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“No,” said Jake.

“Not even close,” said Mal.

“You let other people talk sometimes,” said Jake.

“Sometimes,” Mal agreed. “It’s been known to happen.” They watched Brendan’s teacher gather his students into a team meeting.

Jake said, “He’s going to be tough, don’t you think?”

Winston nodded. Brendan was a little weird. But weird did not mean dumb. Often the opposite, in fact.

There were enough people in the conference room now that the noise level had risen to a steady, murmuring hum. Winston kept glancing over to the door on the stage, which would surely open at any moment. He had an alarming thought: What if the contest had already started—if the puzzle was right here in front of them and Dmitri Simon was waiting for somebody clever enough to notice it? Winston looked around for anything that might qualify as a clue and saw nothing. There were a number of whiteboards on the wall, but these were erased and gleaming. No. Nothing tricky was going on . . . yet. He was just going to have to sit back and wait for the event to begin. He drummed his fingers on the table and tried to be patient. He wished he had brought a puzzle book with him.

“Hey, look at that,” Jake said, with some concern.

Winston glanced over to where he was pointing and was amazed to see Mr. Garvey, redfaced, waving a finger at that other teacher, Rod Denham. Mr. Garvey seemed to be lecturing him. Mr. Denham wore a tight, humorless smile, and after a moment pointed at Winston and his friends, as if suggesting that Mr. Garvey go back where he came from. They traded a few more words, glaring at each other, then Mr. Garvey turned around and stormed away.

As he returned to his team, Mr. Garvey’s teeth were gritted and a vein pulsed on the side of his head—he looked ready to kill a small animal. He squeezed the back of one of the chairs, as if he might pull it up and throw it against the wall, and never mind the fact that the chairs were bolted to the floor. The three boys gazed up at him, amazed and a little afraid.

“What was that about?” Mal asked.

“I shouldn’t have gone over there,” Mr. Garvey said.

“Did he say something to you?” Jake said. “What did he say?”

Mr. Garvey waved a hand like he wanted to forget the whole thing. He attempted a little chuckle. It wasn’t very believable. The boys kept looking at him, and finally Mr. Garvey had to say, “Let it go, boys. Just let it go.” He sat down, folded his hands, and tried to regain his calm.

Letting it go wasn’t easy, but Mr. Garvey wasn’t talking, so it wasn’t like they had a choice. The traffic through the entrance petered out, but there was still no sign of Dmitri Simon. Winston counted ten teams. Was that all? He would have thought there’d be double or triple that number. He felt a vague disappointment—he liked the idea of hundreds of puzzle lovers all congregating together. Of course, the fewer teams competing, the better their chances.

He cast his eyes over the small crowd, sizing up the competition. It was impossible to predict who the tough opponents would be . . . but that didn’t stop Winston from trying. Rod Denham’s team from Lincoln Junior High was clearly going to be trouble, although exactly what sort of trouble Winston could not guess.

What about the other teams?

Brendan Root might be a serious opponent, but were his two teammates just as good? Before, the two of them had been playing rock-paper-scissors. Now they were thumb wrestling. Maybe they didn’t plan on taking this seriously?

Over on the right was a team that was definitely taking it seriously: They were dressed in identical blue T-shirts that said BROOKVILLE BRAINS, with matching baseball caps. Did they use those shirts for other events? If they had made up these outfits in the few days since the contest was announced, that indicated a level of organization that was almost scary to consider.

Looking around, Winston counted twice as many guys as girls. Only one team was all female. The girl in the middle had her arms crossed as if this delay was a personal insult. The girl to her left was looking around with a faraway