Wrong Number, so sorry!

Set, go!

Peter's POV:

Michael came back to get them after a long and stressful practice. Waiting was the worst part of every competition - more nerve-wracking than when they actually performed. It was over now. All they needed to do was win. Peter and his teammates were chatting nervously as they walked. He saw fingers drumming on thighs, and heard uncontrolled giggles and math formulas muttered lowly. As their guide led them nearer to where the contest would start, a catharsis of anxiousness burst over them.

Then Michael ushered them inside, and Peter's jitters reached their zenith. They had walked into a theater. A stage the size of Peter's apartment was decked in warm blue lights, looking out over a sea of red, velvet chairs. It looked as though two thousand people could sit there and the room still wouldn't be full. He sat on a wooden stool behind a long, wooden table on the stage. There were three tables, one to accommodate each team. His table was off-center to the left, slanted so that every member was visible to the other groups, and the layout was mirrored with the other two tables. Peter couldn't help but feel like some kind of prey, staring into a mouth full of teeth, helplessly waiting to be devoured whole.

"Good luck, guys! I'll be rooting for you, so you know," Michael said with an encouraging smile on his face.

'Oh, well if Michael is rooting for us then we'll be fine! That's really all we needed to know, and now that we do know it'll be no trouble to win! Obviously,' Peter thought to himself.

"But really, you will all be fine. The other teams are coming in now so I have to go, but I'll be waiting for you afterwards. Bye!" Michael waved at them all one last time before departing. He walked off of the stage and out the door, though it wouldn't be the last time Peter saw Michael, not that he knew it at the time.

As the other teams filed in and sat down, Peter examined them closely and wrote down what he saw on a slip of paper. His findings were as followed:

Rival 1:

- They all wear shades of red and black
- They don't talk to each other, rather stay quiet and stare off into the mouth of teeth waiting to swallow us whole
- They don't look at us, which could either be a very clever tactic or a very stupid idea; people always say to size up your enemy, but not to underestimate anyone. Would it be better to not look at your competitors at all, and therefore not make any fatal assumptions that could lead to your downfall?
- They go to a very prestigious high school known for the ungodly amount of pressure and homework inflicted upon their students

Overall conclusion on rival 1: They will be a difficult and worthy opponent. The red on their uniforms remind me of blood. They don't seem very friendly.

Rival 2:

- They're wearing shorts and skirts and knee-length dresses... in the middle of winter.
- One girl has a sticker of a bunny on her shirt. To quote one of my favorite movies, you should never trust a bunny. I don't trust her.
- Some of them are already taking notes, which makes me think that they're doing what I'm doing, which makes me a bit put-off, to be honest. What are they writing about? What do they think my team looks like?
- They go to another good high school. They're known for being sensible and having good common-sense, but I can't seem to believe that at this moment in time. Maybe that was a rumor.

Overall conclusion on Rival 2: Rival 2 seems more laid back than Rival 1. I'd like to talk to some of the people taking notes when this is over and ask to compare, although not the bunny girl. Never trust a bunny.

Peter wasn't exactly sure what his notes were useful for, other than to pass time and ignore the nerves, but he'd been doing it ever since he'd joined the decathlon team. He quietly stowed the paper away in his jeans pocket and looked into the mouth of teeth. In the first row there now sat two people. Both wearing huge oval glasses and carrying clipboards, they reminded him of fish. Poor fishies, already eaten. It was too late to save them.