And that was when I saw what Cassidy had done to herself: the gold and red ribbing on her sweater-vest, the matching stripes on her tie, the gray uniform skirt, and the navy blazer draped over her arm . . .
“Is that a Gryffindor tie?” I asked.
“And an official Harry Potter Merchandise sweater-vest,” she confirmed smugly.
“Ms. Weng’ll make you change,” Phoebe said.
“She can’t.” Cassidy grinned. “I’m not out of dress code. Technically. Now come along Cedric, Cho.”
We headed toward the indoor cafeteria where all of the teams were making camp, and I realized that I was nervous. Deeply, horribly nervous. Not about doing well at the tournament, because I knew I was pretty hopeless in that regard. I was nervous that I’d fail to see what was so wonderful about putting on a suit and talking about government. Nervous that I didn’t really belong with this group of friends after all. That I was destined to forever be someone whose defining characteristic was lost forever at seventeen, rather than found.
The cafeteria was crowded, and Cassidy reached over and grabbed my hand as we walked in. I glanced over at her; she seemed so different from the girl who had placed a crown of flowers in my hair by the creek and told me to make a wish on a paper star. For the first time, Cassidy seemed on edge.
Toby spotted us, waving us over to our team’s table, where Ms. Weng quickly filled us in on the schedule: We’d have two preliminary rounds that evening, then two more prelims the next morning, to be followed by two final rounds and an award ceremony.
“Cassidy, what are you wearing?” Ms. Weng asked.
“My Oxford tie?” Cassidy frowned, a perfect picture of confusion. “It’s from my summer study.”
I don’t know how we all managed to keep from laughing as she got away with it, but we did. And then a flurry of commotion went up on the other side of the cafeteria: The first round had been posted. The room erupted into utter chaos as three hundred teenagers surged forward to get a look.
Cassidy insisted I stay behind, so I stood around awkwardly with Ms. Weng for a moment, until Cassidy returned wielding a purple Post-it with my room number scribbled down.
I stared at the Post-it, my nerves doubling.
“You’ll be fine,” Toby said, clapping me on the back. “We suck, remember? Go lose one for the team.”
I laughed, feeling slightly better. I could do this. It was just a speech, something I’d done all the time at SGA meetings and pep rallies. A speech in a room where hardly anyone was listening. A speech that hadn’t even been written yet, so I wouldn’t even have to worry about forgetting my lines.
I glanced over at Cassidy, to see how she was holding up, since she’d been acting weird all day. She was so pale that she looked as if she might faint, and her expression seemed haunted.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” Cassidy said, attempting a smile. “Now don’t worry about me, little protégé. Go on, fly away.”
“Well, good luck,” I said.
“Break a leg!” Cassidy called teasingly after me as I headed toward the A building.
I took a route that avoided the main stairs and wound up massively turned around. I arrived at the East corridor by mistake, and was pretty disgusted with myself as I doubled back along a third-floor hallway. And then I saw Cassidy.
Her back was turned, and she was standing next to a decrepit water fountain, talking to this old lady coach I didn’t recognize. The coach had her hand on Cassidy’s shoulder, and her expression was so grave that I didn’t dare to interrupt.
“—but it’s wonderful to see you back here, competing again,” the coach said.
“Thanks,” Cassidy muttered.
I hesitated, sensing this wasn’t something I was supposed to see, and then Cassidy turned around.
“Hey,” she said, embarrassed. “What are you doing here?”
“Attempting to locate the west corridor?” I admitted.
“It’s this way,” Cassidy said. “I’ll show you.”
She hustled me around the corner, and sure enough, the little letters next to the room numbers changed from “East” to “North.”
“What was that about?” I asked.
“I have no idea.” Cassidy shrugged. “Actually, I’m glad you showed up. This coach I’ve never seen before randomly pulled me aside. She kept calling me Elizabeth and acting like my mom had cancer.”
“Weird,” I said.
“There must be some school that actually has Gryffindor uniforms.” Cassidy grinned, pulling at her sweater-vest. “Well, ‘West’ should be just around the corner. I have to head back.”
“See you later, Elizabeth!” I called after her.
“Hate you,” she yelled back.
WHEN I GOT back to the table after my round, Toby, Austin, and Phoebe were already there. Phoebe had unearthed a box of Fruit Gushers, and she offered me a pack.
“Thanks,” I said, tearing it open. “Haven’t had these since I was a kid.”
“That’s the point,” Phoebe said, grinning. “They taste like childhood.”
“So how’d it go?” Toby asked.
“Fine,” I said. “I guess. It’s weird; I can’t tell if I won or lost.”
“That happens sometimes.” Austin looked up from his game console. “Although I definitely lost. I matched with one of those assholes from Rancho—they wear National Forensics League pins in their lapels—anyway, it was a disaster.”
“Sucks,” I offered.
Austin shrugged and ate a handful of Fruit Gushers.
“It’s okay,” he said, waving his game console. “I got like three street passes from walking there, plus a new unlock code, so Rancho can suck it.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes.
“Austin believes that winning or losing in binary is meaningless when there’s a high score to beat.”
“True that,” Austin said, saluting her with his stylus.
“So Austin,” Toby asked, “do you beat your own high score every day?”
It sounded so dirty that we all cracked up.
“Are you asking if I’m a master debater, Ellicott?” Austin returned.
By that point we were all nearly in hysterics. That was how Cassidy found us—cracking up so hard that it was actually taking an effort not to choke on our food.
Luke and Sam drifted back from their round ten minutes later, since team debates always take slightly longer. By the time they reached the table, we were clustered around Austin’s iPad watching ridiculous YouTube videos and taking turns showing our favorites.
The second round posted, and once again, Cassidy darted off to retrieve my room number. I guessed that she was trying to be helpful, but it was a little much. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, though. So I dutifully accepted my Post-it and trotted off to debate one of the Rancho guys, this scrawny freshman with a Blackberry clipped to his belt, as though he was already running a company. The enemy, I thought, realizing that I was starting to develop a sense of team loyalty.
We wound up debating the merits of free market economics, which definitely wasn’t my strong suit, and I argued pro again. I thought I’d managed to present the argument okay, but the moment that freshman adjusted his belt, straightened his tie, and shot me a look like he expected me to suck it, I knew I was done for. He filleted me.
It was so frustrating, knowing that, if we were on a tennis court, I could’ve killed him with my backhand, slicing it to land short and watching him run like hell. But this was debate, and my superpowers were nonexistent. I almost wished he’d debated Cassidy in her ridiculous Harry Potter costume, so she could’ve wiped the smirk off his muggle face.
16
“BEFORE I GIVE you kids the room keys, here are the rules,” Ms. Weng said, hell-bent on humiliating us in the bustling hotel lobby. “Rooms are single sex. If I find out otherwise, you’re off the team. You can eat dinner in the hotel restaurant or the shopping center across the street. If you go to the shopping center, you’re back here by eight. No leaving the hotel at night, and no smoking, I don’t care if you’re old enough to buy cigarettes. We’ll meet back here at seven forty-five tomorrow morning to check out. Any room charges are your responsibility. Everyone got it?”