Phase IV: Duel
PAUL
I don't think I've ever experienced any tension like I did in the hours leading up to the championship round. It's always like that, I suppose. It doesn't matter how insignificant the contest may be, that last stretch is a real killer. It only gets worse if your odds are bad to start with. When you know you're expected to lose, your head fills with pictures of all the ways you can screw up at the finish line.
The hour before the match, I made up some excuse to get out of class – another smart kid perk, everyone assumes you have tons of extracurriculars so no one questions you when you ask to leave – and went to the auditorium. Everything was dark except for the stage, illuminated under a single ambient stage light like a display at a museum. Most people find it ominous, but there's something soothing about it, too. It's almost like I'm the last man on Earth, free from the torments of other people.
"You're early."
I almost bolted at the sound of another voice. With the size of the room and the darkness, it took me a moment to place the source. Finally, I noticed a single figure leaning against the wall near the podium, just outside of the lights. It was Leon.
It was a moment before I felt comfortable to speak. "I was feeling a little anxious, so I got permission to come down here early. I wasn't planning anything, I swear."
"Of course not. I understand exactly why you're here." He walked towards me, into the pale light coming from the sound booth. "You know how to control the lights? I wanted to get a better look at the room."
"Uh, yeah, I've used the controls before. Give me a minute, I'll bring the stage lights up." The door to the sound booth was unlocked in preparation for the round, so I headed up the stairs. Years back, when they installed the new control system for the auditorium, they taught me how to control everything. I guess they thought I could be an asset, but that was the last time I was up there. Sometimes I wish I would have stuck with it. Controlling the lights and sound for Trivia Master would have been a lot less stressful.
After a few seconds, I found the switches for the stage lights and turned them on. The room was suddenly illuminated, revealing hundreds of empty seats and a barren stage.
"It's nice, isn't it?" shouted Leon from the stage. "The last calm before the onset of the storm." He breathed deeply and exhaled. "I love big, quiet rooms. Best places in the world to think. That's why you're here, right?"
"Yeah, I suppose it is," I said.
"Come on down. This is no way to have a conversation."
"Okay." I took the stairs slowly, the rows of empty seats coming into view. There was something haunted about it that I had never noticed.
"Sometimes you have to take peace where you can get it," said Leon. "It's always so temporary. In another hour, there will be hundreds of people in here, all waiting to watch the big show. All hanging on every word, every moment in between the words..." He had a far–away look in his eyes, like he was remembering something from long ago.
"You've done this before?" I said, approaching the stage. "Sorry, silly question. It's just that I follow the stats, and I don't remember seeing your name."
"Nothing silly about it," said Leon. "I've done plenty of competitions, but smaller ones. Little trials and gifted events, that sort of thing. I never had a stage like this. More schools should have these kinds of events."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure most schools wouldn't want the drama that comes with it. The backstabbing, the dirty tricks...it's messy."
"But that's exactly why they should do it like this. So that everyone can see what distinguishes real winners from the cheaters and the liars and the saboteurs. There's plenty of that in the outside world. Kids need to experience the triumph of talent, something to give them back that ambition that they've lost."
"That's a good point." Something about the way he spoke was disturbing me. I decided I didn't really need to hang around the auditorium. "I'm gonna go take care of a few things before the match. Uh, good luck!"
"Don't need it."
I stopped. "Of course not, it's just something you say."
"Of course" he said. "But one question before you go. You think you're going to win?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you think that you are going to win?" Leon said those words slowly and deliberately, as though he didn't think I was bright enough to understand him.
"Uh...I don't know. We'll see."
"You know. Do you think you're going to win?" Leon took a seat on the edge of the stage. "Come on, be honest. Because if you don't think you're going to win, there's no need to even be here."
"Well, of course I think I could win," I said. "I'm smart enough to win, but there's no way to know until it starts. That's what it makes it exciting, right?"
"Thanks. That's all I needed to know."
I didn't feel like leaving anymore. There was something strange going on, and I wanted to figure it out. "Okay, what's going on here? What do you mean 'all you needed to know'?"
"It's just that I've heard that a lot. 'I could win.' 'I'm smart enough.' I bet you're the fifth...no, the sixth person to tell me that. But it's a lie. You're expecting to lose."
I stepped towards him. "What makes you so sure about that?"
