I give the smallest nod, my eyes never wavering from his, and make one final attempt to find my voice.
“H-how many people here consider themselves i-introverts?” I stutter out, the question catching on my tongue, and dread seizes my chest at the shaky delivery. But when over half the class raises their hand, my eyes flit back to Wes’s in shock. He smiles and nods with encouragement, and I force myself to continue. Taking a breath, I attempt the next line. “I-I also consider myself an introvert. The g-good news is that there are, um, definite benefits to spending time alone…”
With every word, my panic subsides. My eyes never waver from Wes’s, our connection across the room my lifeline, hauling me out of my own head, steering me back on track. The more I talk, the more muscle memory kicks in, and the easier itbecomes to recite the speaking points I’ve spent countless hours memorizing.
Wes’s gaze never once wavers. He hardly blinks, remaining a strong and steady force of encouragement. And when I deliver the final sentence, his broad smile is so blinding that I have to squint. I smile back in return, wider than I have in a long time, relief and joy bubbling up inside me thatI did it.
“Nicely done, Ivy,” says Markham. “Give it up for Ivy Combs, everyone.” The room applauds, and Wes jumps to his feet, nearly knocking over his desk in the process. He whistles between his fingers andwhoopsloudly, his claps reverberating through the room. Markham gestures for him to be seated. “Alright, Mr. Tucker. Let’s not get too rowdy, now.”
“Sorry, Professor,” he says, dropping back down in his chair. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“I’m sure,” says Markham with a playful eye roll. “Ivy, let me have your note cards and then you can take a seat.”
I pass the cards to the professor before making my way to the back of the room, slipping into my chair. My hands are still shaking, this time from adrenaline, and I press them flat against the desk.
Wes is still grinning at me, his entire face alight. “You fuckingkilled it, Ives,” he whisper-shouts.
“You think?” I ask, self-doubt creeping in like it always does.
His gaze is unwavering. “Iknow. You were incredible.”
I give him another relieved smile. Does he realize I couldn’t have done it without him? “Thanks. I messed up at the beginning, though.”
“You could barely tell. Trust me.”
“Youcould tell.”
“Sure,” he says softly, something shifting behind his eyes. His gaze intensifies, and for a moment I’m drowning in those darkirises. “But no one in this class knows you like I do. And thank fuck for that.”
My cheeks warm at the gruff note in his voice, and I stare down at my desk, biting back another smile. When I glance up at him again, he’s still looking at me, mouth tilted up in a smirk. Our eyes remain locked until the last of the students starts presenting, and then I reluctantly face the front of the room.
My relief is heady, more intoxicating than any liquor, and I have to work to stop from grinning through the rest of class like a crazed lunatic.
Finally, Markham stands. “And so concludes the first speech of the semester! Well done, everyone. See? That wasn’t so bad, was it? No homework for today. Soak in the relief that your first speech is out the door. Only two more to go.”
I get to my feet, pulling my bag onto the desk as I slip into my jacket. I look to Wes, about to tell him how relieved I am, only to find his attention already occupied by the girl who presented at the start of class. Her name escapes me, but there’s no denying that she’s pretty. A weird feeling stirs my gut, and I swallow.
“You were really great, Wes,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sofunny.”
I look down at my backpack, pretending to arrange things inside while eavesdropping on Wes’s response. “Thanks. Lia, right?”
My heart sinks. He knows hername.“Yes! You remembered from my speech. I was wondering, would you want to grab a coffee?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t today,” Wes replies. “Maybe some other time.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she says, a bit too salaciously if you ask me.
Maybe some other time.
I zip up my bag as she walks away, Wes’s words echoing in my head and filling me with an overwhelming sense of dread.
“How are we going to celebrate?” Wes asks, oblivious to my dismay. I school my expression before looking up at him, worried he’ll read the jealousy there. I shouldn’t be concerned about some girl. It’s not like Wes and I are anything more than friends. I don’t want anything more.
I can’thandleanything more.
“We shouldn’t celebrate until the class is over,” I say, following him out of the room.
“I disagree. Celebrating the small victories is important for morale.”
