"Six dollars admission, please," the ticket taker at the convention center's front doors extended his palm.
"Here you go," Claire Standish handed the man the necessary money and took the ticket from him. She shivered slightly as she entered the building. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and it was now as cold as it had been during the last big freeze in the Chicago area last month. Hopefully there wouldn't be that much snow when the competition ended; she had seen they were calling for it, and hoped it wouldn't make the trip back to Shermer treacherous.
She threaded her way through the crowds in the lobby, all the while searching for familiar faces. None were visible yet, though. Claire wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't seen any, though; none of her inner circle of friends really cared for academic competitions, even with Shermer High now in position to win it all, and she knew there was the good chance that...
She momentarily put the thoughts out of her mind as she entered the auditorium. Although there were still seats available, she took her place by the back wall, which still afforded a reasonable view of the stage. If everyone that had said they'd show up showed up, she knew they'd be probably by themselves, separate from their own cliques; even though they'd all reached an understanding with each other, she knew that didn't necessarily mean their own friends would understand.
She let out a sigh as she glanced up at the stage, still deserted for the moment. Even if no one else did show up, she had to be there. Indeed, she wanted to be anywhere else but home sounded tonight, as the moment she'd known was coming for so long yet still hadn't wanted to come had happened earlier in the week: her parents had finally decided to file for divorce. And while Claire knew in her heart it was for the better, given neither had been able to stand each other for years, the gravity of the pending separation still seared her to the bone. It was always brutal to realize that any love one's parents had had was irreparably gone; no doubt Allison must have felt the same way when her parents had split...
She glanced around for any sign of Allison or the others, but there were still no familiar faces visible. She glanced at her watch. A little under six minutes till the finals began. "Well, maybe it was asking a little too much for us all to show up," she thought to herself. She flashed back to detention not that long ago. The four of them had agreed to go to the finals if Shermer High had made it; Brian had made it clear he would have appreciated it if everyone was up to it. Then again, given that the odds had been stacked heavily against Shermer getting out of the first round, perhaps the others had decided it hadn't been possible for the Bulldogs to reach the finals. Yes, she conceded, that was probably it; it was a good gesture, but it was asking too much; besides, would she REALLY be here herself if things weren't so utterly and irreversibly out of line back home...?
"Claire," came the sudden call from her left. She spun. Yes, indeed, it actually was...
"Allison," she waved the other girl over. So perhaps her assessment was wrong after all. "You came," she greeted her former detention cohort for a day.
"We promised Brian, didn't we?" Allison raised an eyebrow. Her expression grew somber. "Listen, I was looking through the paper earlier tonight, and I saw the notice in the back section. If you need someone to talk to...I know exactly..."
"I'm fine," Claire lied, raising a hand; maybe at a later time she'd be willing to go into detail about how she was feeling, but not in public with hundreds of people around, "Did you and Andy...?"
"He stopped by to get some refreshments in the lobby, he's...Andy, she's over here," Allison waved. Sure enough, the familiar face of Andrew Clark, clutching a pair of sodas and some candy bars, came weaving through the crowd. "Hi again, Claire," he greeted her cordially, "Good thing the state quarters were last night for me; we had to be here."
"Glad you kept your word to Brian," Claire looked around behind him. "No, I haven't seen Bender at all," Andrew had picked up her train of thought and shook his head emphatically, "But what do you expect; I'd wager he wouldn't be caught dead around this place-unless he gets the chance to go through everyone's pockets."
"He could actually be back in detention," Allison spoke up, "It might have been him that let the air out of Mr. Steinberg's tires on Wednesday; that seems like exactly something he'd do. Maybe Mr. Vernon caught him and..."
"No, wait, listen," Claire raised her hand. Somehow, over the loud din in the auditorium, a familiar voice could now be heard-two familiar voices, actually. She glanced intensely through the crowd. And indeed, over by the far row near the door, there was Mr. Vernon, furious, and right next to him was...
