Page 82 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove
TJ looks up at her. Lulu shrugs.
“What? I still have bills to pay.”
∗
When TJ gets back in her car, she adjusts her rearview mirror to look at herself out of habit. This would normally be when she admires Lulu’s handiwork, but today she just sees her own facial hair, the same as she saw in her locker mirror earlier today. She looks for a long time, and then turns her gaze to her hand, to the hair on her knuckles and arm.
And for the first time... she doesn’t hate it. She doesn’t feel anything towards it, actually. Nothing positive, nothing negative, either. Her body is just that. A body.
It lasts only a moment, but it’s magic.
She arrives home to the sound of clanking dishes from the kitchen. The living room is empty, but the lamp is on and the TV muted. She settles on the couch, rearranging the cushions, and tucks her feet under her. Then she turns her phone back on.
There are about a million texts and missed calls from Chandani and Piper. She sends them each a single message.I’m okay.It’s only partly true. But it’s what matters—shewillbe okay.
She scrolls through Northridge Confessions again. Charlie’s username is still in the likes. So is Jake’s, now that she’s scrolling through. She wonders if Piper knows that. Or if it even matters.
But the comments section is different since the last time shechecked. There are now more people reacting angrily to the post than there were a few months ago. Piper’s one of them. Meanwhile, Chandani has personally replied to every nasty comment to rip them a new one. TJ grins. Maybe some things have changed after all.
“Feeling better?”
TJ jumps a little. She hadn’t heard her father come into the living room, but there he is, slouching in the doorway, wearing a T-shirt and shorts and holding a steaming mug in his hand. He’s looking at her expectantly.
It takes her a few seconds to remember her alleged stomachache. “Uh, yes. I’m great.”
He smiles and raises his mug. “I told you saunf water works. Good thing, too. Isn’t your tournament starting tomorrow?”
Tomorrow. That’s when debaters from different provinces will arrive for Nationals, with plenty of sightseeing activities organized for them to tour the area. TJ shrugs. “I’m not participating tomorrow. Friday and Saturday are the actual debates.”
He sits next to her on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Are you nervous?”
Of course she’s nervous. It’sNationals. There are five rounds in this tournament; it will wrap up by Saturday afternoon. Then the scores will be tallied, and the top four teams will tackle one more round each—the finals—to determine the podium. The competition structure is about all TJ knows; the rest is out of her depth. Her only goal is not getting destroyed.
It must be written on her face, because her father nods. “I bet it’s odd to do this tournament with a brand-new partner. You’ve been with Simran so long.”
TJ blinks; she hadn’t even thought aboutthatangle. Early in her debate career, she did tournaments with different partners all the time. But Simran was the one that stuck. They just worked so well together, even though they were so different. No—they workedbecausethey were different.
Her father asks, “What’d she say about your gift?”
“Nothing, yet.” A pang goes through TJ. She misses Simran more than ever now.
He pats her leg. “Patience.”
That strategy doesn’t seem to be working for their moms, but TJ doesn’t point that out. She just sighs and tips her head back. She’s so used to debating with Simran that she hadn’t, until now, considered what her dynamic with Charlie might be. It’s one thing to work with someone in a practice; something else entirely in a tournament. After everything that’s happened between them... how will it work?
“Do you want to practice your speeches?” her father asks.
TJ rolls her eyes. “Dad. We’ve gone over those a million times.”
He pretends to be affronted. “So what? Come on, I’ll pretend to be the opposition and ask you questions. This might be the last tournament I watch you in. We should make sure you’re prepared.”
That hits her like a train. Thelasttournament. The last one he’ll watch, the last one he’ll stay up late helping her with; the last debate experience her father will be part of with her. Her next ones will be half a country away at Western in Ontario. She’d accepted her offer there a few weeks back, partlybecauseit was far away. She wanted to go somewhere new. But she’s been avoiding thinking about how her life will change, because the truth is, the idea of her leaving home is terrifying.
And—she shoots her father a curious look, but he’s taking a long sip from his mug—maybe she isn’t the only one who feels that way.
So even though TJ doesn’t need to practice, she nods. “I’ll go get my cue cards.”
TWENTY-THREE