Rune watched the duration of the bout, rooting for the Libyan dude mostly in silence but unable to restrain an exuberant “YES!” when Malik hit Francis’ low line, tieing the score at 2. It would be, however, his last point in the bout, as Francis began to attack Malik’s back shoulder, swiftly and efficiently and without much seeming effort, like he was warming up rather than competing. Touch right, touch right, touch right. Bout.
Rex, whose bout was next, had stood next to Rune, leaned down and whispered in the younger teen’s ear. “You wanted to see him lose, didn’t you?”
“Woulda been nice, for once.” Rune turned, saw that Jane — yes, he remembered Harris’ name, Jane — had moved to the other side of the strip, was talking to her coach now. Slick with condensation, the plastic bottle in Rune’s hand slipped, nearly fell; he excused himself, hustled over to the strip where Annie was competing.