Chapter Twenty-One
I sucked my teeth, wishing they’d have more breaks between the matches because I needed a cigarette. But the next challengers were randomly decided, and I had faith in my two students drawn.
Gael Rios-Vega was absurd and aloof but had a lot more talent than I gave him credit for. If he’d sit down and actually do some of his assignments, his ranking would be twice as high. And so long as this match didn’t turn into a battle of flight, him and his rooster would easily hold their own.
I was more concerned about Gael and his spikes.
During the warlock incursion, he didn’t hold back at all, which was a fantastic sign, but whenever we trained during homeroom, he hesitated to use the full extent of his spiked projectiles.
It frightened him that something he created could harm someone else.
I quelled his anxiety and hoped he’d do the same thing after the five minutes of strategizing.
As for the other students selected, I didn’t have any of them in classes but knew their homerooms. Three of the four on the opposing team were made up of the seven students in Chanelle’s homeroom to make it into the semi-finals.
Guess luck of the draw had worked against her.
Or in her favor, if their team knew how to collaborate.
Gael strutted across the arena before the battle, eyeing another competitor who had a beaver floating next to her. Its tail flapped under the subtle telekinetic vibrations Tiffany cast. King Clucks glared at the levitating familiar that chomped on a twig.
“Nice ranking.” Gael wiggled his eyebrows, quite convinced he’d been the first person to ever make that comment. He wasn’t.
“Thanks. It’s a lot better than 108ing.” Tiffany pulled out a stick of beef jerky, gnawing on it the same way her familiar chomped on its twig.
Gael blushed, a bit embarrassed at his low ranking, but found himself eager to chat more. “Are you two seriously eating before the competition?”
“What can I say?” Tiffany skipped away from her team, heels clicking against the stone tiles. “My beaver’s only happy when she’s got a bit of wood in her.”
“Seriously?” Gael snickered. “You’re just handing me jokes.”
“Huh?” Tiffany twirled a pigtail with a dim expression and clever thoughts, goading Gael further.
This wouldn’t end well for him or his rooster.
The buzzer sounded, and everyone sprang to action. The other two teamed with both Gaels lunged forward with primal magics, casting fire and ice across the arena. Gael searched for Tiffany, but she’d vanished behind the wall of ice. Then he spotted one of the other team members.
Gael’s mind zipped with possibly the most absurdly ridiculous and quite frankly offensive strategy he’d developed in five seconds.
“Hey, you. Handyman,” Gael shouted with his rooster perched on his shoulder.
“You trying to insult me?” Ryan cocked his head.
“Not at all, dude,” Gael said. “In fact, King Clucks and I were saying that with all those extra arms, you probably give amazing hugs.”
“I said that,” Gael muttered.
Gael raised a hand, dismissing Gael’s comment. “But you know what my buddy here said?”
Ryan paused.
“He said you probably use all those hands to master your hand job business.”
Ryan roared, unleashing well over forty augmented limbs from his back, each varying in length and muscular build.
“Gael, that wasn’t the plan. Qué Cabrón.” Gael levitated to avoid the onslaught of augmented limbs stretching far and wide to capture him. “ Qué chingados. ”
“Sorry, dude.” Gael and his familiar raced off in search of Tiffany because the jokes were too good, and he couldn’t miss them.
“Ba-ba-bawk!” King Clucks flapped his wings as he leapt off Gael’s shoulder, screeching in unison with his human partner.
I sighed. These two would be the death of me.
Derrick Lowe shielded himself from his sister Darcy’s flames with a wall of water.
Once he’d overpowered the flames, he then shifted his water and hit Tiffany’s back with a wave that propelled her forward alongside her familiar, moving increasingly faster.
“Does she control water, too?” Gael asked. “ Multiple branches like Tara, maybe. ”
No. Tiffany’s telekinesis was sharp but merely held the form her teammate shaped so she could ride the surfer pose and avoid her levitation root, which she struggled with.
“What can I say? My beaver prefers to be wet before she—”
Jesus fucking Christ. I tuned them out, quelling all thoughts.
These two were quite possibly the worst-matched opponents who could’ve been randomly selected.
We’d have to censor every innuendo Gael and Tiffany uttered in front of a live audience before posting the Spring Showcase on the academy website.
“Oh, come on. You had to hear that one.” Gael dodged the water alongside King Clucks, who fluttered his wings, deflecting the waves and forcing Tiffany to fall back.
King Clucks raced ahead, unyielding and crowing. The rooster leapt, kicking the beaver with a telekinetic strike.
“Duchess!” Tiffany yelled.
Her beaver— ugh, I can’t believe what I’m watching —bounced against the stone flooring and used her tail to propel herself back into the air, floating proudly as she munched on a stick.
Tiffany smirked. “Bet you thought that’d slow us down, but my beaver can take any pounding your cock throws at her.”
“How are you not hearing this?” Gael tugged at his fauxhawk.
“Huh?” Tiffany paused.
Gael considered using the pause to counterattack but found himself compelled to explain. “You see, you’ve got a beaver, and I have a—”
Tiffany sprang forward, taking full advantage of Gael’s delayed reaction to kick him across the face and out of the arena.
Unlike Gael, who used cock jokes to incite conversation and clamor for attention, Tiffany used ditzy diversions to lull him into a false sense of security.
She high-fived her familiar’s wide tail, proud of their accomplishment.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as King Clucks bawked furiously before chasing them.
Tiffany and Duchess screamed, wrapped in a tight hug, when the rooster kicked them out of the arena, too.
“Doesn’t count,” Chanelle announced.
“Excuse me?” I snapped.
“Gael was already out, so the rooster’s strike doesn’t count. This is my impartial judgment.” Chanelle raised her cane. “Tiffany and Duchess are still in.”
“King Clucks is not a magical add-on.” I gritted my teeth.
“He’s his own person—bird, whatever—and suggesting his combative assistance doesn’t count is like saying familiars are nothing more than support tools.
We all know how you feel about support tools.
Is that what you’re saying, Mrs. Whitehurst? ”
Tiffany eyed us from the sidelines, petting her beaver. Christ. Did I just say that?
“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Chanelle pulled the microphone away from her as I levitated closer to her self-proclaimed throne. “While you’re bitching, a competition is happening. One I’m attempting to referee.”
“To cheat, you mean.”
“Oh, Ryan just cuffed Gael.” Her gaze remained fixed on the arena. “I suppose you’ll say he got too handsy.”
“Don’t make evasively crude jokes.”
“What’s your problem?” The microphone caught her voice, and I quieted.
The audience’s thoughts stirred in our direction as the match ended, and Team Two won.
“Whatever.” I floated back to my assigned proctoring spot. “It wasn’t a perfect win, and you know it. Even if you try to cheat the rules for your kids.”
“ Don’t just fly away from me, pissy pants. ” Chanelle furrowed her brow. “ Are you seriously still upset about the showcase? It’s a fucking showcase. You know how they work. ”
“ I’m going for a cigarette. ” I huffed. “ I’ll be back for the next match unless Your Majesty Admin-in-the-Making would like to complain to administration about me not carrying my weight while you’ve clearly got their attention. ”
Chanelle ignored me, silencing every infuriated thought bursting at her seams and congratulating the winners of the round before playfully announcing the next competitors.
I lingered at the doorway long enough to see none of my homeroom students were called.
In the parking lot, I smoked, ignoring the excitement inside and stalling my return.