Chapter 9: Lanternfish

We tried everything in eight minutes.

The grad student found the esports director's email and I wrote to her in all capitals and then rewrote it in normal letters.

The sophomore called the esports office number and got a recording.

The senior said, "Submit it again," and we did, and it went red again.

Betsy stood in the middle of the room in her purple hat yelling, "Refresh it! Refresh it with feeling!"

At 12:00 the form changed.

ENTRIES ARE CLOSED.

Nobody said anything for a long time.

The freshman took both headphones off, for the first time since I'd met him.

He put them around his neck.

"Well," the grad student said finally. "Spite was fun while it lasted."

I didn't sleep.

At 7:30 Saturday morning I was standing outside the esports office on the second floor of the union.

The door was open.

The open bracket draw was that afternoon, and the director was already at her desk.

She was in her fifties, with reading glasses on a beaded chain and a mug that said WORLD'S OKAYEST GRANDMA.

There was a stack of printed pages in front of her.

She was reading them with a red pen in her hand, not writing anything, just holding it.

I knocked on the open door.

"I'm Callie Swann," I said. "I'm swannsong. My team's entry was rejected last night at 11:52 because of a complaint."

"I've never shared my account with anyone in my life, and I need you to let us in."

She looked at me over her glasses for a long moment.

"Sit down, Miss Swann."

I sat.

"Your account was cleared at seven-fifteen this morning," she said. "Your entry is reinstated. You're in the draw at two."

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