by Piper Banks
“Absolutely,” I said. “We’ll start working on them today.”
“Great, thanks,” Sanjiv said. He smiled weakly and looked around at us. “I guess we’d better get started. We’re going to need all the practice we can get.”
The next day, I waited outside the Mod Lit classroom for Mrs. Gordon to arrive before class began.
“Hi, Miranda,” Mrs. Gordon said, smiling warmly at me. She was carrying our essays on 1984, marked and ready to be handed back. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and there was a coffee stain on her yellow blouse. “Coming to class?”
“Yes. I just have something I needed to tell you in private,” I said. I explained about the MATh team, and how if I didn’t go to finals, the whole team would be disqualified, and how I couldn’t do that to them, even if it meant that I would miss the Winston Creative Writing Contest finals.
Mrs. Gordon was disappointed, but she smiled and said she understood.
“I know you didn’t ask my opinion, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing,” she said.
“You do?” I asked. My disappointment over missing the writing contest felt heavy, pressing on my shoulders and twisting in my stomach. It was as though not only had I received the worst news of my life, I’d had to deliver it to myself. I sighed. “No one else thinks that I am.”
I’d told my dad, Hannah, and Finn my decision, and all three had been first startled and then skeptical at the wisdom of it. Even Sadie had sent me an e-mail urging me to rethink my choice.
“I do,” Mrs. Gordon said firmly. “You’re making the brave choice. The selfless choice. That’s the kind of person you are, Miranda, and you should be proud of that. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I said. Her words had lifted some of the sadness weighing on me.
“Come on. Let’s get to class,” Mrs. Gordon said. “Oh, hi, Charlie, you’re just in time.”
I turned and saw Charlie there, standing just behind me.
“Hi,” I said, before I remembered that we weren’t speaking.
“Hi,” Charlie said.
She glanced away then, as we all turned to walk into the classroom. But I’d gotten the definite feeling that before she’d turned, Charlie had been looking at me thoughtfully. As though she were just recognizing me after being away for a long time.
And I’d noticed something else: Charlie’s eyes were rimmed with red, as though she’d been crying. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but I didn’t act fast enough. Charlie moved away and sat down next to Tabitha. She didn’t look up at me again, and insteadfocused her attention on getting out her books and laptop. I sat next to Finn, as usual. But throughout the rest of the period, as we talked about the symbolism in Native Son, which we had just started reading that week, I couldn’t help glancing over at Charlie. Once or twice, from the way her eyes flicked quickly away, I could have sworn that she’d been looking back at me only a moment earlier.
Chapter 22
The Mu Alpha Theta State Finals were held in a huge carpeted ballroom on the second floor of a hotel in downtown West Palm Beach. There was a stage at the front of the room, where the moderator’s podium and two team tables were set up. On the table, in front of each chair, there was a microphone and a buzzer that lit up a red light when hit.
St. Pius had already faced off against Pine Hill Academy in the first round of the quarterfinals, and Austin Strong’s team had easily won, moving forward into the semifinals. The Geek High team was up next, competing against Hibiscus High from Gainesville. We’d never gone up against this particular school before, but word was that their team was good, mostly because they fielded a large bench, and so had the luxury of being able to pick and choose their best players.
Our team was milling around with the rest of the gathered crowd, receiving final well-wishes before our round began. I was standing with my dad, the only spectator there on my behalf. Finn couldn’t come—he was on a business trip to California to meet with representatives of a gaming company—and Charlie still wasn’t speaking to me. Hannah had surprised me at breakfast by making a halfhearted offer to come with us. I’d thanked her but told her she’d probably be bored out of her mind. At this, Peyton—filing her talonlike nails while she read the real estate section of the newspaper—had snorted in a nasty way. Peyton was still furious at Dad for canceling their trip to the Keys that weekend. She certainly didn’t offer to come with us, not that I wanted her there. The Demon could lower the temperature in a room ten degrees just by walking into it.
