Page 2 of Bro Smooth
“Are they all underage then?” Looking around, I do see a lot of kids. It makes me feel a little bit better. At least I'll be older than everyone I'm interviewing, which will hopefully make them see me as more professional. It'd be more awkward interviewing people my own age or older for my first reporting gig, a thing I hadn't thought to worry about until just this moment.
“Most of them, but we do have a handful who are older.” Karen really looks me over for the first time. “Maybe about your age.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Brandon, what did I tell you about throwing that ball inside?” Karen hurries off in the direction of a boy who has been whipping a tennis ball against the cinderblock wall since I walked in.
I turn around and really take in the scene in the hallway. This is my first time—both at an event like this and writing for a professional paper—and I'm not completely sure where I should start.
Pulling out my notebook, I jot down the name of the coordinator and take a guess at how many people are running around the hallway.
I have to start somewhere with my interviews, though. I straighten my spine and walk over to the mom closest to me.
“Hi, I'm Rebecca.” I go through my whole writing-an-article-about-the-competition spiel, then ask, “Would you mind if I asked your son a few questions about the competition?”
“Sure.” She laughs. “Alex, this nice lady has a few questions.”
Alex doesn't even glance up at me as his mom pulls him into her side. He continues working through different solutions on a type of cube that I've never seen. Instead of the normal cube shape, it has twelve sides, all different colors.
“Hi, Alex.” Alex ignores me, and I glance nervously back at his mom, who just shrugs. “How are you feeling about this competition?”
“Fine,” says Alex, eyes on his weird cube.
Okay. So, not a chatty kid, then. “That's pretty confident. How long have you been competing?”
“Seven years.”
“Wow. And you're only how old?” Yeah, he's definitely a little man of few words. And not particularly cooperative.
“Twelve.”
Oof. This is not going well. When I look up at his mom, she just has a small smile on her face like this is completely normal. I decide to find another interview subject, one who will maybe give metwowhole words in a row between questions.
“All right. Well, thank you, Alex, for letting me talk to you. Good luck today.”
If they're all like this, this whole interview thing is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
I try interviewing two more competitors, with the same result. If I’m lucky, I get a few words in response to my questions. Sometimes they just ignore me completely. Now I really know why none of the staff journalists wanted to come out and cover this competition. Which just makes me even more determined to find a way to make this work.
I know that if this article gets published at all, it’ll only be a small piece. Probably too short to print many quotes or anything, but I want to be thorough anyway. If I can write something really amazing, my editor may give me more inches than I expect.
I head back to the seating area of the auditorium and find a seat with a perfect view of the stage that is far enough from the other spectators that I’m not self-conscientious about taking notes.
A few minutes later, a short, balding man steps out onto the stage and looks around, finally noticing the podium on the other side. The audience watches politely as he crosses the entire stage, stepping up to the podium and adjusting the microphone down to his height.
“Welcome everyone!” There’s a little feedback on the microphone and I wince at the sound, but it soon dissipates.“Most of you probably know me, but for anyone who doesn’t, my name is Eric Kellan. I’m the Algebra teacher and speedcubing club sponsor here at West Boston High. I’m glad to see such a great turnout, and we’ve got a tough competition for you on the stage today. It’ll be exciting to see who qualifies and goes on to represent our area at ICF Nationals!”
There’s a smattering of applause around the cavernous room. It doesn’t look like anyone’s joined the crowd since I’d peeked in here earlier. When I look back to the stage, four adults with clipboards and large cups, each crossing to one of the small tables on the stage and taking a seat at the chair next to it.
“Let’s give a round of applause to our judges,” Mr. Kellan suggests, and the audience once again claps politely.
Karen comes onto the stage carrying a large opaque blue plastic bin. She goes from table to table, and each of the judges reaches into the bin and scoops something into their giant cup. They all place the cups upside down on the tables in front of them.
“All right, folks, let’s give a warm welcome to our first competitors of the day, in the Pyraminx event.”
A group of kids troops out to sit behind the tables.
“You will each have fifteen seconds to inspect your Pyraminx,” Mr. Kellan tells the kids. “Remember, you may inspect it, but you may not begin to solve it until you have placed your fingers on the pads and the timer light turns green.”
