Page 18 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

Charlie’s lips part, and he looks like he’s about to speak—he inhales, and his shoulders sink, but no sound comes out. It’slike the words are stuck in his throat. Then he shakes his head, crumples the slip in his hand, and tosses it into the wastebasket.

Everyone gawks as he says, “I’ll take a different one.”

“No, you won’t,” Mr. York says. “You use what you’re given. That’s the rule.”

Charlie hesitates—hesitates!—for half a second. “I can’t think of anything to say.”

TJ’s jaw drops. The classroom is dead silent for a second. Even Mr. York seems a little stunned, before he reacts.

“Just try. You should be able to do this with any subject at your level.”

Charlie gives Mr. York a bored glance. “Give me a break.”

“No.” Mr. York’s voice becomes sharp. “Clearly, you need more practice. Sit down. You’ll do a full five later.”

Charlie shrugs and ambles back to his seat with his hands in his pockets.

Saad elbows him. “Looks like you should’ve worn your lacy black thong. Maybe then you’d have a bit more confidence.”

“I save that one for tournaments,” Charlie replies with complete sincerity.

TJ doesn’t join in on the ribbing, just watches with narrowed eyes. As Ameera goes up next, curiosity niggles at her. Charlie always seems so infuriatingly cool under fire. Everything bounces off him. What could have tripped him up so bad that he couldn’t take it? She’s got to know.

She endures the next half hour, including her own turn at Word Salad (“lemonade,” “sex ed,” and “frogs” were an interesting combination). When practice is done, Mr. York sends themoff with warm salutations for the holidays and a reminder to work on their cases.

TJ waits for everyone else to leave, feigning busyness by scribbling on her notepad. However, Mr. York isn’t having it.

“I have to lock up in here,” he says. TJ smiles brightly.

“Right.” She stands, walks by the little metal wastebasket on her way out, and drops her notebook in. “Whoops.”

Mr. York doesn’t comment on her less-than-stellar acting performance. He just watches her fish it out. “I’m not sure that’s sanitary.”

She dusts off the notebook. “It’s fine. There’s nothing but paper in here.” Total lie, there’s gum stuck to her hand. Gross. “Besides, I really need this.”

She hurries out and flicks the gum with a shudder into the nearest garbage. Only then does she unfold the crinkled slip of paper she’d fished from the wastebasket along with her notebook. And finally, she sees what some comedian in the group scrawled on one of their slips:Simran’s moustache.

FIVE

***

TJ’s mood is spectacularly bad by Saturday afternoon. She’s staring up at the ceiling from the couch in the living room when her mother’s face appears over her.

“What’s the pout for?”

TJ tries to fix her expression. “You look nice, Mom.”

She does. She’s in a full face of makeup, her glossy hair extending past her shoulders. A stark difference from her usual look, which is under-eye bags and frizzy bun from working overnight at the hospital.

Her mother crosses her arms. “Don’t change the subject. Shouldn’t you be happy now that you’re free from school until January?”

“Free?” TJ echoes. “I’ve got university applications, debate,andsoccer to worry about.”

Her mother’s eyes clear in understanding. “Well, I bet Kiran could help you with your applications. She got into so many schools. Why don’t you ask her?”

TJ nods half-heartedly. Her older cousinwouldbe a good resource, but that’s not why she’s stewing.

Yesterday, she’d thrown the slip of paper away immediately and washed her hands of it, literally. But in a figurative sense, she has not washed her hands of anything in the past week. In fact, her hands are digging even further into the muck. She feelslike she’s one incident away from pitching forward and drowning in it.