Phase III: Exhibition
KEN
Everything that came before has been leading up to this, the official beginning of the Trivia Master tournament. Eight teams have cleared the twin hurdles of the entrance exam and the preliminary rounds, and they are now poised to face each other before God and man. Here, on the stage of honor, we will judge the entire school and decide who is worthy to represent the assembled body. Here, on the battlefield of the mind, we will decide who deserves the title of Trivia Master.
It has been a long road that led to this point. You have been by my side every step of the way – from the first furtive plans when all was still shrouded in fog, to the gathering of a legendary team, to the gauntlet of deception and the pains of double dealing. Now, at long last, you will bear witness to an actual Trivia Master round.
I have my doubts that an event of this grandeur can truly be captured in the written word. Is it possible to reflect the titans of trivia in text? Can the splendor of the stage truly come across without the feelings that come from experiencing it first–hand? I doubt that even photographs or video could properly reflect this event, for they are but a record of fact and do not hold the deeper meaning. A person who has not set foot on that stage can not truly grasp the sensations, the raw energy that surrounds the event. To truly understand what is to come, you would have to ride inside my head and feel it all for yourself.
Pardon me, I am rambling a bit. My point is, this is a very special event for those of us who participate in it. I merely wish to make it clear what a challenge it can be to explain, in our inadequate human languages, just how significant this is. I hope that you can forgive me my flights of fancy.
This is not the first round – that was conducted a few hours before. The Valkyries triumphed by 260 points to 180, an effortless victory. They will be our first true challenge. The quarterfinal is but a warm–up.
That is not to say that our first opponents – the Council of Seelie – present no challenge at all. Colette Henshaw, their captain, is a formidable opponent, if rigid in thought and profoundly uncreative. She did concoct an interesting gimmick all her own. Well before the round began, she approached me with a list of names, prattling on about "integrity" and "improprieties" and demanding that I sign her promise not to cheat. Of course, I dismissed her. I would never sign anything that was presented in such bad faith. On the other hand, I must thank her for reminding me that Ron will be recording the rounds. I will have to arrange for a copy so that I may study up on our own weaknesses.
The fleeting moments before the round begins form the last opportunity for a conference between teammates. I took this time to run over my strategy once more.
"All right. Trevor, you've got classic literature and sports. Anything in those categories comes out, don't be afraid to jump on it. Scott, you're playing defense here. Don't be too eager, but if something comes down the line that you know, take it. Paul will be on point, so if he doesn't buzz in, it's up to you guys to handle things. I'll support Paul and field everything during the wager rounds. You got that?"
"Yes sir, General Patton," said Scott. He has an acid tongue that I do not care for, but perhaps it will fire up the audience.
"I think we know what we're supposed to do, Ken," said Trevor.
"Good." I turned to Paul. "Hey, did that girl Colette try to get you to sign something?"
"Sure did."
"Did you sign it?"
"Hell no. All I had to do was see Bellamy's name on it. Told me everything I needed to know."
And then, at long last, it began. My breath caught in my throat. Oh, what a moment, what a blessed ecstasy…
~QUARTERFINAL ROUND – RAGING NERDS VS. COUNCIL OF SEELIE~
Mr. Laubhan approaches the podium.
"Good afternoon, and welcome to the second quarter–final round of Trivia Master between the Council of Seelie and the Raging Nerds."
"Yeah!" A scream echoes from the auditorium.
"Please keep the celebration until the end of the round so we can get through the round in a timely manner."
The lights are hot and there's a faint murmur in the crowd. This moment is as tense as it gets. Right now, we are all equal, but that will change soon enough.
We were placed at the table closest to the edge of the stage, with Paul being the unlucky one stuck sitting flush with the audience. Now, I know he can take the pressure, but it's still never pleasant.
Mr. Laubhan continues with his opening. "In round one, all questions are worth ten points, and remember to wait until your name and team name have been called before answering. Question one: This Central Asian nation borders Russia to the north and China to the southeast –”
Doot–de–doot.
"Paul, Nerds," calls the girl at the buzzer console.
