FATE Academy has committees and subcommittees for nearly every facet of student life, but as few teaching coaches as possible for its extracurricular activities. There is no adult to intervene with us when Yadira, Greg, or I step out of line or eschew our commitment. Teaching us to manage our schedules as well as each other is a big part of the school’s extracurricular philosophy. Did I mention that we’re a very woke school?

“Hi, sir. You look, er, familiar,” I say, blinking a few times and thinking back to the nights I spent binging South Park reruns on Comedy Central’s website while my parents were sleeping.

“I get that a lot from you kids.”

He confirms our IDs and leads the way toward a side entrance, expecting us to follow. The unfamiliar hallways are buzzing with energy.

“Your teammate is already inside,” Mr. Garrison says. “He was feeling a little queasy earlier. We got him some soda.”

“Told ya,” Yadira whispers.

“And are your parents in attendance?” Mr. Garrison asks. “They must be excited.”

“My parents are working,” I say, taking in the gray photos of rows and rows of white guys in white-guy haircuts that eventually fade into color photos and a probably mandated sort of diversity as we step into the eighties and nineties.

“My dad doesn’t close his bathrobe for semifinals,” Yadira says, armor up already and emphasizing the “semi” just enough to sound like this is nothing but an administrative box to be checked. “Charm” and “Anti-Charm” is what Greg called us when we first met.

“Oh, th-that’s a shame. Well, our audience is pretty much packed today. Parents here are very involved. I hope it won’t be too nerve-racking for you kids alone up there.”

Yadira and I share an eye roll. “We’ll manage.”

It’s always amazing how competitive teachers and faculty get about debates, no matter how hard they try not to. There are stories of teachers and parents getting into arguments and collar grabs before and after debates—and even one or two during the actual debates.

Having the home-field advantage for the St. Celeste team mostly translates to an audience that’s completely on their side: parents and debate enthusiasts that will politely clap when the visiting team makes a decent point but erupt in pointed and rapturous cheers when one of their own wins a rebuttal.

We reach an open room filled with rows of vanity mirrors and racks of zipped garment bags. Costumes. St. Celeste’s theater department, no doubt.

“Here you go! I’ll come to collect you guys when it’s time to go on stage. In the meantime, enjoy the snacks. Bathrooms are right down the hall,” Mr. Garrison says with a dismissive wave, and okay, but he really does look exactly like the South Park character.