“Alacrity. Conciliatory. Ineffable.”
“So, you ready for this, Justin?” Andre Wang’s white shirt and suspenders suddenly loom in front of my face, blocking my view.
“Move.” A halfhearted shove gets him out of my way so I can continue to study my reflection in the mirror in the green room backstage of our school auditorium. I look myself in the eyes and drop my chin, trying to appear like a confident news commentator. I deepen my voice and continue to enunciate from the list of SAT vocabulary words taped to the mirror.
“Mitigator. Penurious. Recrimination. Salvageable.”
“I don’t know how that’s supposed to help,” Andre comments, slouching against the wall and crossing his arms. With the navy and yellow bow tie he’s wearing and his black hair all gelled into place, he looks like some weird old-school politician. “Reciting SAT vocab won’t do crap for your interpretive event. You’ve got forty minutes before you even get your topic.”
I roll my eyes at the short junior. “Wearing that Kentucky Fried bow tie and those suspenders won’t do crap for your interpretive event, and yet, every single tournament, you show up in them.”
“And I win,” Andre reminds me smugly, his dark eyes narrowed. “You know I do.”
“And so do I.” I shrug. “So, don’t mess with what works, right? Lester says I should read this stuff to keep my brain focused, so I’m reading. There are six thousand two hundred and twenty-eight SAT vocabulary words, and I’m going to blow through all of them before the year is out. I’m going to ace my SAT and blow your skinny butt out of the water on the interpretive event today.”
“Dream on,” Andre snorts. “You seen Raymond?”
“Lee’s around,” I mutter. Unfortunately. If possible, Leland Raymond is a bigger pain in the butt than Andre. As senior class pastor and chair of the student senate, he’s kind of a big deal at Medanos. He’s nice enough on the surface, always slapping me on the back and saying he’s glad I’m on the team, but he’s basically just a big act. I’m only a freshman, and I can tell he couldn’t care less about me, but when Mr. Lester’s around, he’s my very best friend.
He wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so … serious. He makes a big deal out of praying before every single event, as if God could possibly care whether Medanos Valley Christian beats out Walnut Academy in a Lincoln-Douglas debate. He takes all of his stats, all of our points and stuff, way too personally. He’s not even satisfied if we win, and he’s also really quick to point out any mistakes he thinks any of us have made. Last week, he even said, “There is no I in team,” and he was wasn’t joking. Mr. Lester is always telling him to ease up, but Lee’s just not an “ease-up” kind of guy. Fortunately, neither am I. I’ve been able to keep out of his way so far.
A moment later, Lee, along with fellow senators Missy Girma, Diane Edwards, and Elena Melgar, wander in. Diane, fluffing up her curly blond hair, has her usual can of energy drink, its caffeine-and-sugar-rich formula she claims to be the secret to her speed-talking abilities.
“Where’s Mr. Lester?” Missy asks, straightening the scarf around her long braids.
“Not here yet,” I say, pulling my list of words from the mirror before anyone else can comment on it. “He had to pick up his kid from day care or something.”
“Seriously?” Diane looks tense. “Medanos is hosting; how can he not be here? We’ve got fifteen minutes before we’re on.”
“He’ll get here.” Elena shrugs, adjusting her ponytail and looking unconcerned. “He always does.”
“Picking up his kid.” Lee rolls his eyes. “And his wife couldn’t do that? You can see who wears the pants in that family.”
I wince, thinking what Mom would say to that. All the girls take a breath, but Missy speaks first, her mouth twisted in scorn. “You are such a pig, Lee,” she says, her eyes narrow. “Only you could be so full of yourself.”
“What, it’s not macho to pick up your own kid?” Elena adds, hands on her hips.
I’m not surprised to see how fast Lee backs down. “I was just joking,” he complains. “Don’t get so uptight, people.”
“Uptight? You’re the one complaining Lester’s not here yet,” Andre points out.
Missy just freezes Lee out again with one of her ice-eyed glares.
Mr. Lester arrives just about the time Lee’s got us all gathered for a team huddle and prayer. He throws down his briefcase and jacket and rushes over to us. I’m relieved, but I try not to show it, as I feel his hand on my back. I give him a nod. I’m ready for this.
There’s only time for a few quick instructions and then it’s showtime. We troop into the auditorium for the first event, the team debates, for which we’ll get forty-five minutes each. Leland, Elena, and Diane are up first, and I’m half disappointed, half relieved that it isn’t Andre, Missy, and me. Sitting in the front row, my back to the packed auditorium, I can feel sweat prickling faintly in my armpits, and it’s hard to know if it’s nerves or eagerness.
