The Mendax employee relations manager—a supremely bored-looking man in a tweed suit and wire-rimmed glasses, with a shiny head—glanced down at his clipboard from the front of the room. “Thank you, Mr. Kasen, for that long diatribe against our vending machine snacks. HR will take your point that low-fat granola bars are a human rights violation under consideration. Next up, Ms. Lee Stone, to discuss—” he squinted at the agenda “—‘a thrilling, mutually beneficial, history-making announcement from Lise Motors’?” He blinked out into the audience. “Is this a prank?”
I didn’t need to look at Ben, because I couldfeelhis eye roll as I scrambled to my feet.
“Not a prank,” I assured Mr. Manager. Instead of facing him, I swung the mic stand around to face the crowd of employees. Many of them straightened in their chairs at the unexpected move. I smiled my most winning smile.
“Good evening, y’all. The history-making part is that I’m here tonight to ask you to support an important piece of legislation that would dramatically increase Texas’s use of electric vehicles.”
Tittering among the crowd.
“Before you say, ‘Lee, are you bananas? I’m an oil and gas employee—why would I support electric cars?’ let me say that youareemployed by Mendax, I know, but that’s not reallywhoyou are. Who you are is moms and dads and uncles and daughters and sons. You’re the people who raise money together every year for your local homeless shelter, to support people in your community who are down on their luck.” Yes, I’d done my research about Mendax’s yearly employee charity drive. “You’re the people who paint your streets with beautiful rainbows every June to make your Pride parade more festive. You created a viral video last year reenactingHamiltonto ask the cast to stop by your local theater because a little girl with cancer wanted to meet them. You—”
“Excuse me, Ms. Stone!” Mr. Manager interrupted hotly. “This is highly inappropriate. Does corporate know you’re here?”
“Let her speak!” someone called from the back, and it straightened my spine.
“No, corporate doesn’t know I’m here. But I think the employees of Mendax Oil can be trusted to think for themselves—”
“Ms. Stone, I’m going to have to insist you leave this town hall immediately.”
“Hey,” a deep voice boomed, and my heart skipped a beat. Ben stood up in the middle of the crowd. “Are you in the habit of quelling free speech? And interrupting women when they’re talking?”
“Booooo,”yelled the crowd.“Let her talk!”
Mr. Manager gaped at the people flagrantly disregarding his authority. I saw my window.
“Thank you.” I beamed, and the booing calmed. “As I was saying, you’re a whole lot more than oil company employees. You’re good people and great neighbors and concerned citizens who I imagine want the world to be healthy and safe and beautiful for everyone. That’s why I’m asking you to consider writing Senator Roy McBuck to say you’re a Mendax employee who supports the Green Machine bill.”
“Will this bill kill our jobs?” a man yelled from the back.
I squinted, trying to find the man’s face in the crowd so I could look him in the eyes. “If all state vehicles switch to electric, it could mean a loss of profits for Mendax in a few years. How that will translate into layoffs is up to Mendax, but I won’t lie to you—it could.”
The crowd broke into loud, unhappy murmurings. I could tell I was losing them.
“But think about the long-term gains. The oil industry will take a hit, yes, like the coal industry did when we moved to oil and gas. And even though I couldn’t care less about the oil and gas CEOs—”
Definite head nodding and affirmative noises at that.
“I know we need to talk about finding new jobs for folks who get displaced. We will have that conversation, I promise you. But I hope I’m convincing you that, in the big picture, our bill would be good progress for society.”
I took a deep breath and looked around. There were a lot of frowning, thoughtful faces. No downright sneering or jeering, so at least there was that. This was probably the best I was going to get for now.
“Thank you for hearing me out. There will be more information coming to you in the mail, and in the meantime, you can shoot me questions by email. I’m Lee at Lisemotors-dot-com.” Awkwardly, I bowed in conclusion. Then, cursing myself, I walked away from the mic as quickly as I could, making a pit stop to collect my jacket—careful not to look at Ben—and continued down the aisle of the Hudson County community center to the exit.
I walked out the doors calmly—nay, gracefully—and then, as soon as they were shut, I scurried full speed into the parking lot, my breath leaving a trail of small clouds in the icy air.
That went well, right? I didn’t often have to speak publicly—I was merely the pitch girl, so the task usually fell on Dakota’s shoulders, all the interviews and announcements hers to make. But I thought I’d done well. I hadn’t stumbled when things got hard, and I hadn’t stammered on any words. There was that unfortunate bow at the end. Maybe it was like flexing a muscle—the more I did it, the better I’d get.
I felt a sudden rush of pride. And, given all the anxiety I’d been feeling lately, the positivity was like a balm.
“Lee, wait up.”
Ah. And now the source of my anxiety was jogging toward me.
I glanced from Ben to my car, which was only a few feet away. I could probably make it inside and get the engine running before he reached me. I’d wanted Ben to talk to me for two weeks, yet now that it seemed imminent, I was getting cold feet.
Ben was back to wearing his dark, boring navy jacket and red tie, like that time after Ely’s house when he’d been supremely grumpy. Wait a second—were Ben’s sartorial choices the key to deciphering his moods? I wondered for a second if what he was wearing was a sign of his innermost feelings, then shook my head to clear my thoughts. Ben was voluntarily talking to me. This was a big step.Focus, Stoner.
“Thanks for sticking up for me in there,” I said carefully, folding my arms over my chest. My puffy jacket was very thick. It felt like I was hugging a giant marshmallow.
