I face the class, unsure if I’m supposed to make eye contact or avoid looking at anyone. I somehow get caught doing both, focusing on a bored expression, then someone scribbling in a notebook, and then someone with arched brows who’s most definitely questioning if I’m going to faint. My sole purpose becomes to not allow them to win as I focus on a beige patch on the far wall and clear my throat. My throat still feels sticky, so I clear my throat again, and then cough, choking on air.
“Hi,” I stutter, my voice low and froggy. I sound like I have a severe case of laryngitis.
I clear my throat again.
“Tick-tock, Miss Foster.” Professor Hawkins glances at her watch.
I clear my throatagain.
Professor Hawkins rolls her eyes, clearly pegging me as a lost cause.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I’m … uh …” My palms are sweating and I’m shaking, my notes trembling as I grasp them tighter. “I’m excited to intro-introduce you, you all, to Bessie Coleman,” I read from my notecards until Professor Hawkins calls me out for that, too. My gaze skips over the class again, the pitying stares, the look of genuine shock that I’m so terrible as I am as I skip over words, repeat myself, and say versions of ‘ah’ and ‘um’ at least a hundred times before Professor Hawkins calls time.
I only make it through seventy percent of my speech, guaranteeing I would have failed even if I hadn’t been incredibly awkward.
I wish I could fade into the beige walls as I slink back to my seat.
“Miss Foster has just shown you why practicing your speeches is essential,” Professor Hawkins says, clueless to the fact that between agonizing over attempted apologies to Katie and lost thoughts about Nolan, I spent all of yesterday writing and rehearsing this five-minute speech rather than working on finding the best banana bread recipe as I wanted to, building that hollowness in my chest that had me researching last-minute flights that would take me to one of a million places to try and fill the void and take me far from today’s crashed landing.
“Also, it’s essential for you to know your subject and have a passion behind it. If you don’t care about what you’re talking about, you’re never going to be able to gain the interest of anyone else.”
Brielle gives me an empathetic smile before Professor Hawkins calls on her next target.
When class finally ends, my muscles are still tense as I regret not having taken a red-eye flight to anywhere with a pretty picture last night.
“I’ll see you Wednesday?” Brielle asks, sounding hopeful and also uncertain as we step outside. The hot September afternoon feels like freedom.
I nod. “I’ll be here.”
She gives me a parting smile.
“Hadley?” Evelyn is a dozen feet away, her bag over one shoulder. “Hey. I was worried I’d never see anyone I knew around here,” she says. “I’m having a severe case of little fish in a giant pond feeling.”
The streams of people moving around campus lend to her analogy. She glances at the building I just left, and the large green space in front of us.
“Do you want to get lunch? We could head to The Spiced Chai,” she says.
I don’t. I don’t want to be around someone who reminds me of Nolan or his friends who had me feeling a level of envy because of their blatant closeness. In addition, I’m surviving on fumes after the disaster of my speech, but her hopeful expression has me nodding. “Yeah.”
“How did things go with Katie?” she asks as we cross campus.
“She’s been staying at her boyfriend’s,” I admit.
Evelyn winces. “That was my first time meeting her. Needless to say, it wasn’t my best first impression. I’m sure she hates me.”
“I’m pretty sure her anger was aimed solely at Nolan,” I admit.
Our conversation wanes as we reach the road. It’s four lanes and constantly busy. I both love and hate that Camden is downtown. It makes accessing things easy and convenient most times, but the traffic is a tough trade for convenience some days.
The light turns and I move to cross, but Evelyn grabs my wrist, hauling me back seconds before a car speeds in front of us.
My heart beats unevenly in my chest as I look at her, horrorstruck and grateful. My stupid speech and the realization I’ll have to do it again next week are suddenly insignificant in comparison to what nearly happened—what would have happened—if Evelyn wasn’t here.
“I hate how busy this road is,” Evelyn says. “I made the mistake of parking over in the student lot up here last week,” she points toward one of the many small lots on campus. “Never again. I nearly had to call and beg someone to help me get out.”
“Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much.”
She shakes her head. “We should have gone up a couple of blocks. It’s easier to cross up there, I was just trying to get us into the shade.”