"Kazakhstan."
"Correct, for ten points." It's no surprise that Paul drew first blood. He may be very smart, but his real claim to fame is his truly impressive reaction time. Paul's average reaction time is a good 200 milliseconds below the norm – in a head–on match, he'll buzz in first 19 times out of 20 against a typical competitor. He's just that good.
"Question two: The officer in charge of the Pacific Theatre of Operations – “
Deedle–dee.
"Colette, Seelie."
"Admiral Nimitz."
"Correct. Ten points for the Court." Colette must be feeling really smug, having leveled the playing field on the second question. Well, wait until she sees the rest of the team.
"Question three: This 1975 film was only the second to win all five major Academy Awards.”
Doot–de–doot.
"Scott, Nerds."
"One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."
"Correct." Scott's already handling himself like a contender. Most people would get jumpy or lock up, but he is very confident. He knows what he knows, and that will really benefit our team.
"Question four: Born Theodore Geisel, this popular children's author – “
Doot–de–doot.
"Trevor, Nerds."
"Dr. Seuss."
"Correct." It's good to see Trevor in high spirits. His weakness has always been his low confidence, and I was afraid that might hinder him. But now that he's on stage, he's really summoning that inner strength.
Now the first round is coming to an end. We fell into a real groove, ending the round up by 70 points to 30.
"And that’s the end of round one. Now, for the first team question. Write down your wagers now, remember that in the first round you can wager up to fifty points."
The team round is all about strategy. What amount do you bet, knowing you could lose it all? What are you willing to risk, not knowing what the question is? It's tempting to bet the whole fifty and earn half a round's worth of points, but most teams play more conservatively, especially if the match is close.
Me, I don't feel like showing off this early in the tournament. I write down a nice, easy 20.
"All right. Here is your question: Calculate the volume of a four–sided pyramid with a base of 60 square meters and height of 27 meters."
A math question! This is a bad feeling – a tiny wager on your area of expertise. Though, at the very least, it is a better feeling than a large wager on something no one knows.
But this is my territory. I love numbers, and they love me back. It takes just seconds to work out the calculations and take down my answer.
"Time’s up," announces Mr. Laubhan. "Council of Seelie, I’ll take your answer first." Colette flips the card with their answer. "540 meters cubed, that is correct. Your bid?" She holds up a card with the number 40. Colette is more of a risk–taker than I thought. "40 points to the Seelie. Raging Nerds, your answer, please." Paul shows him our card – correct, as predicted – and our wager.
This means that, going into the second round, we have 90 points to their 70. The second round is a major turning point in Trivia Master. The elevated scores mean that this is where it's possible to turn the game around – where the meat of the action lies. People take more risks, more points are gained and lost – everything is up for grabs.
"Remember, all questions in this round are worth 20 points. Question one: It is the first noble gas on the Periodic – “
Deedle–dee.
"Saul, Seelie."
"Helium."
"Correct." Damn – they've tied it up again. I've got to concentrate.
"Question two: In what geological era did Archaeopteryx – “
Deedle–dee.
"Colette, Seelie."
"Triassic."
"I'm sorry, that's incorrect." Yes! Colette's hubris has cost her team the lead. "I will repeat the question for the other team. Question three: In what geological era did Archaeopteryx first emerge?”
Doot–de–doot.
"Paul, Nerds."
"Jurassic?"
"Correct." And the game swings back to us. In an good quiz game, there are a lot of moments like this. Just when you think you've won or lost, an opportunity appears. There is no such thing as "inevitable."
After that, it's a blur of questions and buzzers and lights. It doesn't coalesce for me until the round ends and I hear Mr. Laubhan's voice over the fray:
"The Raging Nerds win, 290 to 230. Congratulations."
There it is, our first step towards victory. Now it gets hard.