“Good luck, honey,” Dad now said, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. “Break a leg!”
“Thanks, Dad. And thanks for coming,” I said.
“You know I wouldn’t miss it,” he said.
“I wouldn’t either,” a familiar voice said.
Was it . . . ? No . . . it couldn’t be. Could it?
I spun around, and my mouth dropped open.
“Mom?”
“Hello, darling,” Sadie said, beaming at me. She held her arms open. I gave a cry of delight and charged toward her.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, as she squeezed me against her perfumey crimson silk blouse. “Are you home for good?”
“No, just for the week,” Sadie said. “I couldn’t miss watching you win the state championship, after all.”
“If we win,” I said doubtfully.
“I have complete faith in you,” Sadie said, hugging me to her again.
“Hello, Sadie,” Dad said, sounding stiff.
“Hello, Richard,” Sadie said. She looked around. “Where’s ... ?”
Sadie never said Peyton’s name. She usually just called her That Woman.
Dad turned red and looked down at the floor. “Peyton couldn’t make it,” he said.
“Isn’t that a surprise,” Sadie said tartly.
“Sadie, don’t start,” Dad said, his voice testy.
I broke in then. “As much as I’m enjoying this trip down memory lane—Miranda Bloom, the tween years—I have to go. My team’s waiting for me,” I said. I nodded over at where the other members of the Geek High Mu Alpha Theta team were congregating up on the stage.
My parents stopped glaring at each other long enough to wish me luck, and then I left them to their nostalgic fighting, making my way through the crowd to the stage.
“Is everyone ready?” I asked brightly. The team was grouped together, behind our table.
“Absolutely,” Nicholas said.
“Why not?” Kyle said, which was positively optimistic coming from him.
“Do you have a pep talk for us, Miranda?” Leila asked.
I looked at Sanjiv. His face was ashen and he was nervously licking his lips, but there was also an air of resolution about him. For better or worse, he was here to compete.
“Sanjiv is the team captain,” I said. “He should give the pep talk.”
But Sanjiv shook his head. “No. You’re better at pep talks than I am,” he said.
“Okay, well,” I hesitated, and drew in a deep breath while I thought. “We’re certainly ready. I doubt if any Mu Alpha Theta team in the history of Geek High has worked harder than we have to prepare for this day. So whether we win or lose, we can be proud of ourselves.” I hesitated to let these words sink in before continuing. “But I gave up the chance to win a really prestigious writing award to be here, and I really, really want to win. So don’t let me down out there.”
The rest of the team laughed, which broke the tension. And then the moderator switched on his microphone and said, “Will the teams competing in the second quarterfinal round match please take their seats.”
“This is it,” I said under my breath. “Good luck, everyone.”
We won the quarterfinals easily. Even Sanjiv got one question right, which seemed to give him a much-needed confidence boost. He was in high spirits at lunch, and seemed primed and ready to go for our semifinal match against Poinciana High, which was scheduled to take place after lunch.
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Unfortunately, just as we were sitting down for the semifinals, Sanjiv’s dad showed up, waving around his camcorder and cheering loudly whenever it was Sanjiv’s turn. The end result was that although we were able to barely scrape by with a win in our semifinal competition, Sanjiv missed all three of his questions.
The good news: We were in the finals. The bad news: We were competing against St. Pius, who had cruised easily through its two earlier rounds to get there.
While Sanjiv bolted to the bathroom—presumably to throw up—I quickly gathered the rest of our teammates in a huddle.
“We have to get rid of Sanjiv’s dad,” I said.
Kyle nodded knowingly. “Like a poisonous dart in the neck? Or do you want to try and slip something in his drink?”
“No!” I said. I wasn’t entirely sure Kyle was joking. “I meant we have to get rid of him in a legal and nonviolent way.”
“We could tell him that he got an urgent phone message saying he had to go home right away,” Leila suggested.