"Come on, Paul, it's me. I was sitting three feet from you when you found out who we were. I saw the look on your face. That was a look that said to me that you were prepared to lose. To lose big."
"What kind of mind game is this, Leon?"
"It's no such thing, but it's very revealing that you would assume that." Leon hopped down from the stage and paced over to me, his words echoing through the empty room. "What it is, is a matter of honor. My father always taught me that you should treat your opponent well before you deliver the finishing blow, so to speak."
"Honor? What the hell are you talking about?"
Leon turned, leaning against the first row of seats. "Play fair, but play to win. The way it's supposed to be. I know words like 'honor' don’t mean much around here, but I thought you might understand it. I guess I was wrong about at least one thing."
"No, I understand what you're saying," I said.
"But? Be honest."
"The way you're saying it...it seems strange."
"Clearly, something's bothering you," said Leon. "Don't be afraid to tell me. We're fellow travelers, aren't we?"
I didn't really know what to think, but I wasn't about to let him go on that point. "All right. You want honesty? The whole truth?"
"The whole truth. Go ahead, Paul, I know there's something you want to ask. They always do."
"They always do..." I tried to ignore his last remark. "Okay, I know when people are playing dirty, I’m used to it. I've seen every form of ugly competition that they've dreamed up. You come along, acting all mild and well–mannered, and I think that maybe we’re on the same page. And then there's that meeting at your house, and running into me here...you’re honestly telling me that none of this gamesmanship?"
"Not at all, Paul. Just sportsmanship."
"No, there's something else missing here. Okay, what about the quarterfinal? You only pulled out an 50–point win against a team that had no hope of winning. You could have landed a blowout easy, but you didn't."
"You think I threw the match? Maybe to hide my talents?" He smiled – a cool smile, an expression of absolute confidence. "I call that being polite. Part of being honorable, part of being a good sport, is not showing off. I didn't feel like I needed to embarrass those kids. That's another thing I learned from my father: You only use as much talent as you need, never more."
"Bullshit! What about your semifinal round? You destroyed the Flying Brains. I've never seen a match that lopsided."
"Okay, you got me there." Leon threw out his arms and took a few steps towards me. "Truth is, I probably would have let the Brains go with the same treatment I gave that first team. And then I started hearing things about their leader. You've dealt with him before, right?"
"Aaron Bellamy, yeah."
"Aaron Bellamy, that's the one. I heard rumors about what a piece of shit he was, but I didn't decide to do anything to him until yesterday. That's when I heard that he was telling everyone that he was going to crush us, and then your friend Ken told me that he was a cheater. That's when it came together. That's when I realized that he was the one who'd been causing so much trouble." Leon laughed to himself. "And I thought he would benefit from a lesson in humility."
"Humility?" I felt like I was going insane. "All that talk about sportsmanship and you humiliate someone for badmouthing you?"
"Oh, don't tell me you feel sorry for him," said Leon. "I know about what he's done to you."
"That's beside the point!" I started to back away. "Holy shit Leon, this is nuts! You're crazy!"
"And you're scared!" Leon jabbed his finger towards me. "I can see it in your eyes. Aaron might be a psycho, but you're a coward, and that's worse. A coward like the rest of them. You know what? They said they were smart enough, too."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You don't know?" Leon crossed behind me, blocking my way out. "Maybe you're not as smart as I thought."
"You don't know anything about me."
"Because I know exactly what kind of person you are. I know everything about you, Paul. I should, I've seen you so many times. I've seen your type." Leon was pacing little circles around me, sizing me up. "Didn't always look like you. Sometimes, it was a girl. Different skin color. Different accent, dialect. Taller or shorter. But they were all the same."
"I have things to do." I stepped around him.
Leon shrugged. "You're the smart kid, yes? They call you that?"
He was waiting patiently for me to answer, but I had the feeling that he knew everything I was going to say. "Yeah, that's me. They call me the smart kid."
"And when you were younger, the probably gave you all sorts of tests, right?"
"Yes, they did."
"And you scored through the roof, right?"
"Yes, I did."
"Probably got straight As since elementary school? Riding through life on the gifted program? Maybe even skipped ahead in a few classes?"
"Yes, all right, that's me! That's me!"