AARON
A lot of people get nervous before public competitions like Trivia Master. The crowds are intimidating to them. They're afraid of embarrassing themselves in front of everyone they know or making some mistake on the public record. But that kind of neurosis is nothing more than a sign of a weak mind. That tension is born of a fear of failure, which itself is nothing more than a fundamental lack of confidence in one's own skill. I've been performing before crowds since I was seven, and not once did I crack under the pressure. I never let the competition see me sweat, never did anything that would give them that kind of satisfaction. So why should I feel nervous before a round of Trivia Master? Especially a quarterfinal round. Competition at this level is a waist–high wall – it doesn't stop you, it just slows you down.
If anything, what I felt as I walked into that auditorium was joy. As much as I hate what Trivia Master does to the scholastic tradition, I really can't deny that I get some primeval rush out of it. The rest of the year, I'm nothing to them. Those assholes, my "peers" as some dare call them, treat me like something they scraped off the bottom of their shoes, but now? Now, I'm the man. They're cheering me on, holding their breath with each question and pumping their fists when I score. They're my fans, my devoted followers hanging on my every move. For the fifteen minutes that the round lasts, the world as I know it becomes a more just and rational place.
Of course, there's always something to ruin the moment.
"Aaron, did you read the big writeup?"
There I was, sitting in the wings of the auditorium, watching the seats fill. Brian was there, waving a copy of the Northwest Gazette in my face. What the hell, it's better than having to endure more of his statistics.
"Yeah, I read it," I said.
"Even the stuff Edward wrote?"
"Yes, I read what he wrote. I talked with him for that piece."
"Why did you do that?" Brian was angry – first time I remember hearing any genuine emotion in his voice.
"Did what? All I did was tell him not to listen to those rumors about everyone cheating. Not like he even used any of my quotes."
"That's not the point!" I could feel the spray from Brian's fat mouth as he harangued me with that angry screech of his. "You know how he writes, he tries to turn everything into some big dramatic story. He could have twisted what you said into whatever he wanted."
"Paul and Ken were talking to him, I wasn't about to let their side be the only one."
"You should have run this past me." Now that wheezy bastard was wagging the paper in my face. "I need to know about anything that might affect team strategy. If you insist on keeping things from me, then I –"
I snatched the paper out of Brian's doughy fist. "Don't lecture me. You're not running this game, Booker, and I don't need your permission to talk to anyone."
"Okay, I crossed a line and I'm sorry." Brian took a step back. "I won't bring it up again."
"Good. Just as long as we're clear."
"Andrew and Sid are a little late. I think I'll go look for them."
"You do that."
Brian scurried off like a frightened rat while I considered the paper in my hand. Not that I'd ever admit it to him, but Brian may have a point about dealing with a loser like Ed Page. The kid sees himself as something sort of crusading journalist, the Edward Murrow of the "Millenials" or whatever meaningless phrases the talking heads made up to describe young people this week.
In terms of what Ed actually does...it would probably be best if I just showed you. I still have Brian's paper which I swear is annotated, for my benefits or his I really don't know.
"I'm seated in the cavernous auditorium of Northwest High, alone in a sea of empty seats. People scurry about on stage, checking equipment, moving furniture into place, testing the sound levels. I glance at my watch. It's thirty minutes until lunch, four hours until the last bell..." There's a lot more of this, he's into that "new journalism" crap where the writer won't shut up about himself. Here's the key part: "Two participants, speaking on conditions of anonymity, described some of their experience with dirty tricks." "Anonymous," sure. That was sunny boy Paul and that ball of dough that follows him around. They got half the damn column while nothing I said to Ed made it in, not a word. Something they planned out, I'm sure. The three of them must have had a wonderful time ruining this for me.
Oh, but it gets better. Here's how it ends: "With cheating and backstabbing growing every year towards epidemic proportions, it is only a matter of time before Trivia Master descends into anarchy. If the administration can not or will not contain the dirty tricks, then it falls to we students to police our own behavior. Until that happens, a pall of iniquity will hang over the entire event, and the victor will always be tainted by its association." Kiss my ass, Ed. As if the overblown imagery wasn't bad enough, I have to deal with this idiot trying to stain my glory before I've even earned it. But no one's taking this from me – not Ed or Brian or Ken and definitely not Paul. I've been working too long for this.
