“Fear. We should set up a Mylanta stand at one of these. Probably make serious bank.”
Jasper was right. Nervous tics were out in full force, from finger twitches to compulsive throat-clearing. Even our parents looked tense, though they visibly relaxed when Cam slid into her spot.
Mom peered past Cam, clearly expecting to see the twins. “Where are your sisters?”
Cam shrugged. “No idea.”
Deep vertical furrows appeared between Mom’s brows. “Then how did you—”
“I caught a ride with a friend.” Cam stared fixedly at the table. I looked where my sister hadn’t, spotting Jeff leaning against the wall with his muscular arms crossed. Fortunately for my sister, Mom had bigger concerns than Cam’s method of transportation. Her fingers fumbled to unfasten her watch, setting it on the table in front of her as though it might read differently from that angle.
Dad squeezed her shoulder. “They must be running late.” While he scanned the crowd, Mom closed her eyes, slowing her breathing to yoga mode. They always took it in turns to panic.
“If you had cell phones, you could call them,” Jasper said helpfully.
“Phones are against the rules,” Neill informed him. “That said, itisrather late.” I couldn’t bring myself to seize the conversational opening.Isn’t it? And by the way, are you seeing anyone?
“Teams, to your tables,” said the announcer. “It’s match time.” There was an immediate flurry of movement. Dr. Pressler had taught in the theater department before her promotion to dean and knew how to command a room.
Mom finished her exhale before opening her eyes. “Mary,” she said calmly, gesturing at the empty spaces where the twins should have been. “Neill.”
Neill was up like a rocket, all but leaping into his seat while I hesitated, casting a last look at the entrance. When the twins did not magically appear, I dropped onto the bench between Cam and Neill, barely registering Bo’s thumbs-up.
“Don’t worry,” Dad said, twinkling at me. “It’s all in good fun.” Cam snorted under her breath.
There was no time to explain that the pressure of the competition was only one of the reasons I’d begun to perspire. Was Addie still talking to herself in the bathroom, perhaps in need of sisterly support? And where was Van? Maybe she was having her own breakdown, in the parallel fashion of twins. Not to mention the absolute impossibility of making chitchat with Neill under these conditions. It would be like holding a tea party on a tightrope.
I rolled my head from one shoulder to the other, trying to stretch some of the tension from my neck. My eyes opened in time to watch Anjuli, seated with her mother and several other members of the psychology department at the Psy Fry table, turn away without acknowledging my existence. Good to know I was still a nonentity. There was nothing like a snubbing from your ex–best friend to warm the cockles of the heart.
“I see you,” Neill whispered, apparently for my ears alone.
I assumed he was referring to my silent standoff with Anjuli. Then he winked.
“I get it.” His tone was even more patronizing than I recalled. “Everything about me screams ‘eligible bachelor.’ I knew one of you would be unable to resist.”
“One of who?”
“You Porter-Malcolm girls. Judging by the way you’ve been staring all night, it’s obvious you’re nursing atendrefor me. Hoping to be the Zelda to my F. Scott, the Vera to my Nabokov. To be honest, I’d hoped it would be one of the blondes. No offense. It’s an aesthetic preference.”
I stared at him, speechless. So much for changing my hairstyle.
“Just try not to get too flustered. I’ll handle the questions.” He nodded at the judges’ table.
“First round,” intoned Dr. Pressler, who also hosted a weekday classical music program on the campus radio station. “Our topic is ‘sailing the seas.’”
Excited whispers crested and then hushed. Trivia Night themes were a closely guarded secret, though heated speculation abounded in the days leading up to the match. Mom and Dad had already started tossing names like Melville and Defoe back and forth, the way athletes jogged in place on the sidelines.
“Question number one.” Dr. Pressler paused to survey the room. “Name three of the four shipwrecked sons from the novel originally published in 1812 asDer Schweizerische Robinson.”
Doug’s hand shot up. “Fritz, Franz, Ernest, and Jack,” he said in a rush.
“Technically I asked for three, not four, but we’ll let it stand,” Dr. Pressler replied. “And of course, the novel in question is better known asThe Swiss Family Robinson.The Swiss Family Robinson,” she said a second time, an affectation my parents said she’d picked up from watching too much “Jeopardy.”
At the Psy Fry table, Anjuli rolled her eyes. Ignoring her, I smiled my congratulations at Doug. Unfortunately, he was too busy staring wistfully at Noreen to notice.
“Our second question is about the artist Paul Gauguin.” Smug looks passed among the members of the Humanities team. “Before his more famous sojourn in Tahiti, Gauguin spent time on which island?”
“Martinique!” yelled a young visual arts professor.
