Cole’s team is known as The Estates. They claim their name was chosen because they’re mostly high-dollar real estate agents, but we all know it's because they come from old money, estate-style, and like to flaunt it.

But the round two topics are ones the professors will slaughter Cole and his numb nuts partner with, like Literature of the 1800s and The Pop Culture Influence of Pokémon.

I bet Cole doesn’t know a Pikachu from a panini.

And after that, it’ll be a loser round with the Estates against . . . us, Anarchy Authority. To be clear, our team name was chosen by Heather, our fearless and sarcastically oppositional leader.

Speaking of the devil, Heather claps her hands to get our attention. I shoot one more withering ‘fuck you’ look at Cole and he acts like a I blew him a lovey-dovey kiss, excitedly watching it cross the few feet and then ‘catching’ it before crumbling the nothingness in his hands and dropping it to the floor to squash with his shiny loafers.

For pantomime, it’s pretty clear he plans to kill us in the next head-to-head. And also, he has on loafers with no socks. That look hasn’t been attractive since Don Johnson was rocking it in Miami Vice, no matter what Cole’s girlfriend du jour told him.

“Blake,” Heather barks, her palm slapping the table.

“Yeah?” I answer back, just as irritated.

“We’re in the middle of a strategy session. If you’d care to abandon your eye-fuck with Cole, you’re welcome to join us.”

“I’m not . . .” I turn to Heather, and her smile of victory tells me that her smack talk got her exactly what she wanted—my attention. “Fine. Strategy?”

Heather nods and immediately swipes her too-long bangs off to the side. They’re green this week, matching her nail polish and eye shadow. “There are hellacious topics still left on the board tonight. I think we’ve got a lock on Art and Architecture, Cars of the 1960s, and Musical Genius.”

She looks around our team, giving assignments based on our specialty knowledge and more general education. “But what I’m worried about are Serial Killer Stories and Reality Star Survivors. Anybody read up on Jack the Ripper lately? Or watched The Bachelorette?” Heather nibbles on her thumb and says hopefully, “Maybe the reality show topic will be about home DIY shows?”

Heather’s an HGTV addict and has renovated her entire house, so if that’s the case, we’re solid.

“I doubt House Hunters couples count as reality stars,” Trey says doubtfully, his lips twisted.

Slowly, a tiny idea tries to take shape deep in my mind. Or maybe it’s in my pants, but it’s a good one either way. “I have an idea. Can we call in a sleeper agent?”

“A ringer?” Heather asks. “You know a guy?”