The auditorium was nearly full when Brian returned with our teammates. "You get lost on the way?"
"Sorry, bro, I got caught up in some shit. You know how it is," said Sid. "Wow, they really packed them in, huh?"
"It's definitely a bigger crowd than I expected," said Andrew. "Are there always this many?"
"No. It's light today." Mr. Laubhan appeared at the podium behind me. "We're going on in a minute. Is everyone ready? No one's feeling the pressure?"
Andrew shook his head. "I've done this enough times, it's no big deal for me."
"Just like any other show," said Sid.
"We've got an eighty percent chance here, at least," said Brian. "I'll save my worrying for a hard round."
"Good. Very good."
I glanced back at the other team. Duncan's team. For the briefest of moments, I considered going easy on them. I don't have many problems with Duncan, and after what happened the week before last I feel some sympathy for him. But there's no room for mercy in competition. Besides, this victory is all a part of my greater plan. This is going to be a preview to everyone – and Paul Liston in particular – of what's coming down the line.
I nodded to my teammates. "All right, let's go. Everyone in your places." As I walked to the stage, I allowed a smile to reach my lips, let my hands swing back ever so slightly to embrace the stage lights. I could hear my supporters cheering me on, even over the din of conversation. No one's going to steal my glory. All of this is mine.
"Drink it in, boys. It doesn't get more beautiful than this.”
PAUL
I love watching Trivia Master rounds. It's not as viscerally thrilling as contact sports, but it has its own special appeal, something that resonates far more deeply with me. Sitting in the crowd, everyone fixated on the answers, makes me feel like I'm in touch with the brotherhood of all nerds. I realize that sounds absurd, but it's the truth. I get this feeling of unity that's tragically uncommon, and I always appreciate it.
There are times when it's less enjoyable, though. Like when one of the teams is headed by a self–obsessed, backbiting, degenerate asshole. Or, when that asshole's opponent is a fundamentally decent guy who's probably going to lose.
"Good morning, and welcome to the third quarter–final round of Trivia Master between the the Flying Brains and the Specials."
There were scattered cheers the crowd. Much as I'd rather not believe it, Aaron does have supporters. In fact, Ken tells me he probably has as many supporters as me. Aaron pretends that he doesn't care, but I know he relishes in the attention – it's just one more way that he proves his dominance. He always struts a little as he takes to the stage, throwing a little flourish or a gesture as he takes his seat. Of course, once he's seated, it's all business...or so I thought until that very moment. Just the slightest trace of a smile came across his face, and for a moment I could swear he was looking directly at me. Of course, it's pretty dark in the house, and the audience is pretty far back. You really can't see anyone from the stage. I guess all of this competition is making me paranoid.
"Question one: This inventors creations included alternating current...”
Deedle–dee.
"Aaron, Brains."
"Tesla."
"Correct. Ten points to the Flying Brains." His grin grows just the slightest bit larger every time he gets a question right. I wondered if the rest of his team knew what kind of person they were dealing with. Maybe they don't care.
"Question two: In what year did the Battle of the Bulge conclude?”
Doot–de–doot.
"Duncan, Specials."
"1945?"
"Correct."
Aaron glanced over at Brian, his right–hand man. It was time to crack the whip.
"Question three: The reciprocal of the sine of an angle...”
Doot–de–doot.
"Carl, Specials."
"The secant."
"Incorrect. I will repeat the question for the other team...”
Deedle–dee.
"Brian, Brains."
"The cosecant."
"Correct."
I turned to Ken. "I can't watch this," I whispered.
"Yeah, I don't blame you. You slip out, I'll cover you."
I ducked out of the auditorium, accompanied the sounds of the Flying Brains scoring points. I spent the time in the hallway, recalling everything that had happened and pondering just how things had gotten to this point. It was only ten minutes, but it felt like a lot longer. Finally, Ken walked through the doors.
"It's over," he said. "270 to 150."
"A 120–point win? They're gonna be crowing about this."
"We'd better get out of here. Don't want to run into Aaron."