“Except why would we get a phone call like that? Why wouldn’t whoever was supposedly calling him just reach him on his cell phone?” I asked.
Leila looked disgruntled. “It was just an idea,” she said testily.
“Why don’t we just tell him the truth,” Nicholas said.
We all stared at him. “The truth?” Leila asked.
But I nodded slowly. “He’s right. We just should tell Mr. Gupta the truth. Come on, I’m not doing this alone.”
I marched off the stage, the others trailing behind me. We made our way over to the front row, where Mr. Gupta had managed to wrangle a seat despite his late arrival. He was busily making adjustments to his tripod, and so he didn’t notice the four of us standing in front of him.
“Mr. Gupta, may we talk to you for a minute?” I asked.
He glanced up, blinking and Adam’s apple bobbing, looking in that moment exactly like his son.
“Hello, team,” he said. He looked around. “Where is Sanjiv?”
“He’s puking his guts out at the moment,” Kyle said baldly.
Mr. Gupta looked startled, so I hastened to reassure him.
“He’s going to be fine,” I said. “But you really have to go. When you’re in the audience, it makes Sanjiv too nervous to perform well.”
“This is nonsense,” Mr. Gupta said. His accent was heavy, and it gave his words a pecular importance.
“It’s true,” Leila chimed in. “He always does better when you’re not watching him.”
“Is this true?” Mr. Gupta asked. He looked at us, and we all nodded.
“It’s pretty obvious,” Nicholas said. “When you’re in the audience, he’s never able to answer any of the questions.”
“And this is going to be a tough competition for us,” I said, gesturing back at the stage, where the St. Pius team was congregating. “We need Sanjiv at his best if we’re going to win.”
“Well . . . all right, then,” Mr. Gupta said, looking crestfallen. “I just wanted to watch Sanjiv win.”
“I have an idea,” I said. “Here, give me your camcorder. I’ll give it to my dad, and he can tape the competition for you. That way, you’ll still be able to see the whole competition. . . . Just not live.”
“Well . . . all right,” Mr. Gupta said hesitantly. He didn’t seem especially eager to hand over his camcorder. I had to give it a little tug to free it from his grasp.
“Thank you, Mr. Gupta,” I said, turning before he could change his mind. I hurried off to give the camcorder to my dad, who was sitting uneasily next to Sadie.
“Shouldn’t you be up on stage?” Sadie asked, frowning.
“Yeah, I should,” I said. Then I launched into the explanation about Sanjiv’s nervousness, and how Mr. Gupta had agreed to leave, and finished up by showing my dad how to work the camcorder.
“So I just hold it up like this, and push this button here?” Dad asked. “That’s all there is to it?”
“That’s it,” I said. I glanced up at the stage, where the rest of the Geek High team, including Sanjiv, had regrouped. They were all taking their seats. “Oops, I’d better get up there.”
“Good luck!” Sadie and my dad chorused together.
I started to hurry back through the crowd when I heard someone calling my name.
“Miranda!”
I turned, my eyes scanning the crowd. It took several long beats before I saw who was calling me: It was Charlie. She stepped forward, looking nervous but smiling. Her hair was purple today, the color of a grape lollipop, and she was wearing a pink T-shirt with FRANKIE SAYS RELAX on the front in big black letters.
“Charlie? What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I came to watch you win,” Charlie said.
“Oh. Thanks,” I said.
“And also to tell you . . .well, I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “For how I’ve been acting lately. And for your birthday. For everything.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I said quickly. “I should have been more supportive.”
“No! You were right, I was acting like an idiot!”
I shook my head. “You weren’t being an idiot. You’re in love. I should have understood.”
Charlie winced, and her eyes darkened. “I’m not in love,” she said flatly. “Mitch and I broke up.”
I gasped. “You did? Why? When?”
“A week ago . . . and, I don’t want to get into the details right now,” Charlie said. She suddenly looked shy and hopeful. “But I’d really like to talk to you about it. You know, later, when you have time.”
