Into the Velvet

Forty-Seven Days Until

In the not-so-distant past, Fate and I had become intimately acquainted.

"Ladies and gents! Gather round this way," Mrs. Tucci called, setting her overnight suitcase down with a thud. "Behold our magnificent carriage."

The ageing motorcoach spluttered out a plume of black smoke, like it was coughing. Its paint was flaking from the sides and windows. The bracing wind caused its large and imposing bulk to sway. I was already feeling queasy. We hadn't set down our bags yet.

The chatter that clamoured on around me had dwindled down — together, my classmates and I shared of feeling of unease. The bus didn't seem like it could carry us across several state borders and back without falling apart. If I hadn't been so exhausted, I would've been furious.

I've been petitioning for better transportation to the World Debate Champions for months. I'd done everything I could to make my voice loud enough — yet Principal Beaufort had worked even harder not to listen. My efforts to convince him had been fruitless.

What did a girl have to do to get respect around here?

I stifled a deep yawn, just as the bus driver began loading our belongings into the baggage compartment. Perhaps staying up into the early hours of the morning had been a terrible idea.

Images of the night before resurfaced in vague flashes, flickering in the edges of my awareness. I shut my eyes and groaned, shooing them away.

The morning was far too bright and cheery. I'd slept a total of forty minutes. But the death trap couldn't dampen our group spirit — amiable chatter filled the air once more. Calvin and Dom were swapping field trip stories over everyone's heads. Sami was standing further apart from the crowd, speaking in hushed tones to her phone.

When I failed to catch her eye, I shrugged and began loading her abandoned bags into the compartment. Mrs. Tucci was fretting about, already sweating through her flowery polo shirt.

"Where's Mr. Bhadra?" asked Ivy, who was a junior. A very tall one. "Is he coming?" She turned her head slightly — her stylishly oversized glasses reflected the glare of the sun right into my eyes.

I winced.

Mrs. Tucci gave a start. "Oh, no! Haven't I told everyone?"

"Told us what?" Thanh asked warily.

"Mr. Bhadra is very sick," she said, shaking her head. "There's that nasty stomach bug going around at the moment. Such a shame. He was looking forward to winning this year."

Mrs. Tucci then threw a confident look my way, as if we'd both agreed beforehand that our victory was guaranteed.

Ivy's eyebrows knitted together. "So... does that mean you're our only chaperone for the trip? We always have two—"

Before she could finish, Mrs. Tucci looked down at her watch. "Is that the time already? Alright, everyone on the bus for roll call! We need to beat the morning traffic. Quickly, go!"

We hopped onto the bus and scattered to find the best seats. The debating club only comprised six students — three juniors and three seniors. But this bus could have easily fit thirty people. I hung around briefly, just long enough to hear Sami's last words over the phone.

"I have to go, Baba — please, enough. I'll call you once I'm there."

I gave her a curious look as she jogged up the bus steps. Samira was a fellow senior and student council member, who's love and passion for debating outshone even my own. This annual event was her Superbowl.