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"Ladies and gently-men of the jury, today is the day you've all been waiting for! The grudge match of the zen-tree! Between Her Ladyship Hopeless Romantic—"
"Hey! That's not what we agreed on!"
"—and Total Major Jerkface!"
"That's not my name!"
Two other voices echoed the sentiment from the gathered crowd, but the people snickering outnumbered them ten to one.
"How is it you mispronounce half of what you say, except when you're insulting me?" demanded the boy named Major Jerkface.
She shrugged. "Anya's papa wonders the same thing."
"I pity your old man."
Anya giggled at the picture that popped up. Yeah. Her papa always made the funniest faces when he was shocked.
"Enough talking!" Smirking, she raised her hand high. "Let the games begin!"
It was a Friday afternoon. School had ended half an hour ago, but the students of Cecile Hall and a few of the other classes were gathered in the academy's courtyard, waiting, anticipation in the air.
In the center towered a red meter, a bell at its highest point. At its base sat a lever, and on that lever sat a puck, waiting for its chance to fly.
Anya had seen this kind of game before. It had been five years since that fateful day.
And just like that day, today's test of strength was also a contest of love. Her best friend and her archenemy were battling over Anya's most prized possession, something she would only entrust to someone worthy. And the only way to know who was worthy was with an epic battle!
For someone who disliked work, Becky was very deader-mint? Per... per-sissy? Uh... She really wanted to eat the afternoon snack Anya's papa made. Something about her papa making the food with love, and that meant it would taste really good. Anya had argued that her mama loved her lots, but her food never tasted good.
Becky just waved her off, calling her a child, which she found very rude. Because Anya was not a child. She was t—uh... eleven years old now! She was practice-lily a grownup!
She had no idea why Second Son was here. He just happened to be standing nearby when Becky started squealing and demanding Anya share her snack made with love. And when she read his mind, it was just an endless string of love @#$#% love @#%#^& love !@$#^ love.
Anya had no idea he loved peanuts so much! So maybe he wasn't so bad after all.
Still, she'd found the entire thing funny, so here they were, standing in front of a Test Your Strength game curly-see of Becky's papa. The only thing missing was popcorn.
MC duties completed, Anya hopped onto the low courtyard wall and rummaged through her school bag. Pulling out a neatly wrapped container, she settled in to watch the show.
Jerkface stepped up first, grabbing the mallet propped against the meter with both hands. A squeak escaped his lips as he swung the handle over his shoulder, staggering backwards. Some of the students cheered him on. Anya just giggled at his red face.
Grunting loudly, her archenemy swung the hammer down, propelling the puck up... up...
An electronic voice blasted from the speakers. "Thirty-eight."
"You're so strong, Lord Damian!"
"Great job, Lord Damian! They'll never beat that!"
Jerkface smirked, punching the air alongside his cronies. "Take that!"
A mountain stepped between them. "It is not chivalrous to gloat, Desmond."
Instead of cowering in front of the talking mountain, Second Son just rolled his eyes. "Whatever. There's no way a princess like Blackbell can beat my score. Might as well admit defeat now."
Anya's hand moved slowly between her lap and her face, but her eyes were glued ahead.
The mountain turned to Becky. "Allow me to take this test of strength in your stead, Miss Blackbell."
"Oh?" her best friend tittered. "And why would you do that?"
"It would be my honor to aid a maiden in need."
Making an execution decision, Anya raised another hand. "And a new condemner enters the ring! Give it up for Old Man Watkins!"
A smattering of applause accompanied her announcement. Satisfied with the reception, she returned to her previous task.
"Hey! That's cheating! And it's contender, you idiot!" protested Jerkface, but the kid who looked like a grownup already had the mallet in his palms.
Testing its weight, he commented, "This is a good, solid material."
Becky tossed her hair over a shoulder. "That goes without saying. Blackbell Heavy Industries only handles the best."
Nodding, the new challenger raised the handle over his head. Letting out a throaty yell, he brought the hammer onto the lever with a thump.
It was a very good battle cry. Much better than the one Jerkface had made. And his face wasn't even sweaty!
"Fifty-two."
The crowd ooh'ed and aah'ed. He'd made it more than halfway to the bell!
Jerkface immediately started complaining. "That doesn't count! The contest is between me and Blackbell! Stop butting in!"
Anya chewed slowly, savoring the crunchy peanut coating and the drama unfolding before her eyes.
Becky didn't join the argument. Hand to her forehead, her friend sighed dramatically. "If only you were here to witness this, my dearest Loid."
"Quit stalling, Blackbell."
Becky's eye twitched at the interruption.
"I bet she can't even lift the mallet."
Other spectators murmured their agreement. If the biggest kid in their year could only score a fifty-two, what hope did she have?
Irritated, her friend shouldered her way between the two boys. "Outta my way!" she growled.
One hand wrapped around the wooden handle. Her fingers barely touched.
Jerkface began to snicker behind her, but started choking when Becky swung the mallet into the air with ease and brought it down with the force of a falling anvil. Except there was no coyote, and the victim went up instead of down.
The bell didn't ring. It just smoked on the ground next to Second Son, who had fallen on his bottom when the hunk of metal had hurtled toward him. Anya had seen his life flash before his eyes.
"One hundred. One hund...red. One... hunnnnn...drrrrr...."
The courtyard was silent as the machine breathed its last. Everyone's jaw was on the ground, wondering what on earth had just happened, but Anya wasn't surprised. Becky had spent a lot of time with Anya and her mama these past five years. Oh, and her papa was sometimes there too. Becky was always weird, but she was extra weird on those days.
Becky tossed what was left of the splintered handle into the dirt at Old Man Watkin's feet, kicking up a cloud of dust. Then, while everyone in the courtyard picked their jaws off the ground, she skipped over, reaching out to Anya with a smile on her face.
A weight lifted from her lap.
"H-hey! There's nothing in here but crumbs!"
Her own jaw dropping, Anya glanced down to the lunchbox.
Huh. It really was empty. Weird.