Chapter 18. Debate

Tessa’s POV

Wyatt Cooper at a debate tournament is like a golden retriever at a funeral.

Everybody notices. Nobody knows what to do about it.

It’s Thursday evening, October first, and the Cadston debate team is hosting Boston Harbor University in the Hargrove Building’s ugliest lecture hall. Wood paneling, fluorescent lights, a carpet the color of old mustard. On a normal night, the audience is twelve people: the judges, two parents, and a philosophy professor who comes to every round and falls asleep in the third row.

Tonight, it’s standing room only.

“This is your fault,” Avery hisses at me from the end of our table. Avery Prescott is our debate president, five foot nothing, terrifying, and currently clutching her flash cards like she wants to stab someone with them. “There are freshmen here. There are hockey players here. Somebody brought a sign.”

“I didn’t tell him to bring the team.”

“Did you tell him not to?”