Page 41 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

“Hey!” Saad protests. She ignores him, scanning the sheet. Novice scores. She flips it over. Junior scores. She glances at Saad, confused.

“Why do you have the novice and junior scores but not your own?”

He looks unrepentant. “I’m nosy.”

“Here,” squeaks Yara. TJ looks up to find the junior sliding another piece of paper towards her. Apparently everyone is nosy, because Yara’s been reading the senior results.

TJ scans the sheet, heart in her throat. As per usual, the Vancouver regions and the Island fought over the top few spots. Then...

Simran. Coming in number six. TJ can’t help the grin that stretches over her face—she didn’t screw this up for her cousin after all. Simran’s still going to Nationals.

She scans further. Four spots down, Charles Rosencrantz. He’s sandwiched between Jenna and Isaac Turner, who are ninth and eleventh. Top ten is no joke.

Her smile lessens considerably. She hadn’t thought she still expected to make it into one of the top two spots for their region—not with how badly she screwed up yesterday—but a part of her was apparently still holding out hope. Now she knows this is the end of the road. No Nationals for her. It’ll be Simran and Charlie.

Saad coughs, reminding her she’s not alone. She rallies herself immediately, scanning further down the column that declares which region the debater is from until she gets to the nextSouthern Interior.

And there. Number twenty—Tejindar Powar.

Top twenty! TJ’s grin returns. Jenna couldn’t take that away from her.

Twenty-one is Nate. Close call. Pride fills her. She was good enough to beat Nate, albeit by zero point two. TJ checks for the others. Thirty-five, Ameera; thirty-seven, Saad.

She looks up at Saad. “You two did great.”

Saad shrugs. He doesn’t look cut up about not going to Nationals. Then again, he hasn’t been locked in a years-long death match with Whitewater over the top spots in their region. He didn’t even qualify for Provincials last year. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

Yara peeks over TJ’s shoulder. “The scores are so tight. There’s only a ten-point difference between you and Simran.”

It’s true. A pang goes through her. If she hadn’t messed up yesterday, she could’ve easily taken Charlie’s place at Nationals.

But it doesn’t matter. He won, fair and square. And at least TJ’s in the top twenty. As for the Turners... they’re above her. They’re the two top debaters of their region—Lower Mainland North—so they’ll be at Nationals. But no one can say their scores were far superior to TJ’s. Maybe Simran was right and they got docked for unprofessionalism after all.

TJ exhales, exhaustion creeping over her now that the suspense is gone. She looks up to find Simran watching her, standing next to Yara in her pastel-blue salwar kameez. There’s something in her eyes—trepidation.

TJ tosses the results sheet on the table. “You better beat the hell out of the Turners at Nationals.”

Simran’s face breaks into a relieved grin. “I’ll do what I can.”

Nate appears at the table with a loaded plate of food and Charlie in tow. “You know, the only thing standing between you and Nationals is Charlie.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” She glances at Charlie, but he’s staring at the floor. He doesn’t look pleased. If anything he seems tired suddenly. She frowns.

“Just saying.” Nate elbows Charlie. “When your body washes up in the Fraser River, I’ll know who to point the police to.”

TJ plucks a spanakopita from Nate’s plate. “Shut up. I’m happy for them. Really.” Everyone at the table falls silent. “What?”

Nate clears his throat and looks around. “Who here expected TJ to be okay with not going to Nationals? Raise your hand.” No one does.

TJ’s jaw drops. “Traitors!”

Saad coughs into his arm. “You are, erm, a little competitive.”

“Just a bit,” Nate adds. TJ glares at him.

“I don’t seeyouin the top twenty, you fetus.” Nate’s in grade eleven, so this is a top-notch insult.

“Greatness can’t always be recognized, TJ. The sad truth is sometimes mediocrity wins.” Nate shakes his head dramatically. He seems unbothered, but then again, he’ll have another chance next year. “After-party in my and Charlie’s room. Who’s coming?” He glances at Simran. “No alcohol.”