Page 3 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove
TJ grumbles as she flushes the toilet—not that she evenwent, but to keep up the pretense that she did—and follows Simran to the sinks. “You know how tournaments work. Judges have bias.”
Simran yawns pointedly. “They could just as easily be biased in our favour as theirs.”
“No,twoof those judges are Whitewater teachers. We’ve had them before. You want to know my theory?” TJ doesn’t wait for a reply, since it would probably be no. “They got put in our debate on purpose.”
Simran hardly blinks. “A theory by definition has a strong base of solid evidence. What you’ve got is a terrible hypothesis. And a lot of paranoia.”
TJ waves her hand dismissively. “If Nate and Charlie winagain, they’re going to be insufferable.” She rethinks that. “Even if they lose, they’ll be annoying.”
“Only because they know it makes you mad. Stop giving them a reaction and they won’t bother.”
TJ huffs but falls silent. She keeps forgetting Simran isn’t the type to indulge her venting. She’s more of thehere’s the logical advice I know you won’t taketype.
As they head into the cafeteria and join the lunch line, the volume is deafening. Sixty-something debaters from grades six to twelve are crammed inside, buzzing in excitement and milling from table to table to chat. Although their debating region—the Southern Interior—covers a decent chunk of the province, it’s really only five schools in Kelowna, and a scattering of others from the surrounding towns. Nothing like the gigantic tournaments held in Vancouver. But tournaments here are small enough that everyone knows each other, and so, unlike at largercompetitions, people cross school lines for post-debate lunches.
TJ scans further, her eye catching on a table held mainly by Northridgers. One of the younger debaters waves madly at them—Yara, a ninth grader with frizzy dark hair down to her shoulders, her pantsuit hopelessly wrinkled. Simran sets off towards the table, and TJ follows because, really, where else is she going to sit?
“Hey!” Yara exclaims once they reach the table. Her voice is so loud that several heads turn from the adjacent bench. Yara’s a debating junior—meaning she competes in the grade nine and ten category—who TJ and Simran are well-acquainted with through their school club. “How’d it go? Do you think you’ll make it to Provincials?”
“Obviously,” TJ says. Yara blinks, and TJ realizes how rude that probably sounded. But there’s no point pretending like it’s inquestion. She and Simran go every year; their cumulative scores from this season are already enough to make it, even if they bombed this final qualifying tournament. The uncertainty today lies in whether they go to Provincials as the top team or as second best.
“Well, great,” Yara says after a pause. She holds up a camera. “I’m taking pictures today for the school paper!”
“You’re a photographer?” TJ asks, trying to make up for her jackassery.
“Oh. Yeah.” Yara blinks. “I got promoted to photographer in journalism club this year. I took photos at your last soccer game, remember?”
Not at all. “Totally—”
“How did your debates go?” Simran jumps in, and Yara brightens up immediately. As she starts giving a highlight reel,TJ pulls out her phone and checks her notifications under the table. Two new texts.
The most recent is from one of her best friends, Chandani, sent at 10:43 this morning:dont forget movie night at Piper’s place. you know i cant stand Alexa and Katie so you better not bail bitch.
So lovely, that Chandani. TJ replies with a GIF of some guy getting slapped.
The other text is from TJ’s boyfriend, Liam, coming in at 9:03.Come over tonight?along with an eyes emoji that implies a lot more. TJ grimaces. They haven’t really had enough time alone for fooling around since summer. Now she’s sort of avoiding it. Pretty much until the next time she can schedule a bikini wax.
Luckily she has an excuse tonight.Can’t, going to Piper’s.
Liam replies almost immediately with a sad face emoji.Guess I’ll just have to build these gingerbread houses myself.
TJ’s jaw drops. She’d mentioned offhandedly the other day how she missed gingerbread decorating.Really??
He sends a picture of his dining table, where two gingerbread decorating kits are sitting.Lol relax. I won’t start without you.
A woman at the front of the room taps the mic. TJ looks up. It’s Mrs. Scott, the Northridge debate coach and also the tournament organizer. She taps the mic again, her thick brows drawing together when it doesn’t capture anyone’s attention.
In fact, it seems like TJ’s the only one not currently socializing. Even Simran is talking to some seniors from Pineview who’ve migrated over to gossip. The table one over, full of juniors and novices from Kamloops, is obnoxiously loud. TJsighs. She just wants to get her results and go home.
“Ahem,” Mrs. Scott says from the mic. “If we’re all finished eating, we can move on to results?”
The hubbub doesn’t die down. Mrs. Scott adopts that fake-patience expression teachers probably learn as a requirement in their degree. “I’ll wait.”
The hubbub dies down immediately. She smiles and smooths away nonexistent flyaways from her bun.
“What a great morning of debates! You’ve all improved so much this season, and it’s been a joy to watch over the past few months. Many of our judges have told me how impressed they were with you, so be proud no matter what your score is.”
Right. TJ can’t fathom such a concept.