In second-period English, Zoe was trying to imagine a world without her mother. She’d imagined it so many times in her strange little movie-reel fantasies that it should have been easy. But now that it was real, everything was blurry. And the questions were never-ending. Would she stay in her apartment or would she have to move? Would she keep going to school or would she need to go out and get a job? Probably a job if she wanted to stay in her apartment. But what kind of job could she even get? She wouldn’t survive two weeks even if she wanted to, which she wasn’t sure she did. What would be the point of surviving without her mother?
This morning, as Judy drove her to school, she’d tried to tell herself that everything was fine, everything was over. But who was she kidding? Her mom had had surgery yesterday! Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to her. What if there were complications? She’d been thinking that it was the beginning of the end, but what if this was the end of the end? What if she was called out of class to be told her mother had passed away following a postsurgery complication? What if she wasn’t even able to say good-bye?
“Okay, class, we are starting a new unit,” Mrs. Patterson said. “Public speaking. So I’ve decided we’re going to have a debate!”
There was a collective groan.
“Oh, why so glum? I happen to know a lot of you are very good at arguing. Anyway, you’ll have a couple of weeks to prepare. I’m going to divide the class into two groups.” She stretched her arms out in front of her. “This side is ‘for’”—she gestured to Zoe’s side of the room—“and this side is ‘against.’ Every person will have a speaking role, but some are bigger than others. If you have a large speaking role, you’ll have less prep to do and vice versa. There will be the six speakers—three on each side. There’ll be an adjudicator, who will help me decide the winners and then explain why they have won. There’ll be a person to announce the debate. And each speaker will have a partner who will introduce them, and who will help prepare the speech and write rebuttals during the debate. Anyone who is left can stand up afterward and talk about who was their favorite speaker and why. Any questions?”
Zoe felt an overwhelming urge to vomit.
“So, who’d like to volunteer for the adjudicator role?”
A few hands shot up. Mrs. Patterson selected one of them.
“Good,” she said, writing the name in a notebook. “Now, how about first speaker for the affirmative?”
Zoe wasn’t sure what happened then. A moment of insanity? Whatever it was, it came to her all at once—like the desire to scream in an empty room or dive-bomb into the unbroken water of a pool. When she was a kid, she’d had similar compulsions. She’d be playing happily when all of a sudden she’d feel compelled to reach out and touch the wall or the edge of the fringed carpet. She’d tell herself that if she didn’t touch the wall or carpet, the world would end right that second.
But this time, it was more than just a compulsion. It was about her mother. She had cancer. Not only that, she’d lied to Zoe about having cancer. Suddenly Zoe understood why. She’d lied because she didn’t think Zoe could handle it. Which meant Zoe needed to become the kind of person that didn’t need to be lied to. A strong person. The kind of person who could … participate in a debate.
She put her hand up.
“Zoe?” Mrs. Patterson said. “You’d like to be a speaker?”
Mrs. Patterson couldn’t contain her surprise. Zoe felt her cheeks bloom red. She could feel people’s eyes, but she focused forward.
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s great. Good for you.”
Mrs. Patterson was being kind, but Zoe wanted her to move on to the next person. Stop smiling. Next.
Mrs. Patterson scribbled Zoe’s name on her notepad. “And who’d like to be Zoe’s partner? Hands up.”
The absence of hands was practically a presence. A few chair legs squeaked. Cameron whispered something to Danielle, who giggled. Emily, two rows ahead, had already pushed her table up next to Lucy Barker’s—clearly they were partners. Jessie Lee and Billy Dyer had their heads down, as Zoe would have if not for her momentary aberration.
“Come on, class. Who wants to be partners with Zoe?”
Zoe was certain that eventually the humiliation would form a knife and stick her through the heart. And still, the silence stretched on.
Finally, there was a sigh. “I will.”
The voice was distinct.
“Harry,” Mrs. Patterson said. “Good. You are partners with Zoe.”
Mrs. Patterson wrote it in her notebook and moved on to the next role.
For the next fifteen minutes, Zoe kept her head forward, too afraid of making eye contact with anyone, especially Harry. She didn’t know what to be more afraid of—the fact that she’d just volunteered to be in a debate, or the fact that Harry had volunteered to be her partner. Why would Harry—Harry—volunteer to be her partner?
“Okay then,” Mrs. Patterson said when everyone had been assigned a role. “I suggest the speakers get together with your partners sooner rather than later. The topic is … wait for it … whether students should call their teachers by their first names. I want to hear strong arguments! One partner will present the argument and the other will remain at the table, passing notes for rebuttals. Both participants will write the initial arguments as well as a full report about what you contributed to the assignment. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mrs. Patterson,” the class droned.
“Good. Well you can be dismissed a little early today so you can exchange numbers with your partners and make arrangements. I want well-written, well-rehearsed speeches, understood? Get practicing.”
*
After class, by her locker, Zoe felt a presence behind her.
“So I guess we’re partners.”
All of Zoe’s senses went on high alert, but she continued to shuffle books in her locker. “I guess we are.”
Harry was quiet for a moment. She felt his eyes boring into the back of her head. After a few seconds she heard a sigh. “Listen, I’m sorry about what I said the other day,” he said. “You know … ‘Why else would I look at you’?”
Zoe died all over again. “It’s no big deal,” she muttered.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Zoe kept her nose in her locker.
“Oh-kay,” he said skeptically. “But if it’s no big deal, why won’t you look at me?”
Zoe’s cheeks bloomed red, which made turning around all the more mortifying. So she didn’t.
“Suit yourself,” he said finally. “So … how are we gonna do this? The debate, I mean.”
It was the question Zoe had been asking herself since she put up her hand. She still didn’t have a good answer.
“Well … I … I guess we’ll come up with the main arguments in class tomorrow,” she said. “And then we’ll divide them between the three speakers. Then we write the speech.”
Harry moved around to her right side, appearing in her peripheral vision. “Are you really not going to look at me? You know you volunteered to be a speaker, right? You have to stand up in front of the class? Facing the class?”
Zoe continued shuffling books in her locker, dying. “There are only two types of speakers,” she said quietly. “The nervous and the liars.”
It was her favorite quote. She’d always wanted an excuse to say it to someone. But at the same time, she’d laid herself bare—giving away any notion that she was keeping her back to him to torture him or pay him back for what he said about her.