"He's over there," she pointed. She and her companions maneuvered through the crowd over to where the district superintendent and the familiar figure of John Bender were standing, approaching them just as Vernon gestured vehemently for Bender to put his arms in the air and started patting him down. "...Christ's sake, Dick, I don't bring pot everywhere I go!" Bender was protesting loudly, "What, do you think it grows out of my armpits or something!?"
"You watch your attitude with me, Mr. Bender!" Vernon snarled at him, looking disgusted when he apparently didn't find what he'd hoped to find, "And what purpose DO you have being here then, because I distinctly remember discouraging you at the beginning of the week from causing any trouble for this event!"
"Hey, for your information, Dick, I just wanted to see how we do tonight just like everyone else," Bender glared Vernon down, "Or do you have a chronic problem with me being in the same room as you in a situation where you can't exert your power?"
"Uh, Mr. Vernon," Claire raised her hand and stepped forward before things could get heated, "We all, well...we all sort of invited him."
Vernon's jaw would have hit the floor if it could have. "You what!?" he grilled her, incredulous, "You willingly invited this...this...this menace to society here, Miss Standish?"
"It was something we decided in detention the other week, Mr. Vernon," Andrew chimed in, "It was..."
"I don't care to hear any more," Vernon raised his arms, now looking furious again, "Let me just say, Mr. Clark, that I am sorely disappointed in you and these two ladies here. I would have expected much more rational judgement from the three of you. And you," he pointed a sharp finger at Bender, "I've got my eye on you tonight..."
"You're not so bad-looking yourself, Dick," Bender cut him off with a wry smile. Vernon glared irately at him and turned away, stomping back to his seat up front. "Nice, Bender, get the man mad before the finals even start," Allison raised an eyebrow at him.
"Hey, for your information, Reynolds, Dick started it; the man is a paranoid schizophrenic with iron balls the size of Alaska who can't trust anyone," Bender said defensively, "Everywhere I go, the man assumes I'm going to corrupt everybody or start something bad; you saw it yourself in detention. They should really put him in the nuthouse, maybe give him an anal probe if that'll get him back to some semblance of normalcy..."
"Yeah, we're glad to see you here too, Bender," Andrew rolled his eyes, "Truthfully, I'm surprised you bothered..."
"Well really, I don't know why I'm here either," Bender growled, "Because I certainly don't care for Johnson, and as for..."
"There he is now; Brian," Claire waved at the stage. Brian, however, seemed absorbed in his thoughts and didn't see them; certainly the loud applause that drowned out her call didn't help either. "Well, I guess we'd better get back to where we were," she said out loud, "Hopefully we can win this one."
"It's going to be tough," Andrew looked hesitant as the four of them walked back towards the back of the auditorium, Bender noticeably trailing behind everyone else with a deep scowl on his face,, "Even most of Lake Forest Central's wrestlers are honor students; I faced two of them in the last meet we had against them last month. I hope Brian brought his A game tonight."
Any chance Brian had had of feeling any calmer vanished the moment he stepped onto the stage, jumping abruptly to the side as Matt chose to dramatically slide feet first onto the stage to loud applause from some of his many admirers in the crowd (including, noticeably, the aforementioned Amy Yetter, who gave him a standing ovation). Vernon certainly hadn't been lying when he'd said half of Shermer had shown up for the finals; a quick scan of the audience revealed more than a few families from town he knew either directly or in passing: the Griswolds, the Bakers, the Buellers, the Nelsons, the Walshes, the Ripleys, the Pages, the Russells, and the McCallisters to name but a few. He tried to suppress a gulp. Playing in front of familiar faces upped the pressure for him even more.
He tried to stare at the ceiling and ignore the crowds as he sat down in the second seat from the left at the Shermer High table, between Corey and Lori. He looked further back in the audience, squinting hard. No, he shook his head, no sign of them at all. Maybe he just wasn't as important to them as he'd thought. He did notice his family in the front row with most of his teammates' families. His parents gave him thumbs-up; Mary, on the other hand, merely gave him another scowl and clearly mouthed, "You're going to choke." He groaned softly; would only seeing him collapse make her happy? The way her face had absolutely lit up when he'd been forced to face his parents' withering shouts after he'd been sent home following the incident with the gun had seemed to already have confirmed this.