The two of us walked through the silent halls. Behind us, the rest of the student body was filtering out, chattering about the massacre they'd just witnessed. I had no interest in discussing it further, any more than I want to recount it now.
Eventually, Ken turned to me. "Oh, before you take off, I was wondering if you’d mind skipping this afternoon’s round."
"Why? I like watching the rounds."
"Team meeting. I cleared us a room, got permission and everything."
"Team meeting? Are you joking?"
"Hey, these next two rounds are going to be brutal. If we don't hone our skill, we might lose."
"Yeah, well, that's a risk I'm willing to take. You know I never miss a round."
"Yeah, yeah, 'brotherhood of all nerds' and all that. You’ve told me." Ken could be a snarky bastard when he needed to. "What's there to even see? It's not a major round. We know that the Brains will beat whoever wins this afternoon."
"You don't even watch your new friend compete?"
"Oh, shit." Ken stopped and lapsed into a brief period of personal conflict. "...No, this is more important. We need to have this meeting."
"Fine, Ken."
You know, the one you hang out in."
"You know about that?"
"Yeah." He said that like I should have known better. "Gotta go, I've got some people to talk to." And he was off yet again, huffing through the halls on his way to meet with some contact.
I wasn't exactly pleased to miss a round, but Ken had a point. No one was going to stand much of a chance against the Flying Brains, let alone the underdogs competing in the upcoming round. Still, I have a hard time believing that Ken wouldn't want to support one of his fellow competitors. Maybe he didn't want to get too close, knowing what would unfold in the semifinal round.
A few hours later, I found myself breaking off from my last–period class and walking to the third floor. Scott, who was in the same class, came with me.
"It was a mistake having any sort of meeting up here," he said.
"I'm sure he wanted the gifted room, but they watch that place really close during the tournament."
"I just hope there's no one smoking up here."
"Smoking?"
Scott grinned. "You never noticed the smell?"
"Uh, I noticed an odor."
"God, you're so innocent."
Trevor was waiting in the hall when we got there. Ken was conspicuously absent.
"So where's Ken?" I asked Trevor.
"Said he had something to do and took off." he replied.
"How long you been waiting?" said Scott.
"I don't know, eight minutes?" said Trevor.
Scott sighed. "Really glad I hitched my wagon to Ken Greevey's star." He leaned back against the wall and looked at me. "What's his deal, anyway? Why's he do stuff like this?"
"I don’t know." Not a lie – I really don't. "He gets a thought in his head and it gives him tunnel vision."
"Makes sense to me," said Trevor. "You two see this morning’s match?"
"I couldn't watch," I said. "I skipped out."
"Duncan blames himself, you know," said Trevor.
"It’s not his fault," I said. "No one stood a chance. I mean, if there’s anyone who takes this more seriously than Ken, it’s Aaron Baines Bellamy."
"You know, I’ve been wanting to ask you about him," said Scott. "I always knew you two had a rivalry or something, but it seems like it's way beyond that. That kid hates you, and I don't get why."
"I’ve always wondered about that myself," added Trevor. "I can’t imagine you doing anything bad enough to make someone hate you, so what’s the story?"
"I don't know what to tell you," I said. "I've never really understood it myself."
"Tell us what you know," said Trevor. "Maybe we can help you figure it out."
"Well, I don't know much, and what I know doesn't make any sense, but here goes...”
* * * * * * *
It occurs to me that many of you may have been wondering the exact same thing. So let me break away from the narrative for just a moment to give you some background information. I don't expect this to make sense to anyone, but here goes:
I think I was eight when I first met Aaron. I really don't have a great recollection of it. The first time I heard his name was at a science fair where we both won in our categories. I remember that I saw him walking down the street after that, and that he was a mess. He might have been crying, I'm not really sure, but we invited him in and that's when it started. We were friends, but mostly by physical proximity. That's pretty much all friendship is based on at that age, if you think about it. It seems like it meant more to Aaron than that, though. I don't think he had any other friends.
