lunches' with her, and like he said; she was looking good.

True, but, I smile and dip another chip into some guacamole. That still wasn't a 'No'.

You should be less concerned about me and more concerned about your own performance. I'm starting to think that team of yours will never pull a first place. Michael stares at me with a frown and I stop the movement of my arm; my guacamole covered chip hanging in the air, inches away from my open mouth.

"Really? You're really gonna go down that road? Eric has just been... Pre-occupied."

With what exactly? he watches as I tilt my head back and lower the crunchy, cheesy, mushy goodness into my mouth. "I'm worried that this... partnership between the two of you is affecting your performance."

By partnership, he is of course referring to Eric being my boyfriend. It wasn't really a planned move–when I first started playing with him he was the typical arrogant yet gamer-nerd asshole like they all are, and I just wanted to play and win games and, albeit secretly, be an arrogant asshole too– but eventually once we got used to each other's gaming style, and realized that, actually, we made a pretty good team, the feelings started growing. During one of the LAN's a few months back, and after securing second place against a tough opposition, Eric had jumped out of his seat, grabbed my shoulders and just kissed me. Like right there. On the stage, while the crazy-packed audience, and the rest of our team and the opposing team just kind of watched. To this day, the memory still makes me do a weird, cringing smile.

I shake my head and hold up a finger, signaling for him to wait until I have finished chewing. Me and Eric are a great team. We'll be fine.

After a few seconds of him staring at me with searching eyes, he shrugs, turns his chair and pulls open his desk drawer. Well if you're sure. By the way, his voice becomes excited as he takes out a cream, manila folder. We got a new one.

I wipe my hands and sit up, equaling his level of enthusiasm. It has become a custom tradition that, whenever he has found new elite gamers, he shares the information with me during one of our office hangouts.

What gCamp? I ask.

"MOBA, League of Heroes. He's good, Letti," Michael gives me a wide smile as he throws the folder onto the coffee table. I flip it open and look at the picture that's paper-clipped to the page. A mess of black hair and drowsy, gray eyes stare back at me.

Is he like, stoned in this picture? I hear Michael laugh and say a quiet 'dunno' as I continue to read the bio.

Name: Mika Virtanen

Age: 19

Nationality: Finnish

English Proficiency: Excellent

Platform: PC

Game: League of Heroes

Rank: Crystal 12

Nodding slowly, I focus once more on the portrait picture. His piercing, gray eyes peek out through the strands of black hair that fall down on his face. His expression is... well... expressionless.

A Finnish Crystal, huh? I close the folder, place it back onto the table. Michael nods and raises his eyebrows. "His personality and attitude are perfect. I tell you man, these Europeans are like gaming machines."

Aren't the Finnish famous for like... drinking and never showing emotion? You basically have an emotionless, drunken gamer.

I watch as Michael smirks, picks up the folder and begins to flip through it. As I watch him study the new arrival, I start to really, really look at him. He isn't a bad looking guy. In his early thirties, with thin golden specs and short, spiked, sandy blonde hair, he can actually be considered quite handsome. The slight bump in his nose could possibly throw some women off, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right? Even with that being said, I find it hard to imagine him as a step-father and make a silent note to try and distract him from my mother when I next get the chance. Although our office gaming afternoons were awesome, I could already imagine the level of fatherly authority he would try to assert over me.

Well, I sigh and stand up. Think I've got a practice match soon, so I'll be off. Michael nods but keeps his gaze firmly locked on the folder in front of him, a smile still playing around his lips. I roll my eyes and give a small wave before heading towards the office door. Just as I touch the door handle, Michael speaks. Hey, Letti?

I duck my head and silently groan. With the high, slightly anxious pitch of his voice, I already know where this is leading.  It always has, and always does mean only one thing. He wants a favor.

Yes, Michael? I mutter, slowly turning to face him. His expression is momentarily hopeful before it turns into a frown. He waves me off

Ah, never mind. Have fun, and good luck.

Although I predominantly congratulate myself on the missed possible slave-labor task and conclude that this is definitely–and finally– due to the fact that I have perfected the 'I-don't-want-to-do-anything-that-you-ask-of-me'  look, I can't help the curiosity that forms in the back of my mind about what he possibly could have wanted. But seeing as I'm already sort of late for the match, I quickly shake the thought away. Besides, my  mother always used to tell me that curiosity killed the cat. And seeing as I don't have the fortune of having nine lives like a cat, (or so they say) I decide that my life, at the moment, is way too awesome to be curious.

Little do I know that soon enough, I'll find out exactly what it is that Michael wanted.

Chapter 2: The Team

After we kick some random team's ass with a score of 13-2, the rest of my team starts to perform the usual after-game fiddling. In no particular order, this will primarily consist of:

-Quitting the game (obviously.) But not, of course, before typing the typical 'Good game, you nearly had us' patronizing niceties to the losers.

-Closing SquadSpeak–a useful and, to be quite honest, mandatory software where team players can effectively communicate with each other whilst being in-game.

-Stretching of the keyboard-warrior fingers and revelling in the satisfying crack that they give in response.

-Removing top of the range headsets and feeling the cool air return to the red-tipped and sweaty earlobes.

And last but not least:

-Giving a small, slightly fake sigh. The type of arrogant 'this game is just too easy, will I ever meet someone as good as me, it's actually boring' type of sigh that every elite gamer has after they win a match, regardless of whether they're in first place or in fifth.