His attention was then distracted from the crowd as, on the left side of the stage, the Lake Forest Central team came walking out. They had the swagger in their steps that a nine-time defending champion would be expected to have, with expressions of supreme confidence on their faces. And they had good reason to be confident, for at the front of the procession was the talk of the Chicago area academic scene, team captain Jeffrey Martin. His list of accomplishments made Brian feel particularly insignificant in comparison, as he'd been cited by the governor's office for a perfect SAT score, was committed to Princeton with a major scholarship, and was famous in Chicago academic circles for having never gotten a question wrong during all four years in the competition. In the pit of his stomach Brian knew full well any chance Shermer had to win would have to include Jeffrey somehow stumbling at some point.
His eyes now lit up at the sight of the person he'd been especially waiting to see tonight-almost as much as he'd hoped to see the rest of the Club-sitting down in the chair nearest to the Shermer side of the stage at the Lake Forest Central table. She also had been in every competition since freshman year, but up till now, since Lake Forest Central and Shermer had never met directly in any matches Brian had participated in, this was the closest he'd been to her apart from watching her in action in the audience. He knew her name was Melissa from these past experiences, and there was just something about her that had caught his attention year in and year out, besides the fact he found her extremely pretty. He hadn't brought her up in detention, thinking everyone there wouldn't have believed him if he'd said he had feelings for her, and given how much out of his league he considered her anyway. Part of him had since wondered if he should have mentioned her to the others; perhaps curiosity would have guaranteed they'd have shown up tonight. And he was getting increasingly worried they weren't, as another scan of the crowd registered none of the four faces he wanted to see. Suppressing a sigh, he turned back towards the current girl of his dreams. Tonight she wore an ankle length purple dress and what looked like a calm and determined expression as she picked up her own personal finals program that every finalist got from the table in front of her seat and glanced almost indifferently through it while laconically running her other hand through her long golden hair. Realizing he could now finally learn more about her, Brian picked up his own program and scanned for her name inside. The information next to it read:
Melissa Christine Winters is a senior at Lake Forest Central, participating in her fourth Simmons All-Chicago Academic Challenge. She has committed to Northwestern and will major in Physics, with plans to become a rocket designer for NASA.
Brian blinked to make sure he'd read the information correctly. And indeed he had: she would be attending the same school AND have the same major as him. He glanced back over to the Lake Forest Central table. Perhaps there was a chance for something after all, if they shared the same interests...
"No," he thought glumly to himself, shaking his head emphatically, "Get back to reality, Johnson; even with that in mind, you don't have a chance. You have nothing she wants; you have nothing any girl would want, and you know it..."
"Buzzer check, please," came the voice of the moderator, noted University of Chicago history professor Tarquin Gotch, who was now standing over the Shermer table. At the far end, Josh activated his buzzer, which worked perfectly. The rest of the team did the same down the line, Brian's also working just fine. It was just about show time. "All right," Professor Gotch nodded, satisfied, "Good luck to you, Shermer High."
He bustled over to the Lake Forest Central table to check their buzzers as well. Despite his assessment of his chances with her, Brian couldn't help looking back towards Melissa again. She was now staring straight ahead with what looked now like a surprised expression, not looking down as she tested her buzzer. Something was on her mind, Brian surmised; perhaps, he figured, the realization that this was the last ride for her in the competition had gotten to her as much as it had him. If only, he rued, she could be thinking about him...
"Yep, she's sure a hot one," Matt remarked casually to his right, apparently having followed his friend's train of vision, "You have a good eye for beauty, pal. Maybe after the match..."
"Forget it, Matt," Brian shook his head, "It's simply impossible."
"But you shouldn't think..."