It's not like we had nothing in common. We were both geeks, we had geek things in common – science fiction novels, role–playing games, plus we were in a fair number of clubs together. Every so often, he'd wander by our place and hang out for a while. There was nothing wrong with that, although it could get a bit awkward when he chose to extend his visits until it was dark.
I only went to Aaron's house a couple times. His parents were kind of a big deal in Solace – his dad was a chemist with Jameson Enterprises and his mother was on the business end of the same company. Both of them had personal relationships with Joshua Jameson, one of the wealthiest men in the country. At the time, I was too young to appreciate how powerful he truly was, but I sure heard the way my parents talked about him.
For all of that, though, the Bellamys were pretty normal. Actually, I didn't see Aaron's parents all that much – he pretty much had the run of the house. We had a sitter once, this Chinese girl who was the daughter of another of Jameson's people, but other that it was just Aaron and me. It's not like he ever did anything crazy with his freedom. Mostly he showed off his trophies, an ever–growing collection of accolades that occupies a pretty significant portion of his room. He took care of those things like they were his pets.
That was our relationship for many years – a loose friendship based principally on the fact that we could walk to each others' houses without getting a ride. Then, one day, it all changed.
* * * * * * *
"Sorry to keep you guys waiting!"
That was Ken, who had finally decided to grace us with his presence. He was carrying a computer bag and waving a flash drive. "I was just picking this up: Raw footage of our quarter–final round, courtesy of Ron Janowski. Who, by the way, will also be filling me in on the details of the current match. By watching ourselves in action, we can pinpoint our weaknesses. Hey, if it’s good enough for football players, right?"
"So Paul, what happened next?" said Scott, completely ignoring Ken.
"They wanted to know about Aaron," I said.
"Well, here we go. " Ken sat the bag down and took a seat. "Hey, if you guys can figure out what the hell happened I’ll be pleased to hear it."
"So like I said, we were cool until middle school...”
* * * * * * *
It all changed when I was eleven. I was more independent, which meant that I could hang out with people other than the neighbors' kids. While I didn't have a wide circle of friends, I did meet some new people in middle school. Over time, I drifted away from Aaron. But Aaron was still there, following me around, showing up at the worst times. I guess he never found any new friends, or maybe he just fixated on me for some other reason.
Aaron and I had very different schedules, different lunch breaks, and our lockers weren't near each other. I didn't even see him on a daily basis. Over time, I guess I just forgot about him.
He didn't forget about me.
To this day, I do not know what I did that set Aaron on his path of revenge. All I know is that one afternoon, as I was leaving school with some of my new friends, Aaron caught up to me.
"Real good, Paul!" he shouted.
"Aaron? What's wrong?"
"You think you can screw me over? You think that’s cool?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Playing dumb, huh? Well fine. Be that way. But you will never get away with this, Apollo Liston!”
* * * * * * *
"Apollo?" Trevor and Scott both stared at me, dumbstruck.
I nodded. "Yeah, Paul Liston might not be the name on my birth certificate."
"Wait, so your official recognized–by–the–government name is 'Apollo'?" asked Trevor, clearly holding back a grin.
"He comes from a weird family," said Ken.
"I made the mistake of telling Aaron," I said. "That was his first attempt to hurt me."
"Hold it, I'm lost," said Scott. "I must have missed something somewhere. What exactly did you do?"
"Like I said earlier, I have no idea," I said.
Ken climbed to his feet. "Look, we’ve been mulling over this for years. Neither of us has any clue what Aaron was talking about."
Trevor was back in deep thought. "He said you screwed him over? As competitive as he is, maybe you won some award he wanted. You remember winning anything around that time?"
"I was taking a break from competitions that year," I said. "I think I won a basket of cookies in a raffle. Is that worth holding a grudge?"
"No, no, no," said Scott. "His reaction was way too emotional. At that age, the only thing that would get a kid that emotional is a crush. Maybe he thought you stole a girl from him?"
"Me?" It wasn't a thought that had ever occurred to me, for obvious reasons.
"I’m not saying it’s logical," continued Scott. "If he saw you talking to a girl he liked, that could be enough."
"Who does he even like?" said Trevor.