“I already said ‘bollocks,’” Jams said, exasperated.
I nudged Brandon in the side and jerked my head toward the window. He set his fork down with a clatter and shoved the hair out of his eyes. “Meg, what’s going on out there?”
Meg didn’t turn around. “Don’t worry about it.”
His mouth flattened into a scowl. “Meg.”
She gave him the same pitying look that Crumbs had. That Don’t mess with me, kid look. Being the youngest had to suck. Everyone was ready to cut you down just for asking questions.
“Focus on the Melee, B,” she said. “You’ve got forty-five minutes before the first skirmish. We can talk afterward.”
I looked over at the Team Four table, where Faulkner sat alone with her team. I examined a piece of my toast, which was actually browned and crisp on both sides this morning. And Jams’s scrambled eggs weren’t dripping between the tines of his fork. Hari had a fruit salad on his plate.
Since when did we have fruit salad?
“Who made breakfast?” I asked.
Meg threw up her hands. “Guys, let it go. They’ll be fine.”
“Why do they have to be fine?” I asked. “Why aren’t they fine now?”
“They got caught out of bounds,” Hari said, impassively eating another piece of melon. “The rules apply to everyone.”
“Huh?” Hunter asked. “Who got caught?”
“Trixie and Ben are going home early,” Meg said, the words leaden. “They weren’t upholding the rules.”
“They were found in Fort Farm this morning,” Hari said.
“Who found them?” Galen asked.
Hari blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
Galen’s eyebrows went up indignantly. “No one is supposed to be out before breakfast, so who found them in Fort Farm?”
Hari scowled. “Does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Meg said.
“It does if the person doing the snitching wasn’t punished when they also had to be breaking the rules,” Jams said.
“There are so many flaws in that logic,” Kate said.
“Let it go,” Meg said, in her own version of the Lawrence clip, every word like the snip of scissors. “They will be fine. They will crash at one of their parents’ places until they’re ready to go back to California. Now can we please focus on today’s skirmish—”
“Did they steal the binders?” Hunter asked.
“What?” Meg cried. Her cheeks turned an offended pink. “No. Why would they steal the binders?”
Jams sat back, crossing his arms. “Why do they have to go home when the person who stole the binders is presumably still here?”
“Because the person who stole the binders had more sense than to have sex in a field,” Hari said to his plate.
“Hari!” Meg snapped.
“Sorry,” Hari said, totally forgetting to sound apologetic. “It’s too stupid to be believed. Especially for two geniuses. If you Messina people acted half as smart as everyone says you are—”
“Good riddance,” Perla said pertly. “Breakfast is edible for once, and we’re going up against Trixie’s team today. Now they’ll be butthurt that their counselor is gone and we can beat them while they’re weak.” She looked around at the nine unsmiling faces surrounding her and huffed. “Jesus. There’s no winning with you people, is there? Silver lining? Hello?”
*
We were led past the super modern glass walls of the theater building and around the corner to a squat brick building that I’d passed dozens of times without truly knowing what it was.
The hallways were plain and narrow, with a vague dusty smell that made me think that there had been carpeting until recently and the sweet mustiness of freshly cut wood that had to mean that there was a scene shop behind one of the closed doors.
Hari pulled open a heavy door and propped it open. On the other side was a smallish black box theater—black walls with rubbery black floors and bulky unfiltered Fresnel lights strapped across the ceiling, casting a yellowy wash over the furniture. Two long tables sat across from one short one, all of them empty except for adjustable microphones.
I thought about my mom’s assumption that I was spending the summer working at the theater. I hadn’t expected that to be partially true.
Team Two filtered into the room, and I realized instantly that Perla was right. Every team member looked shell-shocked at the loss of one of their counselors. But there was no time to pity them.
Cheeseman was striding into the room, buttoned up in a lumpy blue suit and chatting somberly with a Latina woman about my height, who wore a heavy necklace like plated armor across her chest. She was probably my mom’s age, with lines spiderwebbing out from the corners of her eyes and plum-colored lips. A shorter man with a silver goatee and matching slicked-back hair brought up the rear.
The three of them sat down at the small table facing us. Meg, Hari, and the single counselor from Team Two all rushed away to have a seat at the back of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Brandon disappearing under his hair.
“Good morning, campers,” Cheeseman said into his microphone. His voice was uncomfortably loud in the speakers. “Welcome to the first round of the Tarrasch Melee. Before we get started, my fellow proctors will introduce themselves.”
“My name is Dr. Celeste Benita,” said the woman, her face breaking into a smile. “Serving as a proctor for the Tarrasch Melee each year has been my honor for the last seven years.”
Cheeseman turned to face her, although his mouth stayed aimed at the microphone. “The last seven years that you’ve been the dean of students at Rayevich?”
“Of course,” Dr. Benita said with a sparkling laugh. “I suppose I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?”
My stomach dropped. Jesus. None of the counselors had mentioned that one of the “proctors” would be the actual dean of the freaking college. Didn’t she have more important things to do than run a trivia contest?
“As some of you may know,” said the short man at the end of the table, “my name is Dr. Stuart Mendoza. I helped to cofound Camp Onward when I was a professor here, and I have proctored the Melee every year since. I have the great fortune of being the principal of the Messina Academy for the Gifted.”
I couldn’t stop myself from looking down the table at Brandon. His skin was jaundiced under the harsh stage lights.
Great. One of our proctors had kicked him out of school. No pressure.
All three proctors set tablets down and swiped them open. The speakers echoed with a teeth-rattling buzzing sound that made my heart squeeze to a stop. One of the girls on Team Two yelped into her microphone.
“Sorry,” Cheeseman said, sheepishly. “That’s the sound of the buzzer. The volume’s up a little high.”
Dr. Benita smiled. “Let’s get started, shall we?”