Page 38 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
They do a lap around the cafeteria, scoping out the vendors. Charlie seems content to let her choose, and she’s tempted to follow through on finding the place with the highest prices, but in the end, she goes with a comfort-food sandwich from Subway. Charlie orders one, too, and true to his word, pays for them both.
Friday nights a half hour before closing aren’t the busiest times, evidently, because almost no one else is in the cafeteria. They easily secure a cozy table by a faux fireplace. Charlie sets down their tray and says, “I saw on the schedule that you and Simran were up against the Turners.”
TJ pauses halfway through unwrapping her sandwich. Is this why he’s really here? To hunt down the story she wouldn’t tell anyone else? Maybe he just wants some material to mock her with. “Yeah, so?”
“So how’d it go?”
Her suspicions solidify further. “Like any other debate. Why do you care?”
He’s silent for a while as they eat. Then: “I guess I’m just wondering because I haven’t seen them debate since they moved away.”
Oh. Right. Charlie and Isaac were debate partners at Whitewater for years, before Nate came into the picture. She vividly remembers them goofing off at an adjacent table during that sixth-grade debate training, throwing paper balls at each other. Several of them had hit TJ instead and she wasn’t convinced it was by accident.
She doesn’t remember Charlie making fun of her hairy arms, though. Maybe she blocked it out. “Why don’t you ask Isaac if you’re so curious?” she mutters.
As Charlie shrugs, she realizes he totallycouldask Isaac. And he’d probably love to tell Charlie all about TJ’s royal screwup. It would provide months’ worth of ammunition. Especially when he realizes it affected her to the point that she couldn’t even say it herself.
They’ve fallen into a silence of just eating. TJ’s ravenous suddenly, and she practically inhales her sub. Then she sips her Coke and weighs her options. Even if Charlie doesn’t ask Isaac, Jenna will probably blab about this to anyone she can. Might as well get ahead of it.
“I started saying the wrong speech,” she finally says in what she hopes is an offhand way. “We were Side Opposition and I used my Proposition speech for, like, a whole minute before realizing. Everything went downhill from there.”
Charlie doesn’t say anything at first, just keeps sipping from his straw and watching her thoughtfully. She waits. And waits. Once he gets to the bottom of his drink and his cheeks hollow out, the vacuum effect making obnoxious sounds, she loses patience.
“Well?I can feel you trying not to laugh at me.”
His mouth finally pops off the straw. “I’m not. I’m just trying to figure out why this has you so upset. We all make embarrassing mistakes sometimes.”
“Maybeyoudo,” she scoffs, sinking lower into her seat. “But not me.”
A trace of a smile crosses his lips before he’s serious again. “If that’s true, why did it happen?”
She looks away. He’s sitting across from her, close in proximity, and Jenna’s comment about her facial hair resounds vividly in her head. The obnoxious cafeteria lighting probably isn’t doing her any favours, either. Insecurity creeps over her until she’s hunching and practically tugging her jacket collar up over her mouth. “Jenna,” she admits. “She said... some stuff to me before the debate. To throw me off-balance. And it worked.”
“What’d she say?”
She tugs her collar even higher. Charlie must know about the meme and everything, but she doesn’t want to draw attention to her newfound hairiness. He might look at her differently, and she’s not sure she could handle that, for some reason. “It’s not important.”
“Fine. She got you wound up. You lost. So what?”
“So I screwed up. There’s no way I’m going to Nationals.” She tries to be flippant, but to her horror, her voice wavers. She glares at the floor, ordering herself to hold it together. “This is my last tournament.”
“Exactly. So don’t waste it.” She looks at him sharply, surprised by the sudden fierceness in his voice. It’s in his eyes, too, a fire that makes his amber irises burn brighter. “You’ve only lost one debate. There’s four more tomorrow.”
Something about the way he says it captures her. He sets his drink down and leans in, forearms on the table with his hands close enough to almost brush her fingertips. Leans in until his warm smell envelops her and he’s filled her vision, and she can’t think of anything else but what he’s saying.
“I don’t know what Jenna said to you,” Charlie continues. “But it doesn’t matter. Forget the Turners. Be your best tomorrow like nothing ever happened. Don’t you dare let them ruin something you love.”
He’s always had an intense way of talking, particularly in a debate. But this is different. This intensity is strangely personal. She studies him. He’s not blinking, but this time it’s not creepy, although it does send a shiver down her spine.
Maybe he’s right. There’s very little chance of making it back to the top ranks, but if she plays her cards right tomorrow, she can still go out with a bang. She can still make this trip worth it.
The PA system turns on with a horrible scratching sound, jarring them into sitting back. Fifteen minutes until closing. Her phone buzzes with a text from Ameera:We’re meeting at the east entrance in five. Is Charlie with you?
She texts back a quick yes, and they get up. Then something occurs to TJ that makes her frown.
“Why are you saying this stuff anyway?” she asks suspiciously. “We’re competing for Nationals. You should be happy I screwed up.”