The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak Read Online Free PDF

through for the day. I really don’t think this is the time to play shorthanded. Um, no offense, Zak.”
    He shrugs.
    Mrs. Brinkham, however, pointedly hands me her keys. “We’re up against a new team, mostly freshmen. Zak will be just fine.”
    I’m beginning to lose my composure. “I don’t think—”
    Zak reaches for the keys. “Hey, I’ll go get the papers, I don’t mind.”
    Mrs. Brinkham holds up a hand. “Get up there, Zak. It’s almost time.”
    Zak stands. But he doesn’t leave. He looks at me. Expectantly.
    If I tell him to stop, he’ll stay here. Lord knows why, but he won’t take my place, not unless I say it’s okay .
    They both stare at me. Mrs. Brinkham dangles the keys.
    If I insist on participating, Zak won’t argue. If we both stand up to Mrs. Brinkham, then she won’t force the issue .
    â€œZak?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œDon’t . . . don’t buzz in, unless you’re really, really sure.”
    I snatch the keys from Mrs. Brinkham’s outstretched hand and storm out, returning a minute later to trade the house keys she gave me for the van keys. I make it to the lobby before I begin to shake with rage.
    Mrs. Brinkham wasn’t the one who led us to this tournament. She wasn’t the one who convinced my mother to let Clayton try out for the team. She wasn’t the one who talked Landon into dropping out of track so he could come to our tournaments. It wasn’t her who confirmed our tournament dates and registered our team. She didn’t bring us here.
    And in the end, I didn’t argue with her. I let Duquette take over, rather than fight about it. I’ve captained this team for three years. I ought to march right back up there. I ought to tell her . . .
    No, Mrs. Brinkham is probably right. At this point wecould stick a sock monkey in my seat and we’d still win. I’m no longer needed.
    I storm off to the van and locate the folder, not at all where our sponsor said she’d left it. I notice the clock on the console. If I run, I can make it back with two minutes to spare.
    And then get told I had to let Zak have a turn. Because it was only fair.
    Except life isn’t fair.
    I pull out my phone and send a text.
    Please call me after three.
    I blow my nose, gather the papers, lock the van (which Mrs. Brinkham had forgotten to do), and return to the building.
    Though it is frowned upon to enter a room during a session, I silently slink in. I want to watch, to make sure everything is running smoothly.
    Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
    Clayton is breathing hard. He does that on the rare occasions when he is confused. Landon and Sonya look sick. In the front row, Mrs. Brinkham crumbles a piece of paper in her fist.
    Zak, curse him, sits there with his head on his elbow, hardly awake.
    â€œCarbon fourteen,” says an opposing player.
    â€œCorrect.”
    The scoreboard adds another ten points to our opponents’ score.
    We’re down by thirty. And according to the timer, we have less than two minutes to go.
    Sonya catches my eye. Even from this distance, I can see the accusation.
    We are losing. Because I left Do-Nothing Duquette in my seat. Because I didn’t stand up to my coach. Because I felt a little sorry for our alternate. I’ve let everyone down. We are going to lose. It is all my fault.
    I fall into a chair. We will sink into the losers’ bracket because of this loss. That means more rounds. More chances to screw up. We’re falling down a hole from which we may never emerge.
    The moderator relentlessly pounds on. “Which country was the first to officially use fingerprinting as a crime detection tool?”
    A boy at the opposing table hits his buzzer. “The United Kingdom.”
    â€œIncorrect.”
    At my table, Clayton is almost hyperventilating. Sonya and Landon exchanged baffled looks. Landon’s hand hovers