“Step off the rope, Instructor.”
The judge did not look up from his board. It was the third time since the first bell, and he said it the same way each time, reading a line off a list he did not like.
Calen did not move. His palm lay flat on the rope. The rope was warm from the sun and smelled of tar.
Before the bout, the public board at the Arena gate had still shown the first week’s scores in chalk. Kade’s 71 sat at the top, with a small star drawn beside it by someone who thought it was funny. Dorran’s 44 was near the bottom, in the same neat hand. Liss’s name had been written in last, with no score yet beside it.
Liss had stood next to Calen under that board and asked her question. It was the one she always asked.
“What does the rope mean, Instructor?”
“It means I stand behind it.”
“And if I need you at the rope?”
