12. Will
WILL
“Dinner tonight at The Perch, you in, Cap?” one of my teammates asks me.
“Can’t tonight. I need to go meet my partner for a project that’s due this week.” My bags are nearly packed, and I need to bolt to my car. At this rate, I’m going to be late. Coach thought we seemed a little distracted, so he made us do extra running drills at the end of practice.
Fuck, I hope Porter doesn’t think I’m ditching him after I was the one who insisted on doing this in person so I could practice. I’m not actually afraid of public speaking, so I feel guilty about lying to him, but practicing can’t hurt, and it’s a good way to spend more time with him.
As soon as I shout a quick “bye” to the majority of the team, I run out of the locker room and toss my bag in the trunk. A couple of minutes later I’m pulling up to the building we have our public speaking class in.
I’m not sure how nervous I should act since the motivation behind my request was to spend more time with Porter from the beginning.
Who knows, though, maybe I will freeze up there.
Talking to a team I’m comfortable with is a lot different from talking about a topic I have an opinion on—especially one that I have a very privileged take on—in front of a class of strangers.
Other people’s judgments have never carried that much weight in my life though, so I think I’ll be okay. Thanks Mom and Dad for that one.
I jog up the stairs inside the building and turn into the classroom to find Porter waiting for me, so I hurry to explain. “Hey, sorry, lacrosse ran a little late, and my phone died.”
“I figured. I told myself there’s no way you’d be blowing me off for something you requested my help with,” he teases, and I laugh, feeling the stress of being late leave my body.
“Well, it’ll be good for us to do a practice round in the classroom, right? Can’t hurt.”
“Ready to get right into it?” Porter checks, positioning himself on one side at the front of the room, facing the audience.
“Might as well,” I agree, moving to stand across from him even though I’m not in any rush to hurry this up and get out of here.
I place my notes on the podium and go for it.
“Hi everyone who will actually be here when we do this. I’m Will Carter and this is Porter Johnson.
Our topic is if community service should be required to graduate high school.
I’m arguing for it and Porter will be arguing against it. ”
“Solid start,” Porter compliments.
“Well, someone did threaten that it was their grade on the line as well, so I’m trying not to let him down.”
“How very noble of you,” he deadpans. “But back to this presentation. I think my argument is stronger, so you should go first.”
“We’ll see about that,” I tease, even if he’s probably right.
I take a deep breath to gather myself, focusing on the points we’ve discussed as to why it should be a requirement.
“Community service is a great way to get involved in organizations and efforts you’re passionate about.
It offers valuable lessons, improves understanding of real-world needs, and allows students to explore potential career interests while building a resume.
” I start with the CliffsNotes before going deeper into each point, adding specific examples and benefits.
By the time I finish, Porter starts a slow clap for me, and I can’t help but huff a laugh.
“You going to applaud me in class in front of everyone too? Was I that convincing I even got you to change your argument?”
“Oh not at all, but I know you were nervous so I didn’t want you to feel bad.
Want to see convincing? Let me have the floor.
” He blows out a breath and starts, looking into the empty seats in front of us.
“That’s a very compelling argument, Will.
But there are so many factors you’re not considering.
Real situations that kids face every day.
Volunteering sounds nice, it obviously has community and personal growth benefits—I’m not arguing that—but what about the kids who go to work every day after school?
The kids whose parents—or parent—don’t have the resources to bring them to unpaid labor because they have a sick child at home?
Or they have to work outside the typical nine-to-five?
It’s unfair to punish a child for not having outside resources available and then make it a requirement. ”
He pauses for a moment, and I interrupt. I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. “I knew you were going to be compelling, but shit. I’m glad I’m going first. There’s no way I’d be able to make my points after that and you’ve barely started.”
“It’s easy when you have real experience with most of this stuff.” The comment must slip, and the moment it registers, his eyes widen as if he showed more of himself to me than he’d intended.
“How much more haven’t you told me? Were you sick growing up?” That example sounded a little too specific if he wasn’t.
He slouches a bit like he’s shutting down, folding in on himself. “Shit, I shouldn’t make it so emotional. I can stick to the argument we’d discussed.”
I close the distance between us and gently place a hand on his arms that are now crossed in front of him. “Hey, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not critiquing your approach at all. That was powerful. I was just curious. I want to get to know you better.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.
I assume he’ll tell me it’s none of my business, but he surprises me.
“Not me, my brother. He was diagnosed with cancer when I was seven. He was five. He’s okay now, he’s been in remission for years, but our whole childhood was fucked to be frank. ”
He chuckles, but it’s not a happy sound. I don’t move my hand, just tighten my grip as I meet his gaze, letting him see that I’m listening, that I’m here.
“My mom was busy with work and all his appointments and treatments,” he continues.
“It was expensive, even with health insurance. So, I started working as soon as I was old enough. Well, technically, that’s not true.
I started working before that. I found a dishwashing job that’d pay me cash that I could walk to.
Anyway, required volunteering really would’ve just made my already complicated life so much harder. ”
My heart squeezes in my chest as I imagine a younger version of him walking home from a dishwashing job at night before waking up to go to school the next day.
I have the strongest urge to wrap my arms around him, but I know other people didn’t grow up with the physical affection I did, and I don’t know if Porter would even want me to hug him.
So I stay where I am, and force myself to process what he just said, to think about how different our lives have been even though we both ended up in the same place.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I say, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
I shake my head slowly, feeling a wave of something that’s more than just guilt clawing its way up my throat.
“I thought this topic was black and white a few weeks ago when I picked it. Thank you for helping me expand my perspective.”
He shrugs as if he’s used to diminishing his struggles. “Don’t blame yourself. After what you told me about your childhood, it sounds like you were one of the lucky ones.”
I shake my head, still feeling guilty even though he’s not asking me to apologize.
“I’ve always been in private schools, and I guess it was sheltered with the likely high tuition fee.
We had a few scholarship students, but they were mostly there for their grades, so they seemed to study a lot and keep to themselves. ”
I’ve always thought of my parents, and by extension myself, as pretty down-to-earth, generous, chill people. I thought that meant I didn’t fit the spoiled stereotype despite having more money than most. I realize now just how wrong I was. There’s a lot I was able to ignore because of my privilege.
“Well, how do you feel now? Ready to get us an A?” Porter asks, changing the topic once again. I want to know more about his brother and his mom, but I don’t want to overstep. He’s slowly been sharing pieces of himself with me, and I’m trying to savor them all without pushing too hard.
“Sure am,” I reply confidently with a grin.
The thought of saying goodbye already has my smile falling though.
Maybe we don’t need to split up just yet.
“Hey, I’m not sure what you’re doing the rest of the night, but I skipped dinner with the guys after practice.
Would you want to go grab something with me? ”
He hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I’m down.”
“Hell yeah,” I cheer as I pack up the note cards. “How about Mexican?”
“As long as we can get a margarita.”
“Bet.”