Page 4 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove
Mrs. Scott goes on. “Now, this is our last Provincials-qualifying tournament. The cumulative scores have been tallied. Meaning we now know exactly who will be going down to Vancouver in February to face off against the best debaters from every region in BC.” She pauses dramatically. “We’ll start with novice results.”
TJ’s knee starts bouncing through the twenty minutes of novice and junior results. The wait is torture. She only jolts out of her stupor to offer awkward congratulations to Yara, who returns from the stage beaming with the news that she qualified for Provincials.
And then, finally...
“Senior results,” Mrs. Scott announces, unfolding another paper. “I know the grade elevens and twelves have been waiting patiently. Just like with the novice and junior categories, the top six senior debaters in the region will head to Provincials.Let’s start with team rankings—but spoiler: everyone in these top three teams qualified for Provincials.”
TJ’s knee stops bouncing. This is it. Despite her supposed serenity, Simran sits up straighter, too.
“Third in the seniors category: Ameera and Saad Khan, from Northridge.”
Two slim figures rise from a crammed multi-school table of debaters—Ameera in her white jumpsuit, paired with an artfully wrapped rose-gold hijab, and her brother her opposite in all black. Both wear identical grins. TJ claps enthusiastically with everyone else. The third-place winner was the real wild card, and it’s nice that it’s been taken by another team from her school.
“Second...” Mrs. Scott pauses, and TJ could almost swear she winks at her. “Nathaniel Chen and Charles Rosencrantz from Whitewater.”
TJ exhales as applause starts again. Thank god. Grinning extra wide, she joins the clapping enthusiastically. She’s very supportive of them coming in second, after all.
Charlie and Nate rise from their chairs. Their Whitewater comrades bang on the table in support. TJ obsessively studies their faces for any sign of weakness, but they appear to take their loss with grace. Or at least, some semblance of it—as Nate walks backwards away from the table, someone tosses a grape to him, which he catches in his mouth to more cheers. Charlie simply straightens his silk tie like his picture today might make it onto the national news.
After photos and shaking hands with the tournament organizers, Charlie and Nate stand to the side of the stage with the third-place team, and Mrs. Scott goes back to the mic. “Andfirst place, none other than Northridge’s own Simran Kaur Aujla and Tejindar Powar!”
No surprise. Many of the Northridge students stamp their feet, hooting their excitement at one-upping Whitewater. TJ schools her features into indifference now that all eyes are on her. Simran flips her long braid over her shoulder.
“Congratulations,” Mrs. Scott says with a warm smile once they reach her. She hands them their certificates just as Simran’s mom approaches.
She’s a big woman, with a navy-blue turban wrapped around her hair that makes her a notable figure in any crowd. But currently her most prominent feature is her wide smile. “So proud of you girls!” she says, snapping a photo on her phone. “Smile! Hug each other!”
TJ turns to Simran and they do a very awkward side-hug. The embrace is loose and brief, just long enough for Simran’s mom to take the photo.
There are more announcements, closing remarks, and then all the podium winners stand for a group photo, arranged to stand in order for the most pleasing symmetry. They all elbow each other trying to get into place, the camera flash goes off, and then Yara insists on getting one of her own for journalism club.
Once the photos are done, the crowd begins dissipating. There’s a flurry of activity as debaters rise from tables, volunteers stack chairs, and organizers pack away leftover food. TJ scans the room for her dad. He watched all her debates, but he prefers to blend into the background until it’s over. While she’s craning her neck over the crowd, Yara approaches with her camera.
“Can I get one of you and Simran? I’ll get you two on the front page Monday morning.”
Yikes. Being on the front page of the school newspaper is just inviting mockery. But Yara’s grey eyes are bright with hope.
“You really don’t have to,” Simran says graciously.
“Like,reallydon’t have to,” TJ agrees. “Really, really don’t have to—”
Yara just beams and raises her camera. She zooms in unnecessarily far, and TJ only has time to thank fate that she plucked that annoying hair out before the flash goes off in their faces.
“Thanks!” Yara scurries off.
TJ’s still blinking from the flash when Simran elbows her. “See?” She points at her certificate. “First place. Nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, but Nate got first place individually,” TJ says sullenly. She looks down at the scoresheet. She’s right behind him, Charlie behind her, and then Simran.
“Butwewon the tournament.”
True. For pure gloating rights, having Northridge beat out the Whitewater team is the best outcome. “Don’t pretend you’re not relieved, too,” TJ retorts. Simran doesn’t reply, which is basically confirmation. “Nothing sucks more than coming second in your own territory—”
A whiff of freshly ironed shirts is her only warning before a familiar voice chimes at her shoulder, “Yourterritory, TJ? I wasn’t aware you owned your whole school.”
TJ whips around to glare at the eavesdropper. Charlie’s eyes bore into hers without blinking, and it’s kind of creepy. With his brown hair combed immaculately in its side part and hishands in fitted pant pockets, he’s the kind of guy who looks like he was born in a suit. Before she can respond, Nate appears next to him, his shirt collar now popped up like a vampire. A smirk has taken over his angular features.
Great. Both halves of her longtime rival debate team, here to troll her. Simran gives TJ a meaningful look. Right.Don’t give them a reaction.