He shrugs it off. Offers an easy smile. “It’s all good. They don’t mean any harm, really. It just gets redundant after a while.” He sets his notebook on the table and begins to flip through the pages. “Anyway, should we start? You better go easy on me, Ives, because I haven’t practiced at all.”
“I haven’t either,” I admit, still a bit shaky, but I pull my outline from my bag.
Gripping the paper between weak fingers, it suddenly hits me what I’m about to do. My palms go clammy, my heart rate kicks up, and I chew at the inside of my cheek. Feeling Wes’s eyes, I glance up.
“Want me to go first?” he asks slowly. “You look freaked.”
“I’m fine,” I say weakly.
“It’s just me. This is why we’re doing this.”
I nod, my mouth too dry to form words.
Maybe this was a terrible idea.
Wes unfolds himself from his chair and stands in front of the far wall. He clears his throat, glances up at me, and launches into his speech about the importance of team bonding in sports.
He fumbles a lot. Reads too much off the paper. Butchers a phrase and then backtracks with a string of muttered curses. He does his best to make eye contact and minimize hisums, but a few slip in here and there, and he winces every time.
But truthfully, the whole thing is almost endearing to watch. Even muscling his way through a half-baked speech, Wes is charming. Charismatic. And when he laughs at his own mistakes, rolling his eyes in this self-deprecating sort of way, it makes me want to smile. Cheer him on. He could recite the alphabet, mess upHthroughP, and still get a solid grade for delivery.
I will not be so fortunate.
“Team bonding is beneficial in sports because it boosts communication, motivation, and team productivity,” he finishes, and then groans, dropping back into the chair. “And this is why I can never be president. Too many damn speeches.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sure that’s the only thing stopping you.”
He snickers and then shakes his head. “The conclusion needs work. And I’m not sold on point three. And I messed up my attention grabber.” He runs his hand through his hair, frowning down at the page in front of him. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
“I thought you were really great for a first try,” I tell him.
He looks up at me, his expression hopeful. “Yeah? You think?”
“Yeah, you weren’t bad at all," I assure, trying not to focus too hard on the fact that he seems to value my opinion. It’s been ages since someone did that. "Once you memorize it, you’ll be in a decent spot. I would just be conscious of yourums. And don’t wince every time you make a mistake. Sometimes I didn’t even realize until you gave it away with your body language.”
I’m awarded with a warm smile I did nothing to deserve. All I did was tell him the truth. “Thanks, Ives. I’m glad we’re doing this. I’d be a wreck all on my own.”
“I doubt that’s true,” I mutter, my face growing hot at the sincerity in his voice.
“It is. I just feel comfortable around you, you know?” I shrug, trying not to read too much into his words. Wes appears comfortable around every person he meets. “You ready to give it a shot?”
Now it’s my turn to wince. “Sure.”
My hands are already shaky when I grab my outline off the table, and I try to remember all the bullshit Markham told us in class.Think positively. Visualize success. Remember to breathe.
My legs wobble the second I get to my feet.
It’s just Wes. It’s just one person.
“You got this,” Wes assures. “Take your time. Screw up all you want.”
I shift on my feet, looking down at my bullet points. I force myself to remain calm. Blowing out a breath, I glance back up at Wes, but instead of seeing his encouraging face, I picture a classroom full of judgmental smirks. I picture thirty eyes trained on my face, scrutinizing not only the words out of my mouth, but everything about me. My hair. My clothes. My face. My body.
My grip tightens on the paper as the words blur together. My vision tunnels, blood rushing to my face because I don’t want their eyes. I don’t want anyone’s eyes.
I just want to be left alone.
“I—I—I?—”
