Champion, a dozen of my magically delicious cupcakes and drinks for you and three friends, name every ingredient contained in Polyjuice Potion.”
Ronan and Shanna both slap their hands on the buzzer at the same time, but Shanna gets there a fraction of a second sooner, the red light bathing her face in a sinister glow.
“Shanna, what’s your answer for the win?”
She leans in to the microphone, closing her eyes—it’s how she’s answered every single question. “Lacewing flies, leeches, knotgrass, fluxweed…” Her brow furrows and she hesitates for a second before continuing. “Shredded Boomslang skin and a bit of the person you want to turn into.” Her eyes pop open and she smiles triumphantly.
“Is that your final answer?” I prompt.
“Yes. That’s my final answer.”
I admit, I’m disappointed when I have to say, “I’m sorry, but that is incorrect.” Shannon’s face falls like a pile of crumbling bricks.
“Ronan, would you like to respond and try to steal or would you like a new question?”
“I’ll try to steal, thanks.” He clears his throat, eyes fixed on mine as he leans in, lips almost touching the mic. His voice is a low, confident rumble. “The ingredients in Polyjuice Potion are lacewing flies, leeches, knotgrass, fluxweed, shredded Boomslang skin, a bit of the person you want to turn into and…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Powdered Bicorn horn.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Is that your final answer?”
A cocky grin spreads lazily across his face. “Yes, Blaire, it’s my final answer.”
“You’re sure?” I arch a brow.
His smile doesn’t waver. “Absolutely.”
“You are correct. We have a winner!”
“Hell yeah!” Ronan jumps to his feet and raises both fists into the air as if he’s won a round in the boxing ring. He turns to me and in what I can only assume is an impulsive show of victory, he wraps his arms around my waist, picks me up off the floor, and swings me around in a circle.
When he sets me down, I take a dizzy step back. He keeps his hands on my waist to prevent me from falling off the makeshift stage. “I gotta head back to the bar, but I’ll take a raincheck on the drinks.” He winks, jumps off the stage, and fist bumps his way to the front door.
The brief warm and fuzzies disappear the following night when Ronan hosts a Beer Pong Tournament. The loudest beer pong tournament in the history of the universe, apparently, because every thirty seconds there’s a collective “ooooooh” or “yeeeahhhhh” coming from his place.
It takes everything in me not to go over and check it out after I close up. And even then I peek through the window, just to see. It looks ridiculously fun. But I know if I go in there Ronan will find a way to make me participate, and I have terrible aim. I’m guaranteed to lose, which would also mean drinking beer. I have an early morning tomorrow, so I back away slowly and head home, where it’s mostly quiet and there are no twenty-one-year-olds playing beer pong in the apartment next door to mine.
Over the next several weeks my competition with Ronan heats up, both of us trying to outdo each other with new events, particularly since we’ve both made it through to the top one hundred bars from the over five hundred who were initially nominated for Tori Taylor’s Best Bar contest. The next round will bring us down to the top fifty, and both of our bars are currently hovering in the thirties thanks to social media votes. After that, the competition is going to get steeper with the quarterfinals, taking us down to the top twenty-five bars. I don’t want to get cocky or complacent though, since we still have a long way to go to number one.
I hold a poetry slam night and despite the initial lack of excitement, it turns out to be a totally popular event, especially with the drama students at the college.
Unfortunately, Ronan plans another one of his loud events—all his events are loud—on the same night, so we’re forced to wrap it up early. I should really know better by now.
On the upside, every new, fun event I host does better than the last. We hold a Halloween cookie-decorating contest and sell a ridiculous number of gory cupcakes and fun, horrifying drinks. Orders for cupcakes for the local businesses continue to pour in, which means I’m endlessly busy and still managing not to dig