At our table, Heather is gripping the chicken, which is already making a quiet whine sound.
“In this corner, we have The Estates,” the Trivia Master says up front, and a few cheers and more jeers go up in the small crowd. And by crowd, I mean the other three teams because nerd events don’t usually draw in spectators. “And in this corner, Anarchy Authority.”
We cheer for ourselves, Zoey clapping along uncertainly.
A bell rings, and it’s on like Donkey Kong.
Fortunately, we get Musical Genius, but Gabe, our go-to music specialist is not so current on his Soundcloud rappers and he misses two consecutive questions.
Heather chokes the chicken for a third time in a row, and Gabe seems more certain of his next answer, calling out, “What is Pentatonix, Alex?”
“My name’s not Alex. It’s Jameson,” the Trivia Master corrects Gabe again.
Heather hits Gabe with the chicken, making it whine loudly, and then she growls at him, “Do not piss off Jameson. He’s the referee, man.”
“Sorry, Boss,” Gabe says. “I’ll be good.”
“Wow,” Zoey says, eyeing Heather in awe. “Girl boss, for sure.”
“Yeah, she’s something,” I agree.
“I want to be her when I grow up,” Zoey adds, and I laugh, pulling her into my side.
I whisper into her ear, “You are all grown up, and perfect just the way you are.”
Before she can argue, I turn my attention back to the competition, but I feel Zoey’s eyes on me for a long moment after that. Hopefully, she’s mulling over my words and starting to believe them herself.
We keep playing, somehow managing to answer enough questions about music, cars, and TV stars correctly that we end up in a tie with The Estates.
Jameson adds some spice to his delivery, “Okay, people, it all comes. Down. To. This. Moment. Estates, are you ready?”
Cole squeezes his chicken. “Anarchy Authority, ready?”
Heather wrings her chicken extra-hard, threatening to strangle Cole with the move, but I don’t think he’d mind her choking his chicken. “Last question for the win . . . what serial killer was the first convicted on the basis of forensic genealogy?”
“Oh!” Zoey exclaims and then quickly covers her mouth with her hands. I look at her eyes, which are bright blue with recognition.
“Choke the chicken, Heather,” I growl, my eyes locked on Zoey’s. Ca-cawwwwwk!
“Anarchy Authority?”
All eyes are on Zoey, who looks terrified now.
“It’s okay, just answer,” I whisper.
It takes her a prolonged heartbeat, but she leans forward and says clearly, “Joseph James DeAngelo, a.k.a. The Golden State Killer.”
Every head turns toward Jameson to see if she’s right because we have no idea.
Jameson’s smile grows as he checks his answer card. “Correct! The winner of the loser bracket is . . . Anarchy Authority!”
“We won!” I shout, bending down to wrap my arms around Zoey’s thighs and lift her high.
She squeals in surprise, her hands going to my shoulders, but I’ve got her. I won’t let anything happen to her, or to me, or to anyone else. Right now, I feel ten feet tall and bulletproof as everyone claps and cheers.
Professor Adams comes over to shake Heather’s hand. “Good showing tonight. Never seen people so excited about third place.”
He laughs and Heather shrugs. “As long as we’re not the losers. Those guys have to buy the drinks.”
She says the last part loud enough for Cole to hear and he grimaces. But he holds a hand up to Don and spins a finger through the air to order another round.
“Come on. I promised you some nachos, Ringer.” I lead Zoey back to our team’s table, where everyone’s chatting and congratulating each other on their correct answers. Now that the competition is over, even Cole has toned it down and is talking like a normal human being.
“Great job, Zoey! You can play with us any time,” Heather tells her.
“Thanks,” Zoey says haltingly. “Though I didn’t realize I was playing tonight. I thought I was rushing in for an emergency, hence the running out of the house without getting dressed.”
She gestures to her outfit and Heather shrugs. “You should see what I wore for the Halloween Trivia Bash. Girl, you look almost normal compared to that outfit.”
“What was your outfit?” Zoey asks, and Heather laughs.
“I came as a full-on, ball-busting, leather- and latex-clad dominatrix . . . with a pink tutu,” Heather says matter of factly.
“To really paint the picture, you have to know the whole outfit was pink. It was like Pink Panther kink or ballerina BDSM,” Trey says. “By the way, welcome, Zoey. I’ve heard a lot about you. And by that, I mean daily analysis during morning workouts with this one.” He tilts his head toward me with a smirk. I’m not mad at being thrown under the bus, though. If anything, he’s pitching my case that I’m serious about Zoey for me.
The welcome is echoed around the table, and Zoey looks on, stunned. Absolute acceptance, that’s what these people offer. We all come from different walks of life, have different educations and knowledge, and work different jobs, but at the end of the day, we all accept that we’re trivia nerds.