Page 65 of Kingmakers, Year Four

The finish line is right ahead of us.

Nix and I are sprinting flat out, side by side, running harder than we ever have in our lives.

And I’m trying to beat her, really trying.

Until I edge just the tiniest bit ahead.

I’m taller. My legs are longer. I know in that split-second that if I truly run as hard as I can, I’m going to win.

Nix is trying so fucking hard. She’s racing against three boys, all bigger than her. Somehow she lifted that stone overhead when it weighed more than she does. She figured out how to get us up that tower. She wants this so badly—to prove herself to every kid at this school who hates her on sight. She wants to be their champion.

I don’t need it. She does.

All it takes is one slow step—a slackening of pace that no one could notice.

Nix pulls ahead. She whips across the finish line, inches in front of me, immediately enveloped by the screaming, cheering Freshmen.

I let Leo pound me on the back in a congratulations I don’t entirely deserve.

“Well fucking done!” he hollers, thrilled that we’ll be moving on to the second round.

Anna, Chay, Dean, Cat, and Hedeon all swarm around me, along with the rest of the Seniors. The mild disappointment at the second-place finish is flushed away in the amusement that August is still trapped at the bottom of his tower, furiously listening to the celebration on the top of the cliff while he waits for Tristan to complete the tightrope.

We all crowd the edge of the cliff, looking down at him. He stares back up at us, sweating and snarling.

Tristan jogs up the path to the tower.

Through gritted teeth, August says, “Come on, go back-to-back with me so we can climb up.”

“No,” Tristan says, shaking his head.

“What do you mean no?” August shrieks.

“No,” Tristan says calmly. “You’re faster than me. When we get to the top, you’ll sprint past me and win.”

August can’t argue that point.

“Well, you have to anyway!” he sputters. “That’s the only way up!”

“The only way foryou, maybe,” Tristan says.

Crossing to the opposite tower, Tristan lays down on his stomach, his arms and legs outstretched like Superman. With his superior height, he can just wedge himself in place and begin inching his way upward, belly down.

The mixture of laughter and howls is deafening as half the students cheer Tristan onward, the rest in near-hysterics at the sight of August trapped on the ground.

Like the fabled tortoise, the slow and steady Tristan makes his way inexorably upward. He hauls himself over the ledge, then lightly jogs across the finish line.

“There,” he says to Kade, wiping the back of his arm across his sweating brow. “We didn’t lose at least.”

Kade is laughing so hard that tears run down his cheeks. “I can’t believe you left him down there,” he howls.

“That’s what he gets for making me run so fast,” Tristan says, his face still pink and sweating.

“You weren’t fast,” Kade says, holding his sides.

“Fast for me,” Tristan grumbles.

Tristan’s little sister Lucy and his cousin Rene come running up to congratulate him. They’re both Freshmen, and they seem in awe of Nix, who pulled off a stunning first-round victory against the far more experienced champions of the opposing teams.

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