The principal announced the pairings for the next phase of the tournament with a flourish, their voice echoing across the arena. "Eileen , you will be partnered with… Micah."
Micah ? I scanned the crowd, searching for my so-called partner. When I spotted him, I had to resist the urge to groan out loud.
Micah was a wiry, short boy with a mop of sandy hair that stuck out at odd angles and a perpetual scowl plastered on his face.
He couldn't have been more than sixteen, his arms crossed as if the weight of the world—or at least the tournament—rested entirely on his narrow shoulders.
He caught me looking at him and huffed dramatically before trudging over, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, eyeing me up and down like I was some sort of tragic disappointment. "They're pairing me with you? What a joke."
I blinked at him, taken aback. "Excuse me?"
