He turned around. There were seven of them, leaning back against the metal sinks or standing closer to the showers, watching him. Bonzo stood in front of them. Many were smiling, the condescending leer of the hunter for his cornered victim. Bonzo was not smiling, however.
Bonzo stopped smiling. It was the thing he hated most about Ender, that Enter really mattered to other people, and, in the end, Bonzo did not. You’ve killed me with those words, Dink. Bonzo doesn’t want to hear that I might save the world.
I don’t care about their game anymore, Bean. I’m not going to play it anymore. No more practices. No more battles. They can put their little slips of paper on the floor all they want, but I won’t go.