We all clap, louder than any of the previous times, but there’s still not very many of us in the auditorium and it’s a big space to fill with our tiny sound. Especially because some of the parents get distracted by the little kids they’re sitting with, who are tired of being quiet and cooped up inside for so long, and have to abandon their applause in favor of sibling wrangling.
Slowly, I stand and follow everyone else out of the auditorium and into the front foyer, where they mill around, congratulating the winners and consoling those who didn’t place. It must be hard for some of the participants to not win, since they’re so young.
I eye the front doors and consider slipping out, but I need to at least attempt to interview those four guys. Not only did they all win, but they’re also the oldest competitors here. Surely there’s a story there, even if it’s not a very exciting one. Plus, if there does end up being room for a quote or two in the article, I haven’t gotten anything from any of the kids that I can use. Probably the older guys will be a little more forthcoming. As much as I don’t want to end up embarrassing myself after they caught me staring earlier, I need to do this if I’m going to write this story.
They’re huddled in a corner with well-wishers surrounding them. Standing back, I watch how they handle interacting with these people. They don’t shrink back like some of the kids I spoke with, but they don’t encourage anyone to stay and chat. They’re not even smiling, as if their win here today doesn’t even matter to them. They just nod their acknowledgement of the congratulations, hands busy twisting their cubes.
I’m staring again, and Lukas notices. Just like before, as soon as he does, he nudges Felix, and before I realize it the others are clued in as well.
Well, now I really have no choice. I walk over to the guys as everyone else drifts away. I force myself to go into professional mode. I’m a reporter and this is my job. This isn’t personal, this is business.
Even though they’re even cuter up close than they were from a distance.
“Hi, I’m Rebecca Flynn, a reporter with theSunshine Tribune,” I say, sticking out my hand to none of them in particular.
The guys all look to each other as if waiting for one of them to make a decision for the whole group who will respond to me.
Lukas finally reaches out and briefly shakes my hand. His long fingers envelop mine for the briefest second before letting go. The others just watch this exchange, still fiddling with their cubes. I wonder if they even know they’re doing it, or if it’s an unconscious habit.
“You look too young to be a reporter,” says Lukas, his hand returning to his own cube.
I grimace. “Okay, you caught me. I’m an intern with theTribunethrough my university. They needed someone to cover this event, and I volunteered.”
I don’t want to make them feel like no one wanted to come and watch today’s competition, even though that’s the truth. Thelack of crowd here is sad enough that they surely already suspect the full-time reporters weren’t exactly fighting each other for the assignment.
When none of them says anything, the awkwardness of this exchange creeps over me. I push it aside and pull out my little notepad. “Would you be willing to give me a quick interview? I talked to some of the other competitors backstage, but didn’t really get much from them.”
They all glance at each other again, shrugging.
“Sure,” says Sebastian.
“Great!” I beam at them, pen poised. “So how does it feel to qualify for Nationals?”
“This will be our tenth year competing at Nationals,” says Elliot.
“Oh, wow, that’s a lot.” He didn’t answer my question, but now I know why they don’t seem more excited to have won. Going for your tenth time must be a lot different than winning and going for the first time. Maybe I should have asked their background before I started in on the questionnaire I’d prepared last night.
“Then it'll be our tenth time at Worlds, although it should be our eleventh, but Lukas’s fingers were stiff last time,” says Felix.
Lukas’s face darkens. “It was the cube, I’m telling you,” he grumbles.
“It was regulation and you know it,” says Felix.
“The past doesn’t matter.” Sebastian interrupts before they really get going with what I suspect is an argument they’ve had many times before. “This is our year.”
“So last year was the only time you didn’t make it all the way to Worlds?” I clarify. That explains why I hadn’t seen their names or faces during my quick research last night. I’d only looked up who the winners were last year.
They nod solemnly, but I swear they’re spinning the rows and columns of their cubes with more ferocity.
If their annoyance is with me, I don’t want to force them to talk, even though I’d like to learn a bit more about them. And not because they’re hot. I just think my article could use a bit more substance beyond a list of winners, that’s all.
“I just have a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”
Two kids choose that moment to start chasing each other through the crowd, their screams echoing off the tall ceilings of the foyer. We all wince at the auditory assault.
“This way,” says Lukas, leading us through the double doors to the backstage hallway where some of the volunteers are packing up. It’s not quiet, but it’s not nearly as loud.
“This is perfect.” I take a seat at one of the round tables so it’ll be easier to take notes. Volunteers are stacking chairs and folding up the other tables, but I don’t think we’ll be here long, so I hope we aren’t in the way.
