“And since they helped write the rules of the Melee, you think it has the same rhetoric?”
“Probably?” He swept a thumb over the edge of the binder’s pages, making a heavy ruffling sound. “This is too much information for one person to memorize. The odds are against us going in. They start with overloading us with information, and then leave spaces where it would make sense to research. Filling in the gaps between dates. Listening to the music. Reading the books that include our short stories.”
“Researching the Mollos before starting on the Incas?” I offered.
“Exactly,” he said excitedly. “But can you think of a single question during the practice last night that didn’t come from the binders?”
I replayed the night before on fast-forward, stealing a glimpse at my Crap You Don’t Know sheet for reference. “Uh. None?”
“None.”
“So we don’t deviate from the binders at all. Even when there are gaping holes, like how ornate the sound of the baroque period was?”
“Even then.”
I rubbed my lips together, feeling a snag of dead skin. I nipped at it. “Can I ask you something without you getting offended?”
He frowned. “That’s ominous, but sure?”
“Did you really just think of this, or did one of your friends tell you?”
“You heard Meg tell Kate that cheating wasn’t worth her losing her paycheck. Believe me. They all feel that way. If it were an internship, they wouldn’t shut up. Now they won’t shut up, but they aren’t helpful.” He hazarded an awkward smile. “I swear, the counselors won’t tell me anything about the inner mechanics of the camp. And if they let anything slip, I will tell you.” He held up two fingers. “Geek’s honor.”
“Getting into this school means everything to me,” I said. “My family would never agree to let me go to a liberal arts school. They’d never pay for it. I have to win placement to go here.”
His wide, hot chocolate eyes bore into mine. “I know you and your brother are here. I promise I wouldn’t try to screw up your chances at this scholarship. I really believe that this is how they’re testing us, Ever.”
It was like he’d turned off the oxygen in the room. I struggled to take in a full breath, my pseudonym echoing in his quiet baritone. I had actually expected to hear him say “Elliot.”
Your Christian names are still an insuperable barrier, quoted my brain.
Why couldn’t things have worked out like they did in the movies? If my life were a romantic comedy, we would study The Importance of Being Earnest and I could dazzle everyone with my prodigious skill for quoting Oscar Wilde.
“I trust you,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s start memorizing this binder then. How do you feel about flash cards?”
*
“Noon,” Brandon announced, checking the binary clock built into the wall above the archway. “We should go find a checkin.”
In order to make sure that none of us strayed too far, we had been given a list of checkin spots at breakfast. Between each meal, we were expected to hit up a sign-in sheet manned by a counselor. I was sure it was a legal buffer that would not hold up in court.
“You know what would make these flash cards even better?” Brandon asked as we started clearing the Magrathea table.
“If they weren’t scraps of binder paper?”
“Sure, if you’re going to be picky about it. I was thinking they’d look nicer typed.”
I closed his binder and slid it across the table to him. “Your typewriter obsession is so bizarre.”
“Yeah. It’s shocking that my genius school education didn’t make me cooler,” he said in a sarcastic monotone.
“Sure, blame the Messina.” I laughed. “I’m sure you were super cool before high school.”
“No one’s cool before high school. It takes a while to figure out that popular and cool aren’t synonymous.”
I tucked my pencils back into the pocket of my binder. I certainly hadn’t been cool before—or during—high school. Switching schools twice in elementary school had left me permanently on the fringes of high society. Hitting my growth spurts hard in middle school only made me noticeable in a You look too old to be here sort of way.
“Are the popular kids in genius school still the pretty people?” I asked as we walked out of the sci-fi section and into the dim of the library proper.
“Some of them,” he said, hoisting his binder under his arm. “Or the rich kids. It’s private school and it’s not cheap, so there are plenty of rich kids to choose from. The basketball team is usually more popular than the cricket players…” He seemed to be waiting for me to flip out when he said “cricket.” We slipped through the fiction section, side by side. “Mostly people stick to their extracurricular groups.”
“And where do you fit in?” I asked.
He shrugged. “None of the above. I was on student council my freshman year because the administration picks the frosh cabinet. I got voted out my sophomore year. I’ve kept out of extracurriculars since. Keeping up with the workload seemed like enough. It wasn’t. Apparently.” He lowered his voice as we passed by a row of occupied tables with lamps lit and books stacked high with nonbinder study material. “What about you? Does your school have a club for parkour and Muay Thai enthusiasts?”
“Yes. But you have to be black and tall and nerdy to join,” I whispered back. “Enrollment isn’t great. But our one member does have excellent taste in books, and awesome hair.”
“Damn,” Brandon said as we reached the exit. “I have two out of the three requirements.”
“Oh, did I not mention that members can’t own typewriters?”
“Ha-ha,” he said dryly.
The truth was, Dad and Beth let me take Muay Thai a couple of times a week because the schedule moved around enough that I could continue babysitting Ethan when needed. Neither of them had been thrilled when I announced that I wanted to learn a full-contact fight style, but they had shut up when I reminded them that they hadn’t let me try out for track because Beth had been in her fifth production of Earnest.
The glare of summer sunlight and a whoosh of warm air hit us as we passed through the door and took the first step. I looked up just in time to keep from crashing into Leigh and Isaiah.
Together.
Binderless.
Did I mention that they were together?
“Hey, Ever,” Isaiah said, stretching my camp name out a mile as he threw on a full shit-eating, teeth-baring grin that really made me want to pop him upside the head.
“This is my brother,” I said to Brandon, and every word was like yanking out one of my own teeth. “Brandon, Isaiah. Isaiah, Brandon.”
“Good to meet you,” Brandon said.
Isaiah lifted an eyebrow at him. “Don’t we share a bathroom?”
“Yeah,” Brandon said slowly. “I’m across the hall from you.”
Isaiah nodded. “Right. With the big-eared kid.”
“Hi, Ever. Hi, Brandon,” Leigh said, her shoulders inching closer and closer to her ears. “Isaiah was looking for his cell phone, so I volunteered to help him out. His team was totally useless.”
“Do you guys need help?” Brandon asked.