Page 7 of Given Our History

“Trivia doesn’t prove you’re smart,” Izzy shot back. “It’s just random facts.”

“You’re only saying that because you prefer stupid games like Guess Who?”

I dragged a hand over my face. This kid was annoying the heck out of me. “Izzy could beat you at trivia any day,” I said. “Right now, in fact.” A quick glance at Izzy—at the slight widening of her eyes, the almost imperceptible shake of her head—told me that she didn’t actually believe she could beat him, so I hurried to add, “Let’s play teams. Our team against yours. Then we’ll see who the real intellectuals are.”

Darvish frowned and glanced at his raucous friends. “There’s only two of you. That’s not even a fair match.”

“Two on two, then,” I suggested. “Pick whichever of your friends is best at trivia.”

Izzy’s eyes looked like they might pop out of her head. She was going to kill me later, but that didn’t matter right now. Darvish was wrong and I was going to prove it.

He seemed to mull things over for a minute, then his mouth quirked in a cocky smile. “You’re on.” But rather than call one of his friends to join us, he popped out of his chair, remembering to toss an explanation over his shoulder only when he was already halfway out the door: “I’ll be back in five minutes. I expect the game to be set up by the time I get back.”

I looked to Izzy for an explanation, but she was too busy plotting my murder. “Why’d you tell him we can beat him?”

“Because we can.” I went to fetch Trivial Pursuit from the cupboard. “My parents don’t even let me play games like Guess Who? at home,” I explained as I settled back at the table and began setting up the board. “I’m really good at trivia. Trust me, we can beat him, no problem.”

By the way she was frowning, it was safe to say Izzy wasn’t convinced, but she’d see soon enough. Darvish obviously had an overinflated ego and I was way too happy to knock him down a few pegs. We had this one in the bag.

By the time he returned, his thick hair sopping from the rain, I’d finished setting up. Trailing after him was a boy I hadn’t seen before—a boy who was unlike him in every possible way. Where Darvish was short, his friend was tall and spindly, like he grew too quickly and the rest of his body hadn’t had the chance to catch up. Where Darvish was dressed like somebody’s middle-aged dad, the newcomer was wearing a knit sweater over a collared shirt, like he’d recently escaped boarding school.

And where Darvish was exceptionally obnoxious, I soon discovered that this boy was exceptionally quiet.

I extended a hand across the table once they’d taken their seats. “Clara Fernsby.”

The boy took my hand and gave it one terse, firm shake, but he didn’t bother with a name.

“This is Theodore Harrison the Third,” Darvish supplied, looking even smugger for it.

Oh my god. Maybe he really did escape from boarding school. “Is that your real name?”

Theodore Harrison the Third furrowed his thick eyebrows at me, like he’d never heard such a ridiculous question in his life. His damp brown hair curled up at the ends and his dark eyes were framed by gold-rimmed glasses, a style I’d only ever seen my grandfather wear. “Why do you ask?”

“It just sounds sort of old-fashioned. Like Theodore Roosevelt. King George the Third. You know.” I ended with a lame shrug, because I was getting the distinct impression that he did not know. He was looking at me like I was an insect, wings splayed and pinned to a corkboard for study. “Don’t people call you by a nickname or something?”

“My dad calls me Teddy, sometimes,” he mumbled.

“Teddy it is, then.” I slapped a game piece down in front of him. “You guys are going to be orange. We’re green.”

“But I like red,” Darvish protested.

“It doesn’t matter what you like,” Izzy snapped.

I ignored them, focusing on the far more interesting opponent across from me. I could beat Darvish—I didn’t doubt that for a second. But I didn’t know anything about Teddy. Maybe he was good at trivia. “Now we have to come up with team names.”

Darvish was already rattling off a bunch of team names centered around words I wasn’t allowed to say at home—words we probably weren’t allowed to say at camp, for that matter—but Teddy crossed his arms on the table, a light frown curling his lips. “That’s not part of the rules.” He was soft-spoken, his voice a little deeper than Darvish’s, which gave me the impression he was maybe a little older than the rest of us.

“No,” I agreed. “But my mom says team names are conducive to team cooperation. So Izzy and I will be ‘Queen Equizabeth the First.’” I gave him a self-satisfied smile. He might be the Third, but I was going to be first in this game.

Darvish scoffed. “That’s the most ridiculous name I’ve ever heard.”

Teddy ignored him, squinting at me instead. “All right. Darvish and I will be ‘I Am Smartacus.’”

“Do you like history, then?” I asked.

“I like most subjects.”

I couldn’t help myself. I just kept talking, even when he plainly didn’t care. “But you named your team after a historical figure, like I did. Spartacus, Smartacus.”