Chapter 33. In Which Thirty-Six Becomes Thirty-Seven
IN WHICH THIRTY-SIX BECOMES THIRTY-SEVEN
I don’t stick around for the rest of the Medal of Victory contest. Why should I when I have nothing to present?
Instead, I head toward the back of Lake River Amphitheater, where it meets the woods, and claim a thick oak tree trunk to sit beneath. No one from the audience can spot me here. Especially not Mom and Dad.
A safer course of action would be to return to my cabin to prepare for my painfully tense plane ride home tonight and pack my things.
Or, at least, whatever things Cabin Gamma hasn’t already stolen and destroyed.
But from that far away, I wouldn’t be able to hear Luca’s five-minute presentation. I wouldn’t be able to see him win.
And I want to. Selfishly.
The presenters are interspersed one by one as the hour goes on, trading between those from Gamma and Omega.
Benedict is one of the first to walk onstage and present.
His findings on the psychological constructs of artificial intelligence in robotics aren’t as impressive as the rest, but his poise still carries him far.
Christiana’s incomplete research on optimization in robotic surgical tools used on marine life gets a couple of strong claps from the audience.
Jade carries out her board about solid-state electronic devices and their potential connections to electromagnetic phenomena, but she ends up spending most of her time introducing Big Papa Huge Time to the audience—he loves licking fingernails, he’s scared of yogurt, and he wags his tail only to heavy metal and Benedict’s voice.
Once it’s Luca’s turn, he steps onstage with his project board and takes the microphone from Jameson.
With his charming smile and borderline goofy but wholly endearing voice, he captures the hearts of the audience.
Even though he never figured out his slap shot, he details all the ways his performance didn’t improve.
In the process, he rules out not one but two physics theories once presented by Hans Bethe in the 1960s, both of which were still believed to this day.
As he cites all his proof, the amphitheater becomes charged with an electric energy, like they live and breathe hockey as much as he does.
He’s going to win.
My heart warms. Of course he’s going to win.
“Hey,” a voice comes beside me.
Felix, dressed up in a formal button-up shirt and pleated slacks, even though he’s a mentor and doesn’t have to present. Although, his ponytail still sticks up at the peak of his head like usual, diminishing that formality significantly.
My heart stops at the presence of authority, who I’ve definitely pissed off by ditching the contest. Slowly, I rise off the ground. If I run to the left, he might be able to grab me and drag me back onstage. If I go right, though, I think I can sneak by him.
“Don’t freak out,” Felix says, holding up a hand. “Yes, administration sent me to come find you, but you’re not in trouble. They’re just worried.”
“Are you going to make me present?”
“Do you want to present?”
“No.”
Felix shows a sympathetic smile. “You want Luca to win.”
My eyes widen. “How would you know?”
He taps his ear. “The best mentors keep their ears to the ground, but they don’t intervene unless something poses danger to their campers. This fosters responsibility and growth. I know all.”
“Seriously? So, you really didn’t report us for burning down the cabin?”
Felix chokes on his own spit, and he roughly inhales in a blubbering attempt to fix the damage, slapping his chest. “You did that?”
“Just kidding,” I say nervously, pulling at the hairs on the nape of my neck. “You can tell everyone that I’m fine. I’m choosing to sit out from the contest.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay, buddy.” Felix rustles the top of my hair, and I scrunch my nose. “You are gonna have to come back and clean up your ugly, ripped-up poster board from backstage, though.”
“What? Can’t you throw it out for me?”
“I’m your mentor. Not your butler.”
“This concludes our annual Medal of Victory contest presentations,” Jameson announces as he walks back onstage. “Over the next hour, the judges will discuss and decide who will take home the Medal.”
As Jameson gives food recommendations for guests to occupy themselves with until the final ceremony, I watch as Mom rises from her seat in the second-to-last row. Her phone is to her ear, and she’s furiously searching around the sea of heads.
My body floods with panic.
“Why don’t you go backstage, and I’ll speak with your mom,” Felix says, quickly looking between me and her. How little I want to deal with this must be obvious. “Sound good?”
I give him a thankful nod.
While the crowds disperse, and the stage draws its curtains, I sneak around the stairs leading onto the stage and into the left wing. When my eyes fall upon my easel and poster board, though, someone already stands in front of it.
Luca. He’s inspecting the minimal remains of my title carefully, like he’s trying to piece together an ancient puzzle.
I can come back another time. Yeah.
I take a quiet step backward. Then another.
“I didn’t expect your project to look so bad,” Luca says.
Or not.
I scuff my dress shoe along the dusty stage floor. “I’ve been tired.”
“So, you mauled it like a lion, naturally.”
“I…” I sigh. “I wanted to lose.”
Luca finally turns around. “But your parents are out there.”
A weak laugh leaves me. “I know. That’s why.”
It feels like an eternity passes as Luca’s golden brown irises bore into me, seemingly connecting the dots that I spoke with my mom and it didn’t go well. “I’m sorry.”
“You deserve it. You know you do.”
A small smile rises on Luca’s face. “I’m proud of you for losing.”
Only weeks ago, receiving a goofy smile from Luca would’ve been the same as expecting him to breathe. But now it feels like a gift.
“I, uh,” Luca says, rubbing the back of his curls, his gold rings catching the stage lights. “I have some time. Before I head out.”
My heart leaps. Soars. Every inch of me flashes hot with sheer relief and happiness and adrenaline all in one, like I might burst.
Maybe Luca is willing to forgive me.
It’s a dream that I never thought I’d be lucky enough to believe in. Maybe I should even follow Benedict’s advice and find some grand way to prove that I love him.
But do I deserve to be forgiven?
A pit forms in my stomach. I already know the answer.
I walk up to Luca’s side and take my ripped poster board off the easel, then tuck it under my arm. My heart clenches, knowing he’s only a breath away. It’s the last place I deserve to stand after hurting Luca as much as I have.
“I can’t,” I mutter. “But maybe I’ll see you around.”
I’m not sure why I say it. Camp is over. So are competitions now that university-application season has officially begun. I won’t see Luca.
Maybe ever again.
He doesn’t respond. Because he knows it, too.