The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak by Brian Katcher

intertwines our fingers. Her eyes have a warm, flirty look.
    â€œTry something like that again and I’ll kill you.”
    She smiles at me again and we walk out of the room together.
    And just for a few seconds, just for a moment, she continues to hold my hand.

ANA
5:50 PM
    We’ve arrived at the conference room where Warren directed us. Zak has spent several minutes conferring with various people. Their badges all sport ribbons and pins, so they’re evidently some kind of con authorities.
    While he talks, I think about the stunt he pulled with my mom. It probably will end up making her furious. But . . .
    Furious at the obnoxious kid on the phone. Not at me. When I get back, I’ll just tell her how the jerk team alternate thought he was being funny. Blame any confusion about Clayton on Zak. Make it all his fault. No problem.
    Except I’d have to paint Zak as some sort of idiot slacker. And after spending a couple of hours with him, I know that’s not really the case. Mostly.
    And here he is, standing in front of me, a sheepish expression on his face.
    â€œHere’s the thing, Ana.”
    I instantly wince. Any explanation that starts off with those words is going to end in bad news.
    â€œYes, Zak?”
    He taps a sheet of paper he’s holding. “Clayton is here. Warren was right, he’s in the Mazes and Monsters tournament, and he’s already advanced to the second round. I bet the little weasel stole my cards, that’s how he’s doing so well.”
    I sigh with relief. “Where is all this?”
    â€œThrough those double doors.”
    I’m already moving. Zak clears his throat.
    â€œDuquette, I have a feeling you’re about to piss me off.”
    He shrugs. “You can’t go in there during gameplay. No spectators.” He points to a balding, potbellied man in a white uniform slouched near the entryway. A rent-a-cop.
    â€œAre you kidding me?” I finger my bow. The guard makes such a tempting target.
    â€œCalm down, William Tell. They’re playing for athree-hundred-dollar prize. They don’t want any audience members helping out their friends.”
    â€œHow on earth could they do that?”
    Zak apparently doesn’t understand the concept of a rhetorical question. “Well, one year some guys rigged up a primitive fiber-optics network . . .”
    My headache is returning. “How long will this game take?”
    â€œDepending on how well he does, maybe two hours.”
    I glance at a clock on the wall. If we wait for Clayton, then have to hang around to find a taxi, a half hour ride back . . . that’s cutting it way too close. Plus, what if he gives us the slip again?
    â€œCan’t you go in as a player, Duquette?”
    Zak won’t meet my eyes. “Ana . . .”
    â€œOut with it.” I set my bow on a table so I can place my hands on my hips.
    â€œLast year . . . there was some unpleasantness. I was sort of kinda asked not to return. In a very official sense.” He tries to smile, but I think my expression kills it.
    â€œWonderful. So there’s no other way in?”
    He shakes his head. “We’re going to have to wait him out. Are you hungry?”
    I don’t answer. I have a feeling that if we don’t corner my brother right now, we’ll lose him forever in this crowd. I’m already picturing Mrs. Brinkham, knockingon the door to the boys’ hotel room. She’s beginning to panic, not knowing where half the team is. She takes out her phone and calls my parents . . .
    â€œLast call!” I’m jolted back to reality. “Last call for the Mazes and Monsters competition. Sign up now or be lost forever.”
    Zak kicks at the bench leg like a bored ten-year-old in church. There’s only one thing for me to do.
    â€œSign me up!” I snap the clipboard from the announcer’s hand and scrawl my name. According to the sheet, we begin in five