The judge, an anonymous-looking blond woman in a dark suit, introduces herself, states the topic, and sits down. Relief floods through me as I hear that the opposite team has to debate against the resolution that the federal government should change its policies toward India. Obviously, we got the easy side of this question. I study the competition for this round, two boys and a girl from Calvary Chapel High School. In their uniform of navy blazers and white tops, they look take-no-prisoners professional. Lee’s white shirt and dark tie, Elena’s red sweater and white blouse, and Diane’s black turtleneck look less put together somehow, and I have my first moments of worry. Calvary’s first speaker is actually really good, and her opening arguments are sound. I find myself taking notes along with Lee and Diane, even though I won’t be able to pass them to Elena for the rebuttal.
Despite some of the best persuasive speaking I’ve heard, and what I thought would be an easy topic, our team loses by a single point. The girl from Calvary Chapel turns out to be not just good, but brilliant. Diane is sucking down another drink, and Lee is pale and tense, but it’s only the first event, Mr. Lester reminds us, and everyone has done well.
“It’s up to you, Nicholas,” Lee says, cornering me during the ten-minute intermission. “Wang’s going to blow away the team event, but we need you in the individual.”
“The individual doesn’t go for team points,” I remind him, keeping loose in spite of wishing I could clock him one. Why is he piling on the pressure?
“You’re right, it’s not team points, but good individual stats makes Medanos look good overall. Pointwise, we can blow away Valley Jewish Day School and Calvary. Now, Diane’s got some good chops, but you’re the freshman everybody watches. We’re counting on you.”
I just grunt, tuning out Lee’s lame attempt at a pep talk. I watch a group of event adjudicators standing together, discussing the last event and setting up for the next one. I see my sister right in the second row, scoping out the competition, her black boots propped up on the seat in front of her. She catches me watching and gives me a thumbs-up.
Dad’s out there in the crowd somewhere. He was on a business trip, but he said he’d come straight over from the airport. Mom would have been here, but her driver called in sick this morning, so she’s one short at her catering company. The family always shows up at my events, which is more than a lot of guys can say. I know I’m lucky.
“So, you’re ready, yeah?”
I pull my wandering attention back. “Yeah, yeah, Lee. I’m ready.”
“Good man.” He slaps my back and I roll my eyes.
Lee talks up this big “go, team” thing, but it’s not about the team at all. It’s about Lee Raymond. He really wants to walk away from Medanos and be able to say he was a somebody here, a big man who got things done. Whatever. It’s his ego-happy moment, and it doesn’t have anything to do with me.
My eyes skate back over my SAT words and I ignore them, opting to close my eyes and focus on relaxing instead.
I like forensics. I love the watertight logic of a good argument, the clarity of a strong rebuttal. I like to think fast and talk faster, and I can see going into law like Poppy, but I won’t be some kind of single-minded jerk about it. There’s got to be a way to be a winner and still be a decent human being. Like Dad, for instance—his new job is intense. He’s in charge of building million-dollar labs for scientists and bioengineers, and he’s on the road at least two weeks out of the month. Even though he has hundreds of people who answer to him, Dad’s not on some ego trip. I respect him for that, for making time to go running or hang with us when he can. I want to be just mellow like that.
A flash of red catches my attention, and I see my girlfriend, Callista Douglas, sitting with her people. They’ve been waiting for me to look, and now each of them holds up a piece of red construction paper and flips it over. JUSTIN NICHOLAS ROCKS!! The words are in silver ink and glitter glue. My face goes into a big, stupid grin without my permission, but I duck my head, my face burning, when I hear Andre snort. I know I’m going to be hearing about my “fan club” for the rest of the year. When I look again, Callista is laughing, and my stupid smile comes back. We’ve only been dating for a month, but so far, it’s amazing.
“Your family’s here, right, Justin?” Missy looks over at me. “That lady in the white suit looks enough like your dad to be your aunt. She’s got the Nicholas nose and everything.”
“She’s not a Nicholas, unless Dad has secret relatives he never told us about.” I laugh, but the lady in the back row does look familiar. I scan the crowd, frowning. “My dad’s coming. He always wants to check out my future lawyer skills.”
Missy grins. “Better be impressive,” she warns me.
“Always.” I raise my eyebrows and try to look confident. Missy laughs and goes back to her notes. Andre looks calm and poised, in spite of his whack tie, and though I’m the only freshman, the weakest link on the team, I know I’m more than able to do my part. I get on my game face and nod. We’ve got this.