“He was on his way home from Panama,” one of his teammates added, not to be outdone.
Mom leaned closer to me. “They’re both up for tenure this year.”
The next question, about the HMSBeagle, went to an emeritus member of the biology faculty, who name-dropped Darwin as though they were personally acquainted. A history professor claimed a question about Sir Francis Drake. Then a brief scuffle broke out between two archaeologists over land versus sea routes and the peopling of the Americas.
“Last question for this round,” Dr. Pressler said loudly, allowing another few seconds for the contretemps to subside. “How manye’s are there in Queequeg?”
“Three,” Mom and Dad shouted in unison, before looking sheepishly at Cam, who was technically the family Melville expert.
“No problem,” she said mildly, sipping her tea. In truth it had been more of a speed question than one of knowledge; I could have answered too, had I not been distracted by the sound of the door opening and the shuffling of feet as several new arrivals squeezed inside.
“It’s Van,” I said eagerly. Neill cursed under his breath. As Van made her way to our table, I waited for Addie to appear behind her. Then I caught a glimpse of cascading ringlets. She’d broughtPhoebeto Trivia Night?
“Round one is officially over,” Dr. Pressler announced. “Please complete any substitutions or other team business during the five-minute break.” The timekeeper checked his watch.
“Hey,” said Van. “Sorry we’re late.” I felt my eyebrows lift at the collective pronoun. Maybe it was some kind of cast bonding exercise. “How’s it going so far?” She glanced at the score sheet, nodding at the even spread of points—typical at this stage of the evening. The action always heated up as the evening progressed. Her gaze shifted to Neill. “Thanks for keeping my seat warm.”
What she couldn’t see was that he had his legs wrapped around the base of the table and was holding on for dear life. Removing him would have required the application of both brute force and an industrial-strength lubricant.
“Here.” I extricated myself from the bench, one leg at a time. “Take my spot.” Part of me hoped Van might protest, but she merely patted me on the head before seating herself in my place. Her concern was reserved for Phoebe, whom she pointed to the chair between Bo and Jasper I’d been planning to claim.
“I guess I’ll circulate a little,” I said to no one in particular. Anjuli sniffed pointedly as I passed her table.
The line for refreshments was six or seven deep, but since I wasn’t really thirsty I didn’t mind.
“That was something,” the person behind me said in a confidential tone.
I spun, confirming the impossible: Alex Ritter, at Trivia Night. “Why are you—” I began, before answering my own question. “Phoebe.”
Hehmmed an affirmative, gazing across the room at her. “Did you know she was an actual cheerleader, before she discovered her inner artiste?”
It might have sounded like a boast—I’m dating a cheerleader!—if not for the spark of amusement in his eyes. “I ... did not know that.”
“She keeps it on the down low. One of the many phases of Phoebe. Although that was middle school, so I don’t know if it counts. Before the dance conservatory.”
The offhanded manner in which he relayed these facts seemed to presume that I was either a) already acquainted with the broad strokes of her biography or b) desperate to know more because Phoebe was so incredibly fascinating.
Unless it signified that c) Alex regarded me as a confidante. I hadn’t considered that as a potential consequence of asking him for advice. The prospect should have been alarming, yet I was mostly conscious of a flush of warmth. He could have been talking to anyone but had chosenme.
He nudged me with his elbow. “Let’s hope she doesn’t get fired up and start turning handsprings.”
I looked down, swallowing a laugh. “It’s definitely not that kind of crowd.”
“No joke.” He leaned closer. “These people are scary. I was afraid someone was going to be strangled with their own bow tie.”
“Wait until the third round. It’s a free-for-all.”
“Are we talkingGame of Thrones–type stuff here, Merrily? Should I not have worn white?” He batted his lashes, leaving me temporarily at a loss for words. Which was probably for the best, as I might have commented on the fact that for once he wasn’t wearing blue, and thatcouldhave given him the impression that I made a study of his wardrobe.
Dr. Pressler clapped her hands. “Please take your seats, everyone. Round two is about to begin.”
The crowd in front of us dispersed, leaving a clear path to the refreshments. I reached for one of the chunky plastic tumblers lined up on the table, then hesitated. “Would you like a drink?” I asked, turning to Alex.
“Just the one. I’m driving.”
I handed him a room-temperature cup, then grabbed another for myself before threading my way through the tables to a vacant spot near the kitchen. To my surprise, Alex followed. Before I could ask why he was trailing me instead of sitting with his inamorata, Dr. Pressler’s voice cut through the chatter.
“The theme for our next round is Sex and Censorship.”