Just as I walk over to the sofa where Eric is sitting, Chris, our in-game Medic does a rather loud and overtly-dramatic aforementioned sigh before he plops down onto the red, leather couch. I watch as he ruffles through his backpack for what I can only guess will be a snack of some kind. You see Chris is, what I like to call, the typical, chubby gamer. These gamers are  strictly Otakus, meaning they spend most of their lives never leaving their bedroom, (or any room where a computer and a bed share the same space,) watching anime, reading manga and religiously playing multiplayer games. All the while never getting any physical exercise, eating foods that are microwaveable and preferably take less than two minutes to cook, and trolling through gaming forums trying to find any female being that may just 'see them for who they really are.' Which I suppose could work if Chris was the soft, gentle, secretly loving type who actually respected women.

Unfortunately, brown-eyed, brown-haired Chris isn't one of those guys. Chris is the 'show tits or gtfo' kind of guy. The guy who will only ever ask one question: Is she legal? And then inadvertently refer to a 'rapesloth' meme quote and chuckle hysterically while his entire, larger-than-life body shakes and wobbles with each guffaw. He is also the kind of guy who actually thinks he's attractive. Not just physically attractive, but mentally attractive. He always says that if he were to actually venture out into the real world, women would be all over him. Though he usually  phrases it more like: Bitches would love me.

But regardless of his major, major cons, Chris is a ridiculously good Medic. Since he started playing Contra-Force, it has been the only class he has ever played. He has mastered each skill-set, each weapon to medpacks ratio, (As a medic, your weapon options are dramatically weaker than other classes, and while the option to beef up is available, it decreases your ability to heal your teammates considerably), and his communications are always clear-set. Add this to the fact that I seem to be the only female he treats with a shred of respect, I have come to see him as not only an invaluable part of our team, but also as a friend.

Just as he victoriously holds up a pack of cookies in the air, I climb onto Eric's lap and lazily wrap my arms around his neck. Chris chomps on a few cookies while staring at his phone, seemingly reading a manga of some kind, (it is literally the only time he is silent) before he looks in our direction. How'd you like my save in that game huh, Letti-chan?

I laugh and throw him a 'oh well' shrug, Yeah, I failed kinda hard there, I say. But I saved your ass pretty good too when that sniper re-spawned.

Chris grins, nods and taps on his phone a bit more as he talks. Maybe. Maybe I would've deep-dived, done a double flip and strafed over the bridge, then back-raped the punk.

Or, seeing as half of that isn't even possible, maybe you would've just like... Died?

Letti-chaaaan, he takes on this whole Japanese, whiny- pitched voice while his round face contorts into a try-hard, puppy-dog type of expression. Why yeww noo feed maii egooo?

Sometimes, it was hard to believe that this guy was eighteen.

Why you no shut the hell up? Eric mumbles quietly into my neck and I smile.You did great, baby, he says and I slowly run my fingertips over his cropped hair (or what was left of it). I had always suggested he grow it so that I could do the whole 'running my hand through his hair' type of thing as opposed to over it, but Eric always refused. Apparently, long hair is for girls, and even though I have pointed out that I wouldn't want him to grow a fully fledged, face whipping, voluptuous, bouncing head of shoulder length hair, he still sees any hairstyle that isn't cropped as a girly one. Still, I liked smoothing the soft blond strands. Even if they were stubby.

Michael was asking about us again, I say.

Oh, really? He ducks his head and nuzzles at the skin at my throat and I hum and try to squirm free. Even though in movies and books and columns of epic sexy-style magazines, it is said that us females get ridiculously turned on whenever any part of a guy’s face comes into contact with our necks, I am obviously broken and/or possibly not one hundred percent even female because... I hate it. It tickles, and the thought of  someone's hot, wet breath or (even worse) their tongue even touching my neck actually kind of makes me shudder. And not in the good way. Of course, Eric knows this. And of course, he doesn't care.

That dude is such a hater, Chris muffles through a mouthful of cookies.

He's just concerned, I raise my left hand to start chewing on my thumb-nail, but Eric slaps it away before I even get the chance. He scowls at my pleading pout and shakes his head.

It's a bad habit, stop that shit, he says, his voice rather sharp.

You stopping me is a bad habit, I huff and fold my arms. Eric sometimes had the tendency to snap at me. During our first few weeks together, it made me nervous and I would usually go silent and meek and kind of disappear into the background. But one time he told me that he only got like that because he wanted to protect me, so now I tend to give as good as I get. Because you know, I want to protect him, too.  What about your smoking? I ask accusingly. "If you ask me, that's a way worse habit, and it's technically prohibited."

He grins his winning, wide smile and shrugs. I'm allowed to smoke.

Says who?

Me. Besides, no one sees me if I go to the back of the farm. The farm, of-course, being a massive picturesque style field at the back of the academy where physical sports and non-computerized socializing occasionally takes place. Michael said he named it the farm so that when people asked where he was, he could say he was farming.

Get it? Yeah... This is a man in his thirties.

I roll my eyes and mumble, At least biting my nails won't kill me.

Come on, Letti, he laughs and wraps both arms around my waist, Smoking won't kill me. You know why?

Feigning disinterest, I give a nonchalant shrug.

'Cus I'm awesome!

Not as awesome as your mom, Chris muffles, bits of cookie crumbles flying from his mouth and landing on his ill-fitting Kasabian t-shirt.

It should be noted now that our third and final teammate, Fen, who we like to call Fenny, is absurdly quiet. In fact, the only time he will speak is during a game so that he can keep up the needed communications to secure our victory. Apart from that, he is literally