“LISTEN. I KNOW they forced us,” says Liberty Silverberg, glancing at me while fidgeting in my desk chair. “But still. It could be an okay time.” She swivels the chair back and forth and back and forth, trying to make it squeak. “I’m good with hanging out downtown for a day, and, hey, you can geek out about comics. What’s not to love. Right?”
“There’s a lot more to winning this serious and important contest than hanging out and geeking out, Liberty,” I say.
“I know. Didn’t mean to minimize all your amazing trivia knowledge.” She rolls her eyes.
“Okay, then,” I say.
“My mom’s not too happy about me doing this—which is an added bonus! She’s so overprotective, I want to scream!” Liberty scrunches up her face and wags her finger. “‘Liberty,’” she mimics. “‘How are you feeling? Liberty, please check in!’ She makes me text her three times a day!” She spins in the chair, around and around.
“So . . . why’s she so overprotective, Liberty?”
Liberty lets the chair come to a stop. She sticks her long thin legs straight out in front of her, and considers her dirty purple sneakers. “I was kind of sick a while back. That’s all.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Hey. There are better reasons to do the Trivia Quest than ticking off my mom. I mean, this is your chance to shine, Stanley.” Liberty grins. “Comics trivia is your superpower! And I bring complementary skills. I can find my way around, look people in the eye, and actually talk to them! I’ll help you out, little dude. We’ll be a team.”
Little dude? Really? Ugh. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I decide to ignore it and open a map. We go over some of the downtown landmarks, figure out where the convention center is, and Balboa Park. Biggest park in the nation, home to a ton of museums and the San Diego Zoo.
“And here’s the ballpark. And the civic theater. Here’s the harbor,” I tell her. “Cruise ships, Maritime Museum, boats. And here? This is Waterfront Park. Fountains, grass, food trucks.”
“Yeah, food trucks, yum,” she says. “Uncle Dan and I were down there last week. The sushi one. Sub Diego. Phil’s BBQ . . . Hey, can we break for lunch?”
Great. The Trivia Quest is next Saturday, and Liberty’s commitment to studying is as bad as Joon’s.
We head downstairs and Liberty says, “You know, not to scare you or anything, but I did happen to notice there’s a ton of people entering this thing. So, just prepare yourself.”
I stop in my tracks. “How big?”
“Oh, hundreds of contestants.”
I grip the banister tightly. All my muscles tense. “I don’t do well in crowds.”
“I know. Not to worry,” she says. “I’ll be with you.” She punches my shoulder, joking, and I notice again how bony and flimsy her wrist is. The skin almost see-through, with faint blue veins like branches of some dead tree.
A worry-tree.
All week long, I’m doing the single-digit countdown to Saturday and the Trivia Quest with an ice storm of dread in my gut. It’s looming like a gallows at the end of a dark tunnel. Like a nameless nightmare of fear.
The only good thing about this week is at least Principal Coffin hasn’t inflicted any safety drills on us.
At lunch on Friday, Joon and Dylan are telling everyone how cool it’s going to be at the Quest tomorrow. How they’re soooo going to win it.
I don’t say a word. I’m sitting down at the end, not saying anything at all, as usual. Nobody knows I’ve entered. Not even Joon.
“So the clues are all over downtown?” Keefner asks Dylan, munching that same disgusting bologna, ketchup, and pickle sandwich he brings every day.
“Yeah,” Dylan says. “Seven clues. Joon and I have it covered. We’ll know where to go.”
Joon nods, but I think I see a flashing glimpse of deer-in-the-headlights in his brown eyes.
“I heard that when they held the New York version they ran out of gold tokens and people rioted,” says Keefner. “Total mob scene.”
Wait, what? I freeze.
“Yeah,” Keefner goes on. “People go nuts at these events. Some guys in New York got trampled and ended up in the hospital.”
Is that true? I don’t say anything. Just try to push down my Red Alerts.
Dylan scowls at Keefner. “Don’t worry! We can handle it.”
I have a feeling Joon’s staring at me, but I keep my head down—until I hear Dylan’s mocking voice: “Hey, Fart-in-bra! Trivia king! You in this thing, too?”
The whole table laughs so hard they don’t even see me nod, minutely, yes.
Then I start to get mad. I think of what Liberty would say. What John Lockdown would do. I grip the sides of the bench as hard as I can. “Yes,” I say, as calmly and loudly as I can.
Keefner and Dylan just keep laughing at me. But Joon’s eyes widen.
They still don’t hear. So I stand up. I take a breath. “YES!” I shout.
The chatter around me stops. Everyone stares.
Then Keefner starts chuckling. “Oh, great! If someone’s gonna end up getting trampled in the mob tomorrow, three to one it’ll be Fart-in-bra here!” he says. And everyone starts talking again.
I try to pretend I didn’t hear. But inside I think: Keefner’s probably right.