him. Or at least not to keep poking at what I can imagine is an unbelievably painful subject.
When we finally get to the front of the line, I realize it’s Uncle Finn who’s checking us in. He gives us a huge smile and hands each one of us a plastic bracelet we immediately slide on our wrists. Macy explained to me last night that these bracelets are charmed to prevent serious injury during an otherwise intensely rough game, so I tug on mine a couple of times, just to make sure there’s no chance it will fall off during the tournament.
Uncle Finn wishes us all luck. It’s the same thing he says to each of the teams, but I think it’s pretty obvious that he’s rooting for us, especially when Macy pops colorful star stickers in the center of both his cheeks.
After we all sign in, Jaxon holds out a black box to Flint and says, “Team captains need to draw.”
“We don’t really have a team captain,” Flint starts, but Jaxon looks at him like he’s got two heads.
“Dude, this is all you,” he says as he claps him on the back. “You’re the team captain. Now, draw the number.”
Flint swallows hard at Jaxon’s words—or actions, I can’t tell—then nods and reaches into the box. He pulls out a little round ball with the number eleven written on it.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Jaxon points to a huge whiteboard free-floating on the sidelines, right in the center of the field. “It means we play team four first,” he answers with a huge grin as he points to a team dressed in black T-shirts.
“Liam and Rafael’s team,” Mekhi whoops from behind us. “It’s going to be fun kicking their asses.”
Liam and Rafael are looking right back at us, shaking their heads. “You’re going down, Vega!” Liam shouts.
“I’m so scared,” Jaxon shoots back. “Can’t you tell?”
“Children,” Hudson says. “They’re all children.” But he’s grinning almost as widely as his brother.
“You need a star sticker,” I tell him. “For spirit.”
“You mean like one of these?” Hudson turns his head, and I can see he’s already got one on his left cheek. Which I totally wasn’t expecting.
“Looks good on you,” I tell him.
“Everything looks good on me,” he answers, but the sparkle in his eyes makes it a joke.
“So what do we do now?” I ask the group at large.
“Now, we find a shady place in the stands and kick back to watch the action,” Eden tells us. “We’ll be playing fourth, and I can’t wait to watch some of these people out here get their asses kicked on the field.”
“And by that she means, she can’t wait to kick their asses herself,” Xavier interprets as we follow behind her.
“Yeah.” I laugh. “I got that.”
He smiles and makes a show of bumping fists with me before jogging to the front of our group, so he can walk next to Flint…and Macy.
Once we’re settled, I reach into my bag for a granola bar—I need the energy even if my stomach may be in knots right now—but Macy stops me. “They’ll be around with much better stuff in a few minutes.”
I’m not sure what she means until I realize several witches from the kitchen are buzzing up and down the field with huge containers strapped in front of them—kind of like the ones vendors wear at football games, only much smaller.
“Hot dogs?” I ask, a little surprised because they seem like such an incongruous food to be eating in the middle of Alaska.
Macy laughs. “Not quite.”
It takes a few minutes, but eventually one of the witches makes her way to us. Turns out she’s selling funnel cakes in the shape of the Katmere Academy crest. They’re smothered in strawberries and whipped cream and they look absolutely delicious.
Flint orders about fifteen of them for the group. I figure she’s just going to take our order, but then she reaches into her box and keeps pulling them out, hot and fresh and dripping with strawberries.
The next vendor who comes along is selling fresh lemonade, and Xavier gets what feels like several gallons of it as we settle in to watch the first match.
Cyrus—in a fitted, three-piece pinstriped suit, hair tied back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck and bloodstone ring glowing under the stadium lights—saunters his way to the center of the field, a microphone in his hand. Once there, he throws his arms wide and welcomes us all to the annual Ludares tournament,