Inside, the crowd sat slumped on the risers. No one bothered to shout or scream. It was a massacre. The cheerleaders were no longer shouting and had given up human pyramids. They were off in the corner, playing Go Fish and mashing wads of Big League Chew into their mouths. It wasn’t any use pretending that spirit or fight could win the day.
The day was basically lost to Delaware.
The score was 0–6. Choate Brinsley was up. After him, just Jasper, and then it was the end of the first half. If none of the Pelt team had won a round before then, there wouldn’t be a second half. At 0–8, there was no way Pelt could win, so the game would be declared in favor of Delaware. It would take at least one Pelt win in the first half before there was even a fighting chance of bringing home the gold, seated, bug-eyed trophy.
Combat was joined between Choate and Delaware’s #2. No one moved. Pupil seized on pupil. Retinas glistened.
For a long time, there was no sound in the room except the clanging of the heaters, over which the air rippled and churned.
There is no thrill like the description of a game of Stare-Eyes.
Looking down at the players’ bench, Lily considered how miserable Jasper must be, sitting there, straight-backed, waiting for his round and watching his beloved team fail again and again.
Suddenly, Choate got a look of horror on his face.
He shied away from his enemy’s glance. He quivered, repelled by something—what?—that he saw—
He yelped and closed his eyes.
An angry growl rolled through the gymnasium. Two minutes and fifty-six seconds. That was all it had taken for the captain of the Pelt team to crumble. Two minutes and fifty-six seconds.
#2’s eyes were mobile again, and full of ugly triumph.
Everyone was abuzz.
And Jasper was up.