The binders didn’t appear to have ever been touched by human hands. The edges were sharp yellow plastic. Inside, slabs of immaculate white paper were sectioned off with eight printed tabs: literature, art history, social sciences, history, music, science, philosophy, and essay.
The weight of what we had all signed on for had gone from figurative to literal, quick.
“Can anyone tell me the significance of the Tarrasch Melee’s title?” Meg asked.
Kate’s hand went up. “The Tarrasch rule is a finishing move in chess. The rook is placed behind passed pawns to protect its advance toward the opposing king.”
“Right,” Meg said. “The Melee works the same way. In order to make it to the final four, you have to be willing to use your teammates’ abilities to move you forward.”
Hunter gave a low whistle through his teeth. “Harsh.”
“Only if you get cocky,” Hari said sharply. “Right now, you know that the seven people sitting with you are going to go into the first skirmish with you. After that, all bets are off. If we make it to the final round—”
Meg raised a finger. “When we make it to the final round.”
Hari huffed, but accepted the correction. “When we make it to the final round, the team will split in half. Just because you’re entering in with your roommate doesn’t mean that you get to win with them.”
Meg folded her legs and clasped her hands around her flip-flops. Her cheerfully pink toenails wiggled under her fingers. “Statistically, yes, you have a one in four chance of making it to the championship once you get past the last skirmish. But it’s impossible to truly calculate the odds. You’d have to pull in too many unknown factors—randomized test questions and percent-correct averages and the base IQ of the team. Until the final four are announced, you won’t know if you’re a pawn or a rook.”
“Right now, all of you have an equal shot. Everyone at camp will be receiving the same study materials and the same prepared lectures from the counselors,” Hari said. “You will eat the same meals and,” his voice dipped down to a mutinous growl, “go to sleep at the same time on identical tiny beds.”
“Which brings us to the last bit of business,” Meg said. “Because I have to be able to tell the camp directors that I told you: overnight guests of any kind are verboten in your dorm. And the floors of the residence halls are not coed. That includes the meeting rooms and bathrooms. Remember that this is a competition. If someone sees you sneaking around and reports you, they are down one competitor. That’s not exclusive to campers. Counselors of the opposite sex are also forbidden from your floor.” She shot a dark look around the circle, but it lingered on Brandon. “Even if they’re your bros.”
Brandon’s shoulders crept up toward his neck like he was trying to disappear inside of his own rib cage. It didn’t seem likely that he had many bros scattered around the campus. But what did I know? There could be a bunch of typewriter guys around, trading tips on how to keep their keys greased.
“If you aren’t comfortable reporting to me or Meg,” Hari said placidly, “you also have Wendell Cheeseman’s number in your welcome folder.”
Somehow, I didn’t think anyone was going to rush to chat with Wendell. He’d run off the second lunch was over, probably to change into a dry shirt. It was already clear that the counselors were the law here.
Around the quad, the rest of the teams started packing up their binders. The sun was starting to dip behind the dining hall. I couldn’t believe that I was thinking about a sweater. I hoped that Beth had snuck one into my suitcase. She could usually be counted on for that sort of thing.
Hari checked his watch. “You will have all two hours to get acquainted with your study binders before reconvening for arts and crafts in your floor lounge.”
“Arts and crafts?” Perla echoed. “For real?”
“Of course,” Meg said. “This is camp. And I don’t know about you, but I can’t live in a plain cement box for three weeks. We’re going to have a decorating party!”
*
“How avant-garde,” Leigh observed, craning her neck to admire the splatter of glue and foil shards stuck to my poster board.
I held up my glimmering and gloopy hands. “I don’t know what you mean. These are lens flares, obviously.”
She giggled and handed me a wad of paper towels. Some things were true no matter what school you were at. Scratchy brown paper towels followed you from kindergarten to college. It was kind of comforting.
I scraped the glitter off of my hands before trying to salvage the mess that had been a sweet Firefly-class spaceship when Leigh had freehanded it, using a picture on my phone for reference.
The lounge’s ergonomic stools and modular couches had been shoved against the lemon-yellow walls. The carpet was covered in a patchwork of brightly colored plastic tablecloths and dollar store art supplies. A phone speaker was pumping out twangy acoustic guitar that no one was paying any attention to.
Meg was at the front of the room, taping pieces of poster board together into a long banner. The Perfect Nerd Girl was beside her, looking up from her phone only when someone dared to ask her for another piece of paper.
Kate and Perla had set up next to Leigh and me out of team obligation. Already, everyone was sticking to their own packs. The other eight girls in the room were nameless crafters, making quiet conversation with their own teams as they shook glitter and passed around puff paint.
“You were serious about your space thing,” Perla said, throwing side-eye at my paper.
“Science fiction,” Leigh corrected for me, blithely running a paintbrush over her plain white paper. A trail of thorny vines trailed in the brush’s wake.
“Science fiction isn’t space?” Kate asked, not looking up from writing her own name in puff paint curlicues.
I reached for a Sharpie. Markers seemed safe. It was hard to spill a marker. I pushed the glitter pot farther away from me. “Space, robots, nuclear holocaust. Throw in ray guns or swords and I’m in.”
Perla reached for a pair of child-safety scissors and snipped a piece of red construction paper into a large heart. “I’ve never heard someone list ‘nuclear holocaust’ as one of their interests.”
“I don’t want to live through one or anything,” I said, concentrating on making the planets around the glittery ship-blob as round as possible. “I’ve always liked space. Other planets, other people. It’s exciting.”
Leigh switched paintbrushes and twisted blotches of yellow paint into blossoms. “What about your brother?”