"Matt, read my lips," he leaned right in his friend's face, "She...couldn't...possibly...like...me."
"Could you two please forget about girls, because here we go," Corey impatiently hissed at them, for Professor Gotch was now tapping the microphone to get the audience's attention. "Good evening everyone," he announced, "I welcome you all to the finals of the fifty-ninth annual M.K. Simmons All-Chicago Academic Challenge." After pausing a moment for applause, he continued, "We appear to have a good match set for tonight, so let me introduce the finalists to you. First, to my right, the Shermer High School Bulldogs, coached by Mr. Thomas Jacobson, and who include..."
Brian wasn't listening to the introductory spiel. He scanned the crowd one last time, hoping to see something he wanted to, such as a shock of red hair or a Shermer High wrestling jacket. But while there were plenty of those, he couldn't see the exactly type he wanted to. They weren't coming, he acknowledged to himself glumly. Perhaps he should have expected as much...
"Brian, wake up, for the love of God!" Corey shouted in his ear. He snapped back to attention. "Uh, what?" he asked.
"We were each ringing the buzzers when we were introed; what on Earth is on your mind this time!?" he demanded.
"Uh, just..."
"Never mind. Just please, I am begging you, don't nod off on us from here on," the team captain all but pleaded with him. "I swear," he mumbled softly under his breath, as if he didn't want anyone to hear him, "I should have insisted we..."
"Shhhh," Lori leaned over Brian to hiss her boyfriend to silence as Professor Gotch finished introducing Lake Forest Central. "...first round, toss up questions will be worth two points; there will be no penalty for a wrong answer. In the event of an incorrect response, the opposing team will have a chance to answer on their own; if they are incorrect, the question will be discarded. The team that correctly answers a toss up question will then be given an additional question worth an additional point and will have ten seconds to solve it, during which time they are allowed to confer. And without further ado, let us begin."
He drew a card from his lectern. "First question, which captain in the Union army fired the first shot at Fort Sumter, but is much more remembered today for the erroneous credit of inventing..."
Brian knew the answer to that. He started to press his signaling button-but at the other table, the ever alert Jeffrey Martin had already beaten him to it. "That would be Abner Doubleday," he told the moderator once his teammates had handed him the microphone.
"And that is correct; two points to Lake Forest Central," Gotch commended him, "For an additional point: Doubleday is more accurately the inventor of the unique transportation system in this West Coast city."
The Lake Forest Central team conferred for about five seconds before a smiling Jeffrey took the microphone back. "San Francisco; he patented their cable car system," he announced.
"We only needed the city; correct again," Gotch nodded, discarding the card and picking up another one, "In astronomy; this moon, Uranus's largest, and not to be confused with Saturn's largest moon, was named for the queen of the fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream."
Again, any attempt Brian might have had to answer this one was instantly thwarted as Lori was quicker on the finger next to him. "Titania," she guessed.
"Indeed; two points to Shermer," Gotch nodded, "Extra credit: what interstellar cloud lying beyond the planets is said to be home to millions upon millions of comets?"
Brian gulped; this one he didn't know. He reluctantly shook his head as the Shermer team huddled. Corey sighed, disgusted, after seeing this gesture. "Any thoughts?" he asked the rest of the team.
"Uh...I'd say the Keplerian," Josh guessed.
"No, Copernican, got to be Copernican," Matt reasoned.
"Oort; trust me, it's the Oort Cloud," Lori spoke up.
"Sure?" Corey grilled her.
"Uh," she didn't look completely sure now, "Eighty percent..."
"I still say Keplerian," Josh pressed emphatically.
"How about we flip for it, then?" Matt started digging through his pockets.
"How about I flip out if I don't get a concrete answer!" Corey growled as the timekeeper called out, "Three seconds." "Brian, anything at all!?" he grilled him.
"Go with Oort, I guess," Brian mumbled; it sounded familiar if nothing else. Corey seized the mike and all but shouted, "Oort Cloud!" at the top of his lungs seconds before the buzzer went off.