“I’d like that, too,” I said. Then I had an idea. “What are you doing later on?”
Charlie shook her head. “Nothing. Why?”
“Do you want to go to a lacrosse game with me?”
“A lacrosse game? Since when do you watch lacrosse?” Charlie asked. “It hasn’t been that long since we’ve talked, has it?”
I laughed. “No. It’ll be my first game.”
The moderator’s voice blared out from the speakers set up around the perimeter of the room: “The final round of the Mu Alpha Theta state championship will begin in two minutes. All competitors should now be on stage and in their seats.”
“Go,” Charlie said. She reached forward and squeezed my hand. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I said. And then, on impulse, I gave her a quick hug. “Thanks for being here. It really means a lot to me.”
We sat in the same seat positions we had all day: Leila was first, then Kyle, Sanjiv, Nicholas, and, finally, me. I leaned forward, craning my neck to look at the St. Pius table. Austin Strong also sat in the fifth seat, opposite me. He met my gaze for a moment, and for a change, he didn’t smirk. He just nodded gravely, almost nervously, and I nodded back. I noticed Qin Gang had moved to sit in the third seat, opposite Sanjiv.
The moderator, a tall man with a ruddy face and short, snowy white hair, began to speak, his voice magnified to fill the room. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the finals of the Mu Alpha Theta state championship. The two teams you see before you—St. Pius to my left, and Notting Hill Independent School to my right—have faced tough competition to make it here. In fact, St. Pius has an unblemished record, having won every match they’ve competed in this season.” The audience clapped politely. A few of the rowdier St. Pius parents threw in some whistles and hoots. The moderator waited for a moment until the crowd settled down before continuing. “Round one will now commence.”
As the moderator posed the first question, which Leila answered correctly, earning our team the first five points, I suddenly realized how nervous I was. My palms were sweaty, my mouth was dry, and there was an uncomfortable fluttering sensation in my stomach. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how much I wanted our team to win. And not just to show up Austin Strong and his smug teammates, or to see Sanjiv overcome his nerves. I wanted to win just for the sake of winning. I wanted to bring home the big trophy on display at the back of t
he room for Geek High’s trophy case.
Unfortunately, we weren’t off to a strong start. Although Leila and I both answered our first-round questions correctly, Nicholas, Kyle, and Sanjiv all lost theirs, putting the score at ten for Geek High, fifteen for St. Pius. We didn’t fare much better in the second round. This time, only Nicholas and I won our questions, which brought the score to thirty to forty-five, with St. Pius in the lead.
“We’re only fifteen points behind,” I told the others during the break before the final round. “That’s nothing. We can still win. We’ve done it before.”
“She’s right,” Sanjiv said unexpectedly. We all looked at him. Normally at this point in the competition, he looked miserable— shoulders slumped, chin down, an air of misery clinging to him. But now he looked determined. “Fifteen points is one round-three question. We can still win.”
“If we can win three questions,” Kyle said dubiously. “I haven’t gotten the chance to answer one yet. That girl I’m up against is a quick draw on her buzzer. She keeps managing to hit it just as the moderator finishes the question.”
“Look, Kyle, rather than complaining, why don’t you just try harder?” Sanjiv snapped. Which was so unlike him, we all stared at him. “What?” Sanjiv said, rather aggressively.
“You just seem a little . . .” Leila grappled for the right word. “Intense,” she finished.
“I’m just sick of it. I’m sick of being a loser,” Sanjiv said.
“You’re not a loser,” I said.
“Yes, I am. And I’m not going to put up with it anymore. It stops right here, right now. From this moment on, I’m going to play like a champion,” Sanjiv said. He looked around at us, his expression fierce. “We’re all going to play like champions. We know we can win this thing. So let’s go do it.”
With that, Sanjiv turned smartly and marched back to the table to take his seat.
