“Are you ready, Miss Foster?” Professor Hawkins asks.
I briefly wonder what she’d say if I told her I wasn’t. With it being Halloween, I especially don’t want to go because I’m worried it will change my feelings about one of my favorite holidays. I’ve given my informative speech four times already, and while I’ve managed to get through nearly all of it, I still say a version of uh or um at least a dozen times, which I’ve learned is Hawkins's greatest pet peeve when it comes to public speaking. She also hates lack of eye contact, throat clearing, and repeating words—all habits I possess that she points out to me—repeatedly.
Brielle offers a hopeful smile. “You’ve got this.”
I slip out of my seat and head to the front of the room that despite being two months into the class, is still entirely, painfully, dully beige. It makes me feel a hit of nostalgia for grade school when teachers acknowledge and celebrated Halloween with cute crafts, decorations, and party games no one cared about looking ridiculous doing.
I glance at my notecards, bent from overuse. I memorized this speech two weeks ago—recite it every night, multiple times in my dreams, while showering, and in the car—I know I don’t need my notecards, but they lend a sense of comfort.
I begin to clear my throat and stop when Hawkins scribbles on the clipboard she’s holding, no doubt deducting points from my performance.
The door to the classroom opens then, and hope and relief that Professor Hawkins might be needed for an emergency meeting, or someone has come to warn us about a potential tornado or flood that has shut down the city and requires us to evacuate now. Instead, Nolan appears, leading a dozen people—all people I am beginning to recognize and know because they’re his friends and teammates—follow him to the back of the class as students whisper and stare, trying to discern why our class has nearly just doubled on account of the starting lineup of Camden’s football team.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, we’re in the middle of a class,” Professor Hawkins says.
“We’re here to serve as a visual aide,” Nolan says, from the seat he’s taken. “Props.” His eyes are on me, a silent nod of assurance to continue.
I want to remind him this is doing little to help calm my nerves, but then I feel it, that energy I feel whenever he’s around that I’ve mistaken for being a conduit to the restless itch, is actually siphoning off the edge of my nerves and has my shoulders and nerves slowly relaxing.
“Begin, Miss Foster,” Professor Hawkins instructs, looking regretful as soon as she gives me the green light.
I nod and try to draw on picturing my living room. My friends. I try to imagine being in the basement, straddling Nolan. “Public speaking is an art…um…” I forget the next words, struggling to recall both my speech and things that make me feel calm and comfortable. That warmth is replaced with nerves as I glance at my notecard, the silence ballooning. “Public speaking is an art,” I say again, “one that has led to revolutions and wars, convinced nations to, uh, select gods and, um, beliefs—” The same blank space fills in my thoughts, making my cheeks grow warm. I am going to fail. Again. In front of my class, and Nolan.
I glance up and find a familiar set of eyes on me. I shake my head, telling him this is hopeless. Nolan nods, holding my stare. That warm sensation slips over me, weaker than it is without the stress of my most loathed activity, but there, nonetheless. He nods again, a gentle encouragement. I stare at him and continue. My voice shakes, and I’m still trembling, but the words populate from reciting this for him dozens of times. “Public speaking is also an influence from our earliest days that continues to motivate, inform, and connect or separate societies, regardless of technology being at everyone’s fingertips.
“Public speaking is criti … crucial not only for our personal lives but also our…” Someone coughs, briefly distracting me. “Our, um professional lives, allowing tough and thoughtful conversations alike with friends, family, coworkers, bosses, and, um, significant others.”
“However,” I realize I just skipped an entire point, but rather than have a flashback from a decade ago, I focus on Nolan and continue. “For some people, likemyself, public speaking can be intimidating, and really,reallydifficult.” I pause, allowing the small snickers to float through the room. My gaze jumps to Brielle, who laughs the loudest and most sincerely. I grin at her, then return my stare to Nolan. “So I’m here to help you learn how to, um, successfully stand in front of a crowd and give a—mostly—flawless speech.” I flip notecards out of habit as a few laugh. I don’t allow myself to look at them or wonder if they’re laughing at me.
“First off, it’s important to face your fears because they sadly aren’t going anywhere, and if you don’t address them,” I clear my throat, “you may find yourself giving the same speech six times.” The class chuckles again. I drink in Nolan’s smile.
“There are some techniques you can try to help ease these fears that include rehearsing your speech, practicing deep breathing, uh, visualizing yourself successfully de-delivering your speech, and some people’s personal favorite, you can…” My words taper off as Nolan and his friends stand, pulling off their T-shirts and lowering their sweatpants to their ankles before sitting in nothing but their underwear.
Professor Hawkins is stunned—appalled. The class is taking pictures, laughing, and whistling. I’m stuck staring, unsure whether to laugh or be upset that he’s just hijacked my speech and may have cost me my grade.
Nolan waves at me to continue, and beyond reason or fear, I somehow do. “You can imagine your audience in theirunderwear…” I wave to the back row with an unnecessary reference, earning another round of laughter from nearly everyone in the class, except a few guys who are likely feeling grossly inadequate compared to the god-like statues, smiling fiendishly.
My speech continues for several more minutes, my gaze locked on Nolan’s face and chest, trying to block out thoughts of sleeping with him because regardless of his assuring me it helps him it does nothing but distract me. I still stutter and pause, but I make it through the entire speech and do it in my allotted time.
The majority of the class stands as they clap and whistle. I don’t try to pretend it’s for my speech. We all know it’s for the guys currently pulling their clothes back on.
Professor Hawkins shakes her head, looking slightly confounded for the first time.
“If there’s a problem, I swear, she had nothing to do with it,” Palmer tells her.
“But, if you thought it was awesome, it was her idea,” Lenny adds.
The class chuckles. A few more photos are stolen as the guys file out of the classroom, Nolan at the tail end. “You nailed it, Cutlass.” He winks before disappearing out the door.
I turn my attention to Professor Hawkins, realizing I’m borderline comfortable in front of the class for the first time ever.
“Creative props, Miss Foster.” Her tone is borderline contemptuous, but I swear I see the hint of amusement in her eyes.
When class is excused Brielle is on me like a migraine following a hangover. “I didn’t know you were friends with the football team.”
“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head. “My roommate’s brother is on the team,” is a much easier and safer explanation than the reality.
“So, a friend,by association, was willing to convince a dozen friends to come to your class and put on that kind of a show for no other reason than you being roommates with his sister?” She raises her eyebrows, poking a dozen holes in my vague explanation. “I think there’s more to this story…” She lowers her chin. It’s not an accusing look but perhaps curiosity that has her waiting for an answer.