"Exactly." Leon shook his head. "God, you people disgust me. All any of you ever do is bitch and moan about how hard it is to be the 'smart kid.' 'The other kids tease me.' 'The girl I'm infatuated with won't go out with me.' 'I can't believe a superior being like me is stuck here.' Meanwhile, everyone else is just trying to get to the end of the day without flunking out. Not you, though. You don't have to fight for any of it, you just sail right through."
"Okay, stop right there!" I got in Leon's face. "That's where you're wrong. I worked damn hard to get where I am."
"Oh, please, Paul. Did you ever get stuck on a test? Did you ever bust your ass all weekend trying to finish up just your regular homework? Did you ever sweat over your grade card because you honestly didn't know what you were going to get?"
"Well..." I sighed. "...no."
"Yeah. You're the worst kind of smart kid, Paul. I bet you've never taken a risk in your life. Why should you? It was always so easy to play it safe. Everything was so easy for you, so you just got used to taking the path of least resistance. You never took any real risks because you didn't have to." Leon grabbed me by the shoulder and stared me dead in the eye. There was this look of spite behind those eyes that I had never seen before. "That's where you and I differ. You see, Paul, your kind plays it safe because you can always afford to. For me, that's not an option. I put it all on the line in every single match. That’s how I won before, and that’s how I will win today. It all comes down to this, Paul: I’m not smarter than you, I’m just better than you. And very soon, I'm going to prove it to the whole world."
I was so awestruck that I couldn't move at first. Leon walked back to the stage, staring wistfully at the stage furniture. "I've been waiting a long time for a stage like this. You know, I've beaten a lot of people like you, but no one saw me do it. But a high–profile event like this? Word will spread. First to the local press, then to Aukland's, then to the internet, the country, the planet. I'm going to make you famous, Paul. You're going to lose today, but please play to win. If you throw the match, I'll bury you deeper than I buried Aaron." He turned back to me. "You can leave now."
That's where we left off. As I write this, the crowd is already starting to form. And none of them know it, but they're all going to be witnesses to an execution. They're all props in some sort of coup.
And I still don't know how I got here. I just don't know.
JANE
The day of the Trivia Master championship round is a little like the last day before a long break. Everyone just goes through the motions and kills time while we wait for the thing to start. And even the teachers who want to keep their classes on track struggle to do it. I mean, good luck keeping anyone's attention when there are people stomping around the building all day. It starts before noon when the Jameson people show up to start setting up their equipment. The parents and other curious types start trickling in after lunch, and by one o'clock the place is packed. And that's on a normal year.
A lot of the people on staff want to call the day early, maybe run the match at 1:30 and then let everyone out, but the administrators insist that they have to follow the rules for dismissal. After this year, I bet they reconsider. There were people parking illegally in the student and staff lots starting around eleven, jamming up the streets and blocking everyone in. There were strangers milling around on campus for hours before the round started up, some of them people from miles and miles away who heard about the insanity that was going down and wanted to see it in person. I hear some of them tried to sneak into the building and break into the auditorium just to get a guaranteed seat. Shit, if you're gonna deal with that kind of nonsense, just bump up the match by an hour or two and call it a day. Let's not pretend that anyone's learning anything with all of this going on.
But we're stuck with it, and that meant that I was stuck with fourth period trig. Mr. Pregler was late as usual, which was all right because so was everyone else. The ones who didn't just skip out in the madness were all downstairs gaping at the crowd. I went ahead and let myself in to the class via the usual method and left my things inside. On the way out, I bumped into Duncan Washington.
"Oh...afternoon, Duncan. Looking for peace and quiet?"
"Yeah. Only a few people showed up to class, so I figured I could take some time..." Duncan stared at me. "...How did you get in there? Don't they lock those doors?"
"Yeah." I held up my old ID. "The inside locks in this building kinda suck."
"How do you know how to do that?"
"Well, a girl's gotta have a job." I laughed. "Seriously, someone from the class showed us how to do it. When Mr. Pregler's late, we have a little fun with him. Get in, move things around...you know."
"Never would have thought of that one." Duncan leaned against the lockers. "So...hell of a match you girls had on Wednesday. For a second there, I thought you had Paul's ass."
Really wish he'd picked a different phrase. "I guess, but it was always gonna be close. No sure things this year."
"No shit."
"Your man Trevor's still in it. That's pretty cool."
"Yeah, but it would be better if I was up there with him."
