“Wait, already? It’s week one.”
“Exactly. But apparently he needs to ‘transition leadership early’ so whoever takes over has time to learn the ropes. Sarah cornered me after and told me I need to run for it.”
I glanced at him. “You going to?”
“Hell no,” Noah said. “I just want to argue about policy and go home. But apparently I’m ‘the only one who can keep the team from spiraling before matches.’”
“That’s probably true.”
“Which is exactly why I don’t want the job,” he said, adjusting his satchel. “I didn’t sign up to be everyone’s therapist. I’ve seen what happens to captains—they stop having fun and start obsessing over rankings and all that bullshit.”
I huffed. “Sounds familiar.”
“Right?” He shook his head. “Anyway, Sarah won’t drop it. Says if I don’t run, this guy named Brett will, and he’s the type who treats debate like a résumé builder instead of, you know, actually caring about the arguments.”
“So you’re screwed either way.”
“Basically.” He paused, then glanced at me. “Speaking of being screwed—you nervous about the scrimmage?”
I shrugged. “Not really.”
We passed the fountain at the center of campus, its spray catching light in small scattered rainbows. I kept my hands tucked into the pockets of my sweats, trying to ground myself.
The morning had started earlier than usual for me—barely any sleep, way too much thinking, and a stomach that felt like someone had tied it into three different knots.
I barely ate breakfast.
“You're nervous.” Noah said after a minute.
“No dude, I’m fine,” I said.
“It’s okay to be nervous.”
“I know.” I flashed him a look like a kid does to a nagging parent.
“All right, well, since you’re not in a chatty mood, I guess I should tell you something else.”
“What?”
“We also got prelims for our first match.”
“Against who?” I said, interest flickering.
“Kingswell,” he confirmed. “The royal court of pretentious man-children.”
That made me laugh. “Where do you come up with this shit?”
“I have another hundred if you want,” he said. “But anyway, we got our potential prompts. Three of them. Want to hear?”
“Sure.”
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his satchel like it was a prophecy. “All right. First prompt: ‘Should elite private institutions be forced to share resources with under-funded public schools?’”
I snorted. “Seriously? You’re going to annihilate them.”
Noah hated Kingswell as much as any self-respecting Riverside State student. The difference was... he was smart and could murder anyone with his words.
“One hopes,” he said. “Prompt two: ‘Does athletic culture reinforce emotional repression in men?’”
