• • •

"Now, let's tally up those scores!"

The audience erupts into growing applause along with the drumroll as all eyes—and the recording camera—is on one of the two digital signs above the stage.

"One hundred one!" Marcos reads as the sign to the left flashes the number.

The camera slides to the other sign. It glows—

"And one hundred one!" Marcos turns back to the audience from behind his podium, the contending families brimming with excitement on their sides of the stage. "We have a tie, which will be broken in the final round for tonight. But first, we will return in just a minute after a word from our sponsor."

Then the camera's recording lights fade and Marcos instantly whisks into the stage's wing. Wading through the equipment and people, he takes out a handkerchief from his blazer and wipes his forehead, relieved to be away from the glaring stage lights.

"Mr. Barbero! Mr. Barbero!"

Marcos peers up and slows to a halt as Barry bounds up to him with a bright smile on his face and his clipboard against his chest.

"I couldn't wait to tell you, but the news of the Tail is bigger than you think!"

Marcos blinks, processing the information and emotions. "Excuse me, what?"

"Come, come over here! We have time!" Barry bolts down the walkway before crossing it to another door.

Marcos strides down his path, pocketing his handkerchief, and enters the door Barry entered. The other side is a small, tidy office equipped with a desk holding piles of paper and a rotary phone, chair, and a small antenna television. Sitting behind the desk is a bearded man in a suit, puffing away on a cigar.

"You caught him?" the man asks, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yes, Mr. Williams, I told you I would!" Barry exclaims, standing beside the small television on the desk's corner.

Marcos gazes at the two in confusion. "I have to get back in less than a minute."

Mr. Williams raises a finger. "But you can't miss this. Listen."

On cue, Barry turns the volume knob of the television.

"'...its tail was a teal unlike any other,' one witness stated, spotting the Tail while fishing..."

To the rhythm of the waves of alarm rising within him, Marcos turns his head to the television.

The small box shows the San Diego coast, lined with white sand and cars. The voice of a newscaster speaks over the stellar view: "...we even asked the marine biologists and oceanologists at the Birch Aquarium and they too can only speculate about this fantastical Tail..."

Mr. William wheezes in delight through his cigar. He takes it out of his mouth to blow out smoke. "Moore, you're a genius. It's the buzz and we should all grab it. Here—" He grabs a slip of paper, scribbles on it, and holds it out to Barry. "—take this to the writers and tell them to make sure the Tail is included in the answers. We want SeaWorld to be happy doing business with us."

Barry snatches the paper. "Right away—"

"Wait—"

The two stop and stare at the game master. The television continues murmuring in the background.

"Is there a problem, Barbero?" Mr. Williams taps his cigar in the ashtray.

All Marcos could do is gaze down and clench his fists as a way to compose himself while sweat pricks at his skin. He attempts to collect his breath against the suffocating scent of smoke as his heart races.

"He's been balky whenever the Tail is mentioned," Barry explains to Mr. Williams. "But he won't let that be a problem soon, as a good game master should." He nods to Marcos, trying to create eye contact. "Right?"

"I have to get back." Marcos then breezes past Barry and exits the room. And once he catches sight of the glowing stage in between the wing's curtains, his charming expression pops back onto his face as if he does not have a single problem in the world.