“I hate it,” I reply. “Respectfully.”
One of the bikers laughs loud, tipping his bottle back. Another leans over the table, tapping the trivia sheet with his knuckle like he’s counting beats.
“They look serious,” Lena murmurs.
“Good,” I say, draining the rest of my beer. “So am I.”
The host lifts a hand. “Alright. Sudden death rules. One question. Write your answer. No talking once the question’s up.”
“No talking?” Noah whispers. “Savannah, you’re doomed.”
I lean across the table, eyes bright, heart thudding in a way that feels alive instead of anxious. “I thrive under oppression.”
The room quiets. Even the TVs seem to dim like they know something important is about to happen.
The question flashes onto the screen.
What is the only U.S. state capital without a McDonald’s?
“Oh,” I breathe.
“Oh no,” Noah says.
I don’t hesitate. “Montpelier,” I say, already writing it down.
Noah blinks. “You’re guessing.”
“Am not,” I reply. “I read weird articles.”
“That tracks,” Lena mutters.
Across the room, one of the Reapers leans back, chewing on his pen. Another shakes his head slightly, writing something else. The one at the end pauses, glances up at the ceiling like he’s pulling it from memory.
My heart starts to thud harder. Don’t second-guess. Don’t shrink now.
The host calls time. “Pens down.”
I grip the edge of the table, suddenly very aware of how loud my laugh has been all night, how much space I take up, how much I want this stupid win.
“Quiztopher Nolan,” the host says, “you answered… Montpelier.”
“Yes,” I whisper fiercely.
A few people clap.
“The Reaper-cussions answered…”
There’s a pause. A dramatic one. The bartender leans in like this is the Super Bowl.
“…Montgomery.”
I bark out a laugh. “Idiots.”
Noah gasps. “Savannah.”
“Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all.
The host grins. “Which means our winners tonight are… Quiztopher Nolan!”
