22. Hadley
Hadley
I t’s been two weeks since my friends-with-benefits arrangement with Nolan began.
It hasn’t been flawless. Last Saturday, I didn’t know how to assure Katie I wasn’t mad or didn’t feel like the third wheel and ultimately went out with her to meet up with Carsen.
I wore my Little Red Riding Hood costume from last year, and Katie borrowed Hannah’s Bell costume.
Janelle, the blonde cheerleader was there, Nolan’s number painted on her cheek again.
I had to remind myself it didn’t matter a dozen more times than I should have before Nolan caught up with me, tugged me into the bathroom, and we had sex against the bathroom vanity.
He went out of town the next week for an away game, something I had forgotten to consider, so we made up for the delayed release by having sex twice yesterday in the basement in between my many practiced attempts for my informative speech, that Nolan, Hannah, Ethan, Carsen, and Katie sat through like champs, listening to me at least a dozen times between making chicken scampi and cinnamon rolls.
We followed dinner by watching a Halloween movie, all of us together.
It was the perfect weekend.
“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, like myself , public speaking can be intimidating, and really, really difficult.” 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 their underwear …” 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.
I grin, realizing if I had to call someone because I needed help or to share news with—good or bad—Nolan would be near the top of my list. “We’ve become pretty good friends.”
Her smile grows genuine. “That was ingenious. Everyone’s going to think about what kind of prop they can use now to draw that kind of reaction.”
“I’ll see you Wednesday.” While waiting for Evelyn, I text Nolan.
Me: You’re my favorite human of the day.
Me: My professor was speechless.
Me: I really didn’t know if you were there for support or a prank for a minute.
Nolan: She was speechless because you did one hell of a job.
Me: I’m pretty sure she was speechless because of your pecs.
Nolan: About time you admit liking my pecs.
Me: Thank you
Nolan: Anytime, Cutlass. Anytime.
“Happy Halloween!” Evelyn calls with a smile. “Did they really strip down to their underwear in your class or is Hudson exaggerating.”
My laughter is the only confirmation she needs.
“What did you do? What did your professor do?” She puts her hands on her cheeks. “I can’t even imagine—well, I totally can imagine—but I don’t know what I’d do if they showed up to my class in their underwear.”
“To preserve accuracy, they showed up and left with clothes on, they just removed them mid-speech.”
Evelyn chuckles, her rosy cheeks expressing her second-hand embarrassment. “Was your professor okay with it?”
“I think so. I mean, she said nice props and didn’t throw me out of the class.”
Evelyn shakes her head again, chuckling.
It’s unusually warm today, the humidity high, and the sky a strange brown tone as we walk to The Spiced Chai, talking about Halloween plans and books.
Inside the small coffee shop, the scents of freshly ground coffee, cinnamon, and freshly baked bread greet us along with a plethora of decorations.
Orange, black, and lime green balloons are strung in a large arch, Halloween banners are hung, and skeletons and witch’s hats adorn every surface.
I order a hot caramel apple cider and avocado toast. Evelyn orders a toffee mocha and a pumpkin cheesecake muffin.
We sit at a table near the front of the store, under a giant spiderweb with a purple illuminated spider that is horribly, creepily wonderful.
“How’s your prank war with Nolan going?” Evelyn asks.
“We haven’t had many pranks lately,” I say, feeling a hint of surprise at the realization.
“We’ve both been kind of busy.” Nolan’s been spending even more time at the gym and practice, and I’ve been so preoccupied with my speech and homework that our time together is hard-earned and spent together naked or hanging out.
“Football has been so crazy.” She sighs before taking a drink of her mocha. “I feel sorry for them. I think they’re all stressed out, trying to learn these alternate plays they might get the chance to run while maintaining their existing workouts. How’s Nolan handling it?”
“He’s doing okay.” It feels like a lie because I don’t know how he’s handling it. Aside from the occasional gruff remark, Nolan barely shows signs of being stressed or disgruntled.
“I know he’s looking forward to the Camden tradition, tonight,” she says, eyes bright.
“Have you heard what it entails?” I ask.
Evelyn shakes her head. “Just that it’s Halloween-themed.”
“I don’t know whether to be excited or nervous.”
She chuckles. “Both. Definitely both.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Can I be nosey and ask if you guys are dating?”
Nerves have me feeling like I’m about to deliver a speech to an entire auditorium, spotlight trained on me. We never discussed what we’re telling people if anything.
“You guys are so cute together, and he just seems so happy when you’re around or when mentioning you.”
“We’re just friends.” I’ve used this label a dozen times in reference to Nolan and me—more—yet it leaves the taste and sensation of ash in my mouth this time.
“Hudson and I were friends before we began dating.”
“I don’t think Nolan’s looking to date.”
She winces. “I heard things with his ex ended pretty badly. I was kind of the same way this summer. My ex ended up cheating on me with his ex. Things kind of spiraled for me.”
“I’m sorry. Why do so many people cheat? Why not just break up if you’re unhappy in your relationship? My ex cheated on me with my roommate.”
“No!”
I nod. “They moved to Scotland together in August.”
Her jaw drops. “Hadley, that’s horrible. What a jerk. Both of them are jerks. I hope they catch some kind of Scottish curse.”
I grin feebly. “We hadn’t been dating very long and it wasn’t serious, so it wasn’t a heartbreak.”
“No, but they still leave scars. It’s hard to trust after someone puts your heart in a blender with zero regards.”
Her words have me thinking about Janelle and how every time a girl has desire shining in their eyes when looking at Nolan, it reaffirms that our situation is casual and temporary. That I’m temporary.