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Earwyn comes over and frowns. “Guess who I’ll be cheering for.”
I lean against Bash. “That’s a tough one. Me?”
She smirks, then rubs her arm.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask.
“Don’t act like you care.” Her brows furrow. “You were going for blood.”
“I wasn’t. It was—”
“Marra, I’m ready.” Mr. Brant holds up a spear.
Bash squeezes my arms. “You’ve got this.”
I’m not so sure about that, but the trident probably does.
You’ve got that right.
Add getting a shrink to my list of things to do.
Sighing, I make my way over to the teacher.
He grins and raises his weapon. “I was reigning champion of the competition two years in a row with this.”
“Congratulations.”
“Get ready. One … two … three!” He lunges for me.
I dart out of the way just as my trident aims for him. The weapons hit each other and Mr. Brant jumps this way and that, avoiding my weapon. It moves so fast, I worry about losing my grip. The whole thing feels like it’s happening in hyper speed. I can barely keep up, but the teacher isn’t getting winded—watered?—like Earwyn did. But I am.
You’ll get used to this.
Fantastic.
Just when I think Mr. Brant is going to call a draw, I pin him against the wall. I mean, the trident does. I’m just along for the ride.
Clapping and whistling sounds near the door. Bash calls, “Way to go, Marra!”
I scoot back and Mr. Brant pushes himself away from the wall. “Nice work.” He shakes my hand, smiling. “I’m impressed. And for the record, I knew you could do it.”
If only it was me.
Bash comes over and spins me in a circle. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”
“I told you, it’s—”
“Meet me to spar tomorrow morning,” Mr. Brant interrupts. “Before the first class.”
“But I have to study.”
“Tomorrow morning.” He spins around and puts his spear away.
Earwyn looks me up and down. “How’d you improve so quickly?”
I shrug.
“Whatever.” She flips her hair and makes her way over to the cabinet. Then she turns back around. “We have pageant practice. Don’t skip this time. And don’t try to show me up there.” She storms away.
I turn to Bash. “Guess I’d better follow her.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Put your trident away first.” Mr. Brant arches a brow.
Gladly.
I heard that.