I shook my head. "I don't envy him. I'll tell you, having spent some time in front of all those people, it's a lot better being in the crowd than being on stage. I don't need that kind of pressure in my life. No one does."
"Yeah. Plus the backstabbing."
"Yeah." I almost told him what had gone down with Isabel, but I bit my tongue. "...I've heard stories about that."
"Yeah, it's a shitty situation." Duncan gathered up his things. "You're watching the match, right?"
"Isn't everyone?"
"Cool." Duncan looked up and down the hall. "Looks like I'm cutting by default. Think I'll go find Trevor."
"I'm sure he needs the company."
"You wanna come with? No one's turning up to class."
"Eh..." I've never willingly skipped a class, not even on skip day. But what the hell is life for, anyway? No one stays a parent's dream forever. "...I should go find Isabel. She's probably down in the crowd, taking pictures of herself with everyone."
"She can't be that shallow."
"Well, one way to find out..." I pulled out my phone. "...And she is. Maybe there's still time to talk her into staying for the match."
"Well, I'm taking off."
"All right. See you this afternoon, maybe."
"Yeah, see you. Oh, don't you need your stuff?"
"Shit, that's right." I pulled out my ID and reached for the doorknob. From the corner of my eye, I could see Duncan, watching with a goofy smile. "You need something?"
"Can I watch you do that?"
"Still not in the mood for an audience, thanks."
I let myself back into the room, hid a few things on Mr. Pregler's desk (because if you're going to break one rule, why not go for two?) and made my way out to the common area. Well, I tried to. God, what a mess – there had to be fifty out–of–towners out there, perfect strangers coming to watch the oncoming trainwreck. And that's even without the Jameson people and the media guys and the scouts and parents and siblings and extended families. Imagine, all this nonsense over some stupid little small town high school trivia contest.
I really do hope Paul wins. He deserves it.
AARON
I don't even know why I bothered turning up to class today. I don't know why I decided to torture myself like this. Do I stand to gain anything from sitting around here all day, hour after hour? Of course I don't. Stares, that's what I get. Everyone staring me – students, those assholes in front of the building, even the goddamn teachers. I can see what they're thinking – there goes Aaron Baines Bellamy, the great loser. As though any of these people have room to talk. I didn't think I could despise this place any more than I already did, but this is nothing short of a waking nightmare.
It's not like it was my fault. Who the hell would have guessed that he was Jerry Mara's kid? Everyone knows that the Maras are a pack of mutants. If I'd have known that this was coming, I wouldn't have wasted so much time on Paul. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence, me squaring off against that hellspawn in the semis. Obviously, the administrators knew who Leon Mara was, they had all his background info. I bet one of them arranged for this – set up the schedule just like this so I'd get blindsided right before my moment of glory. This has all the markings of a conspiracy.
And yet they keep staring, all of them. All those judging eyes on me. Especially in fifth period. Almost no one turned up, so Ms. Gaynor dropped the lesson and let us do whatever. Of course, all those idiots wanted to do was talk about Trivia Master. Just chat away their lives, throwing me little glances every now and then. And I tried to keep my cool, as hard as it was. I poured every ounce of myself into fighting back the urge to tell them all exactly what they could do with those neural spasms they called their opinions.
But then they started talking to me. And asking me things. Very, very stupid things. Just gallons of ignorance and foolishness being poured out for me.
"What was it like being up there with Mara?"
"Is he faster than Paul Liston? It's hard to tell from that far back."
"I read somewhere that Jerry Mara had some kind of special buzzer technique. You notice anything weird about the way Leon hit the button?"
"It must be weird being out of it like this. I figured you'd win it all."
"So the Nerds are getting their asses kicked, right? How many points do you think they'll even get?"
Finally, I couldn't take any more. The chair skittered across the floor behind me as I jumped clear of my seat. "All right, you vultures! Listen up and listen good. I'm sure that all of you dipshits are getting a real kick out of this. I'm sure you've been waiting for years and years for the chance to watch Aaron Bellamy squirm. Well, you ain't getting it. I'm not giving you imbeciles the satisfaction of watching me panic, not for one goddamn second! And the next one of you who comes out with a stupid little question or remark will suffer, this much I promise!"
That shut them up, although it didn't stop the staring. Then I saw that weasel Davis Racossi step towards me. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, you got it all wrong."
I leaned in close to him. "So it's blackmail from you now?"
