I feel the moment weigh down on me. I need to say something good, and fast

B

uzzers, laughter, the occasional piercing shriek of a mike handled wrong.

I’m standing at one side of the stage, next to Tammy, watching the fourth round of the game pick up speed. PBY’s buzzer gave a yes to one question, and several girls plop down in their seats, leaving just three standing. Opposite them, seven girls from Bathsheba High School stand with hands folded. One of them, I know, is hiding a small buzzer in her palm, ready to signal yes or no to the next question.

I’m just so relieved everything worked out. And it’s a great game; looks like both schools are enjoying it.

Mrs. Gerber steps over. “I think it’s time to wind down the game and move on to the next part of the event,” she says. “We’ve had a few rounds and I’d like to stop before anyone gets restless. What do you think?”

It’s nice that she’s making it all about us, like it’s our event for real, and not just in name.

“Yeah, for sure,” Tammy says quickly.

I tilt my head to one side, surveying the crowd. The game’s going well, the Guessers firing questions, a couple of teachers from each school helping to man the mikes and remind people what to do.

But too much of a good thing is no good, either.

“Okay, sure, let’s stop after this round,” I say.

Mrs. Gerber nods. “Excellent. So one of you can take the mike and announce what’s happening next.”

One of us?

I look at Tammy. We hadn’t planned on this.