"That is correct; another point for Shermer," Gotch proclaimed, pointing to the scorekeeper to make the addition. Brian sighed in relief, but still put his hands over his face. Already he was floundering, even after making the right call for the moment. If he sank any further, he'd start losing his teammates' trust even more than he could wager he already had. He dared to peer down at the front row. His parents' expressions was neutral right now, which could have meant anything, although he couldn't help wondering if they was just masking some kind of deep disappointment already. And to their right, near the end of the row, Mr. Vernon was definitely scowling in his direction as he got up and started walking up the aisle towards the back of the auditorium, his attention apparently fixed on something back there.
"Keep it together, Johnson, keep it together," he tried to tell himself, "You've got to get through this in one piece if we have any chance of winning this..."
"He's really worried," Andrew mused from the back of the auditorium.
"How can you tell?" Claire looked over his shoulder for a closer look at the Shermer table.
"I know that look," Andrew pointed straight at Brian, "It's the one you get when you feel you're not up to the challenge. This one guy I wrestled three weeks ago..."
"Jake the Snake?" Bender cracked behind him.
"Will you stop!?" Andrew upbraided him. "He was about ten pounds lighter than me, yet they were still letting him go against me for whatever reason. And as we set for the first break, there was just this look of utter fear in his eyes, that he knew he couldn't beat me and he felt embarrassed to be there. Long story short, I swept him clean, and Brian looks the same way right now."
"Well maybe after this round ends, we could go up and see if we could offer him some moral support," Allison proposed, taking a sip of the soda Andrew had bought for her, "If he sees us here, maybe..."
"And you really think Dick's going to let me or anyone connected with me anywhere near that stage, Reynolds?" Bender snorted, "The man's going to..."
"Be quiet, young man!" the old woman sitting directly in front of him turned and whacked him in the shoulder with her purse, "I am trying to enjoy this game!"
"Hey watch it, Grandma, you don't want to...!" Bender started to snarl at her. Claire stepped firmly in front of him and pressed two fingers sharply against his lips. "Don't, please, just don't, for me if for no one else," she told him sternly.
"Oh yes your worship," Bender said sarcastically, "After all, why shouldn't everyone just bow to...?"
"Well, Mr. Bender," it was Vernon again, storming over with a deep scowl, "why am I not surprised that it seem you're disturbing the audience here?" he pointed hard at the old woman, who was watching the game again and not paying attention.
"She started it, Dick, for your information," Bender retorted, "And if you're bent on running back here every five minutes to check on me, then maybe you should just adopt me; you act like I'm..."
"I'm warning you, buster; one more step out of line tonight, and I'm calling for security to toss you out of the building," the superintendent warned him, "And the same might just go for everyone else who had the stupid idea to invite you here in the first place," he glared at the rest of the group, "So don't let me hear another word about anything going on back here, period."
"Yes sir, absolutely sir," Bender mockingly snapped to attention, "And permission to speak freely, sir: Manilow called again to ask for his clothes back," he added, prompting Claire to slap both hands over her face and groan.
"I said this is the last warning, mister!" Vernon growled, thrusting his finger in the criminal's face before turning and stomping back toward his seat. "Wait, before you go, Mr. Vernon, if we could, during the next break..." Allison tried to present her suggestion to him, but Vernon was already out of earshot. "Well, he's really ticked off already tonight," she remarked.
"Oh, I'm not surprised," Bender actually seemed rather confident despite the warning he'd just been given, "Word going around the grapevine is that Dick made a five hundred dollar bet with his counterpart on the other side over who'll win this. So actually, I wouldn't mind if we lose; anything that makes Dick miserable is up my alley."
"Well you might not care, Bender, but we certainly do," Andrew frowned him down, "Because even if it means nothing to you, Brian deserves this win."
"Absolutely," Claire added a glare of her own. She glanced back up on the stage. "Just stay focused, Brian, you can do this," she whispered some soft encouragement, hoping good would somehow come out of it.