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“You’re back,” Kylie greeted me with a smile when I squeezed in between her and Bronte at the fence. She looked around, scanning the Oval. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. “He is not my boyfriend. He’s just?—”

“An admirer.” Kylie winked at me.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

She snickered.

Grand, orchestral music began to play over the loudspeakers set up all around the Oval. That was the signal for everyone to take their places because the Tournament was about to begin.

“Who’s in the first match?” I asked Kylie.

She was holding one of the magazines Bronte had picked up earlier from the candy-cane-striped man. “The Tournament’s first match is between Jareth Mars, a Metamorph Knight, and Ainsley Kane, an Elf Knight.” Kylie looked up from the magazine. “I wonder who’s going to win.”

“The Metamorph, of course,” Asher Bell said.

Our burly blond teammate had pushed his way to the front and was now standing directly to the right of Bronte. And Dutch was with him.

“The Metamorph will win,” Asher said again. “The Metamorphs pretty much always win. They’re the coolest Tribe.”

The Metamorph Knights were shapeshifters. They could take on different forms. Some Metamorphs could mimic other people’s appearances. Some could turn into animals. And some could even shift into nonliving things like mist or rocks. Metamorphs were really strong and fast too.

Asher wasn’t alone in idolizing them. Many people thought the Metamorphs were the coolest Tribe. Every year at the Tournament, they had the most fans cheering for them. And this year was no exception. There were a lot of spectators here today holding little yellow flags in their hands. Yellow—or gold—was the official color of the Metamorph Knights.

“The coolest Tribe?” Bronte laughed. “Oh, give me a break.”

“I see that you’re rooting for the Elves.” Asher rolled his eyes at the purple flag in her hand. “Shocker.”

Bronte flipped her blonde braid over her shoulder. “Obviously, I’m rooting for the Elves. They are the coolest Tribe. They possess really strong mental powers. They can enchant people to do all kinds of things. They can even make someone run right into a wall.”

“A Metamorph can do that too,” Dutch argued. “By pushing them into the wall.”

Bronte’s pretty little nose scrunched up. “That approach lacks subtlety.”

“And the Elves’ approach lacks success. Don’t you remember what happened in last year’s Tournament? While the Elf was busy shouting some long-winded spell, the Metamorph tossed a big rock at her head, knocking her out before she could even finish her incantation.”

“Yes, I remember.” Bronte’s lips drew into a tight line. “And that Metamorph was totally barbaric.”

Dutch shrugged. “People come to the Tournament to see action, not to listen to a bunch of nonsense words.”

Bronte shot him an icy glare. “Those are the words of a thug.”

He flashed her a grin. “Guilty as charged.”

“What Tribe are you rooting for this year?” I asked Kylie.

“I’m still deciding.” Kylie flipped forward a few pages in her magazine.

“I bet she’s going to cheer for the Nymphs,” Bronte said.

Asher nodded. “Yeah. That fits.”

“Why?” Kylie blinked at Asher. “How does it fit?”

“Because you’re kind and harmonious, Kylie,” Bronte told her. “Just like the Nymphs.”

“Kind?” Dutch smirked. “And harmonious?” Laughter exploded out of his mouth, and Kylie cringed. “Yeah, that’s the Nymphs. They’re a bunch of happy hippy Knights whose greatest mission in life is to heal Mother Nature.” He gave us a big eye roll. “What a great strategy for winning the Tournament.”