I woke before my alarm and found the camp director's schedule taped to the common-room door.
The final selection bouts had been moved up by an hour. A blank space beside the team-final slot had been filled in with two names: Miles Vale and June Parker.
I read it twice.
"Miles," I said when I found him in the dining hall. "Did you request this?"
He looked down at the schedule I held out. "No."
"Did you ask Graham?"
"No."
Someone had changed the order, but I couldn't tell why. The final bout was a test of team coordination, not a regular individual match. I'd assumed I would face someone from another club.
"Are you all right with it?" Miles asked.
I folded the schedule. "I don't know."
He didn't push.
The morning rounds went badly. I was stiff from the fall and distracted by the b
