The debate finals are in two weeks, right here at FATE, on the same stage where Grant Hickman projectile-vomited three cans’ worth of energy drinks at convocation last year, which is both a dramatic homecoming of sorts and also kind of underwhelming. It’s hard to feel some Rocky culmination of a full season of debates and weekly practices all happening on the second floor, next to the good bathrooms.

This, however, has not deterred Greg. Today’s practice was two hours long and our last one before the debate “Season Finale,” as Yadira calls it.

“I’m not drinking this,” I repeat more firmly, pushing the drink back toward Greg because no. Whatever mixture Greg had found online smells like asparagus boiled in maple syrup, which has then rotted inside a salmon.

“It’s great for vocal cords. All-natural ingredients,” Greg insists, removing another bottle of the yellow-brown mixture from his backpack and pushing it alongside the first one on the desk in front of me. It’s soon joined by a third and fourth.

“Chug the whole thing down the moment you wake up,” he reiterates. “Every morning until the debate.”

“You’re going to run a morally questionable government program one day,” Yadira says, after sniffing the first bottle.

“Do you guys want to win or no?” Greg sighs, exasperated. “A coughing fit or scratchy throat will cost us crucial points—especially when the other team sounds like a freaking a cappella group.”

Yadira and I share an apprehensive look.

“Don’t act like you haven’t both seen the clips.”

We have. Not only are all of Spence’s orators loquacious bastards known for their delightful delivery, but their debate team consists of a dozen or so rotating members. Every meet a handful of alternates and cheerleaders could be seen on the sidelines, cheering for their Spencey brethren. The onstage lineup itself changes at every meeting, curated to pounce on the well-researched opposing team’s specific weaknesses.

“Ugh, fine!”

Yadira relents first, hooking each bottle with her index and middle finger before dropping them into her oversized purse. There’s no denying that we all want to win—as badly as Greg, if such a thing is even possible.

“If I die, I’m haunting you first.” I sigh, placing the concoctions into my backpack, ignoring Greg’s satisfied smirk.

“This is it, guys! It all comes down to this. We have to give it our all!”

“Wooooo,” Yadira says, stretching her lack of enthusiasm with every O.

“Okay, I suppose we’re done for today,” Greg mumbles, reviewing the bullet-point checklist scribbled on the board as Yadira and I make a point of getting up and stretching.

“Oooh! One more thing.”

“Greg, I will hurt you,” Yadira warns, sunglasses already on.