Davis shook his head. "I think what they want to know, the reason for all the questions, is that this an interesting situation. Am I right?" There were heads nodding all around him. "Because all of us, everyone here? We know you have problems with Paul, right?"
"That's a pretty flippant way of putting it, but all right."
"Sure. So you don't like Paul, but it was Leon who beat you, so you have two enemies facing off against each other here."
How had I overlooked that? I must have been so deep in shock that I actually forgot that Paul was still in the running. No matter what's going to happen this afternoon, one nemesis succeeds while the other fails dismally. Which means that I stand to both lose and win. No matter what happens, it will end in equal parts shame and glory.
"So with that going on," continued Davis, "we all want to know who you think is going to win it all. Paul, or Leon."
"I'll have to get back to you about that."
"Cool. And hey, now that you're out of the running..." Davis leaned in close again. "...maybe you'd like to put a few bucks on it? I can cover your bet."
KEN
I have spent the last few hours comparing strategies and running statistical models on the coming match. It is ultimately futile, as we are clearly well beyond the limits of what tactical play can accomplish. All I have determined is that, given my own skill level and what I could ascertain from Leon's capabilities, I would lose 99.5% of direct matchups. Clearly, I will be of minimal utility in what everyone predicts will be a straight head–to–head between Leon Mara and Paul Liston. Sadly, I believe that Paul's odds are not much better than mine, though I would be a fool to shatter his confidence by saying this aloud. He certainly does not require any more stress than has already been placed on his shoulders.
And the tension here has reached new heights. My focus on victory had grown so tight that I failed to notice a blurb about our competition on the website of Aukland's Unofficial. As a result, agents from several publications and leagues have come to Solace in hopes of seeing the public premiere of the next scion of the Mara clan. There will be important eyes on us today, and even more awaiting the footage which will no doubt be journeying across the digital void within minutes of the round's termination.
I was too restless to sit through every one of my classes, so during sixth period I decided to make an early exit. "Mrs. Allman? Can I be excused to get ready for the round?"
Mrs. Allman looked back into the classroom. "Kenneth, there are only three other students here."
"Yes, I see that. Can I go?"
"Do you really feel that it's necessary to ask when we're not even having a lesson today?"
"Well, yeah."
"Kenneth, just go on down."
"Thanks."
The buzz of the waiting crowd was plainly audible even from the other end of the building. Not wanting to deal with the mass of students and parents below, I worked my way to the auditorium via a lower profile route. But there would be no peace for me even on this route. Waiting for me at the entrance to the auditorium were two familiar faces: Ron Janowski, adjusting the controls on his school provided camera, and Edward Page, still sporting his rather comical hat. All that was missing was the card with the word "Press" protruding from the brim.
"Hey, Greevey!" Ron waved to me. "You fired up for the round?"
"Yes, I'm certainly fired up." I turned to Edward. "Now why are you hanging around here?"
"Why do I go anywhere?" said Edward. "I'm here for the story. They're sending people from across the state, what kind of reporter would I be if I wasn't here, too?"
"You're not a reporter," I said.
"Hey, I thought his last piece was pretty awesome," said Ron.
"And now I want the follow–up." Edward produced a cellular phone. "Care to give me a statement for the record? Come on, you talked plenty before."
"That was different. I was..." In truth, I spoke with Edward only to help Paul defuse a potential Aaron Bellamy plot, but I did not say this. That much honesty seemed like a mistake. "...you know, that was before the tournament really started. It's different now."
"Why?" said Edward. "Come on, Ken, if it was important before when it was just our little local write–up, then it's way more important now. Come on, just a few statements, a quote for the record. I'll take it from there."
I could only shake my head at his persistence. "Why are you so hot for this? You really can't think that this is gonna be your big break?"
Edward shrugged. "I think it's interesting. Maybe even important. And I think I can get other people to think that it's interesting and important, too. It's a story that deserves to be told, and I'd like to be the one who tells it."
"Yeah?" I had never thought of it like that.
"That's the name of the game." Edward extended his phone. "Comment for the record?"
Behind Edward, I saw Ron lift his camera. For once, this was going to be a big deal to someone besides me.
"You have time?" I said.
"Plenty of time until the round starts, man," said Ron. "We're recording. Chat away."
"Okay," I said. "Well, it all started on Wednesday about three weeks ago..."