It was then, in speech class, my thoughts switched to something far more important. It was when the first speech was given that it hit me that this was really happening. Everyone in class was going to give their speech and come Wednesday, I’d give mine during lunch.
Panic grew like a noxious weed, surging in my veins. Everyone was going to know that I...I couldn’t do it like them. Listening to the other students stand up and give their speeches, I focused on what I could control and remembered what Rider had said in the library.
People were going to be jerks and that wasn’t on me.
All I could do was make sure I gave my speech to Mr. Santos, so I threw myself into practicing the speech every chance I got, using Carl and Rosa when I wasn’t going over it by myself. I realized that Rider still hadn’t written his speech. He didn’t seem at all fazed by his lack of progress, and whenever I brought it up, he flipped the conversation and said, “Once you ace the speech, I’ll take you to the garage.”
I’d eyed him wryly, but I was curious about the garage thing. I wanted to see some of his work. Despite how wrong it was, I wanted to see him. But I wasn’t a gerbil that needed a reward.
Unless the reward was homemade queso dip. Then yes, reward me.
Homecoming was the topic of conversation at lunch on Tuesday. Seemed like half of the school was interested in attending. The other half couldn’t care less. The table I sat with fell into the first group. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought of Homecoming until I saw the banners and stuff this morning. It hadn’t even come on my radar. Not because I was too cool or that high school dances weren’t my thing. It just wasn’t something I had the chance to consider, and now that I did, there was a part of me that thought it would be fun. It would be an experience.
But I didn’t have a dress.
Or a date.
“When do you have to do your speech?” Keira asked at lunch. She was scheduled to go on Wednesday, during class, like a normal person.
It was the first time I was asked that question. I didn’t want to answer, but that would be weird and I was weird enough without adding to it. “Tomorrow,” I said, staring at my plate. “Tomorrow...during lunch.”
Keira didn’t immediately respond, and I dared a quick peek at her. Her dark brows knitted. “So you just have to give your speech to Mr. Santos, then?”
I nodded, hoping she wouldn’t think what Paige had.
“Cool,” she said, picking up her napkin as Jo and Anna sat across from us. “I get super nervous when I have to do the public speaking thing.”
“Really?” My brows rose.
“Yep.”
“God, I hope you don’t hurl,” Jo said, plopping her chin in her hand. “Have you seen Pitch Perfect?”
I nodded.
“She totally pulled an Aubrey two years ago, when she had to give her first presentation in science class,” Jo continued.
Keira scowled. “I made it to the bathroom.”
“It was still aca-gross,” Jo quipped as she stabbed her sauce-smothered noodles.
I didn’t get it. “But you’re...a cheerleader.”
Looking around the table, Keira’s gaze finally settled on me. “So?”
My cheeks warmed. “You...you get up in front of people all the time and...cheer.”
“Yeah, but I’m with a group of people doing it with me,” she said as she brushed tight curls over her shoulder. “It’s easier when you’re not alone and it’s totally not the same thing as getting up in front of the class and talking out of your butt about something you barely understand.”
“True,” murmured Anna, who was staring at her cast.
I couldn’t believe it as I stared at Keira. She was nervous. Her food was untouched, like mine, but she talked all the time and she didn’t stutter. She was still nervous.
“Did you really h-hurl?” I asked.
Jo burst into deep, infectious laughter that drew the attention of those around us. “Hurling would be an understatement.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Keira insisted, shooting Jo a dark look. “Anyway,” she continued, looking at me. “I get nervous, too, so let’s both make a pact.”
“A pact?” I whispered. At once, I was so very grateful for Keira and her friends—my friends. I’d been so incredibly wrong about them. Not like I hadn’t realized that during the last couple of weeks, but I should feel embarrassed at how easily I believed the cheerleader stereotype.
She nodded. “If I start to look like I’m gonna hurl, you’ll grab the basket for me, and if you get sick while doing your speech with Mr. Santos, you can tell me and I promise not to laugh.”
My lips parted.
“Deal?” she asked.
I laughed without meaning to, but I couldn’t stop it. It was probably the most bizarre deal I’d ever made. “Deal.”
*
I woke up Wednesday morning, the day of my speech, with my stomach in knots, a burning lump in my throat and a headache.