Chapter 11
Grace
Fifteen Years Old
I’m rushing to my final and most dreaded class of the day—English. The room is on the other side of campus from my last class, so I’m hustling to make it on time.
Hurrying inside, I survey the somewhat dated classroom, with its messy chalkboard, maroon carpet, dusty bookshelves, and rows of wooden desks.
I don’t see anyone I’m even remotely familiar with.
I sit down at the only available seat near the back of the room and pull out my yellow notebook and favorite mechanical pencil.
After writing his name on the board, our teacher, Mr. Aberdeen, quiets us.
“Hello, class!”
“Hello,” everyone mumbles. I keep my mouth shut.
“You can do better than that! Hello, class!” he shouts.
“Hello,” everyone groans loudly. I still keep my mouth shut. I always take any opportunity to choose silence over speech in a new situation that might trigger my stutter.
The syllabus I received on Freshman Orientation Night stated that the first unit finishes with a public speaking requirement. We have to present in front of the whole class with a partner, which couldn’t be more out of my comfort zone.
“Today, we’re going to start with saying our name and a fun fact about ourselves.” Mr. Aberdeen scans the room, and his gaze lands on me. “You seem a little quiet today.” He smiles and glances down at the class roster in his hands before looking up again. “Susannah?”
I nod.
“I remember you from orientation. Welcome, Susannah! Please share your fun fact.”
Wracking my brain for a fun fact that requires me to speak the fewest words, I barely open my mouth when I mumble, “I like d-dogs.”
Mr. Aberdeen leans forward and cups his ear. “I don’t think anyone heard you! Say it again with some gusto!”
When he looks at me expectantly, I want to sink into the ground and become an earthworm, where I only emerge from the dirt on rainy days before slithering back into the soil.
I speak a little louder. “I like d-d-dogs.”
A few heads swivel my way, and the teacher looks at me with pity.
Embarrassment swallows me whole. I know what everyone’s thinking.
Either I’m a fifteen-year-old who’s scared of her English teacher, or I’m a fifteen-year-old who stutters.
It’s only a matter of time before they find out which one is true.
A boy wearing an Ohio Warriors hoodie a row ahead of me snickers, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t be afraid, Susie. Aberdeen won’t bite.”
That garners a few laughs from the kids around him. I hear a “good one, Garett” from one of the boys sitting at a nearby desk.
My face heats, and I bite the inside of my cheek, gnawing off little pieces of tissue. Do they think I haven’t tried everything to get rid of my pathetic stutter? Short of going to speech therapy, which Dad won’t pay for, I’ve exhausted all of my options.
Sometimes, when people are particularly mean, I want to throw my trauma in their face to see how they react. Tell them my mother died. That I get enough mocking at home to last me a lifetime.
“I’ll go next!”
I glance beside me, where an attractive boy with square glasses perched on his nose sits.
His messy blond hair flops over his forehead.
Sporting a dimple in his right cheek, he smiles at me before loudly announcing, “I’m Ben.
My fun fact is I hate the Warriors. They haven’t won in years, and their fans are real douchebags. ”
I’m floored. Is someone other than Danny actually standing up for me? In front of everyone? A warm feeling floods my stomach. This has never happened to me before. I tentatively smile back at him, not wanting to do anything that might ruin his opinion of me.
He leans in to whisper, “Don’t let that idiot get to you. I’m pretty sure he has a total of one brain cell floating around in his head.”
“Assuming he has a b-brain is giving him a lot of credit,” I whisper back.
He chuckles softly. “Good one, Susannah.”
I pause and take a deep breath to relax, feeling less anxious already. “Actually, you can call me Grace.”
Mr. Aberdeen finishes taking attendance before reiterating the public speaking requirement in the syllabus. “Class, I’m going to give you the last half of the period to find a partner and discuss your presentations.”
Ben leans closer to me. “Hey, do you want to partner up on this public speaking thing?”
My eyes widen as I stare at him with surprise. “Um, are you sure you want to be paired with me? I tend to stutter when I’m nervous or rushing.”
He stares at me, jaw dropped, with fake incredulity. “Wait. You have a stutter?”
An involuntary giggle slips out of me. It looks like I, of all people, made a friend. Ben scoots his desk closer to mine.
“Are you sure you want to be stuck with Stuttering Susie here, who can’t even string two words together, man?” Garett asks Ben, snickering with a few of his buddies.
Ben sighs and looks at Garett like he’s gum on the bottom of his shoe. “Here’s the thing, Gare. Me and her could quite literally stand at the front of the room with our mouths closed and still get a better grade than you. Do you even know how to read?”
Garett sputters a “pansy ass” as he pulls his hoodie over his head.
I softly whistle. “Wow, that was…”
“I’d say he’ll be thinking about my awesome insult for a while, but I’m not sure he’s even comprehended it.” Ben grins, and we both open the notebooks on our desks.
Instead of discussing our presentation, we talk about our interests and backgrounds.
I learn that Benjamin Fischer just moved here from Indianapolis.
His dad got a promotion and brought their whole family to Columbus.
He has a girlfriend, Mia, back home who he’s been dating for the last year.
As a nature enthusiast, he wants to be a conservation biologist one day.
Once I’ve exhausted any other possible follow-up questions, Ben pushes his glasses back up his nose and directs his full attention to me. “Tell me about you now, Grace.”
I usually get uncomfortable talking about myself, but there’s something about Ben that puts me at ease. “There’s not much to know about me. I’ve lived in Columbus my whole life. I don’t have any siblings. I want to be a vet, and I plan to go to Easton State University.”
“I heard Easton is a great school.”
“Yeah, it is. Um, my next door neighbor, Dan Thompson? We’ve kind of always planned to go there. It’s a D1 football school with a really good vet program.”
“That’s DT, right? Star receiver?”
I click my mechanical pencil up and up, before holding down the top eraser and pressing the lead against my skin—a nervous habit. “You’ve already heard of him? Word travels fast around here when it comes to football, huh?”
Ben pulls off his glasses and blows some dust off. “He’s in my algebra class. Lots of fist bumps. He seemed like a pretty big deal.”
I guess this is what Danny’s life will be like for the next four years.
He’s always been Mr. Popular wherever he goes, but somehow also “my” Danny at the same time.
It’s a delicate balance we’ve been able to maintain as friends over the years.
Now that we’re at a bigger school, I wonder if that balance will shift.
I let that thought flicker, then push it away.
He might be busier with football, but I know we’ll be “us” no matter what.
Ben and I make plans to meet up the next day at lunch and go over our presentation strategy, which gives me something to look forward to tomorrow. I feel ten pounds lighter as I walk to the South Wing library to meet Danny.
I can tell something is wrong as soon as I see him. He’s furiously picking at the skin around his nails, but everything else about him is frozen. Is he even breathing? Danny starts frantically running his hands through his thick, dark hair, almost pulling at the ends.
I rush over to him.
“Danny? Are you okay?”
All he does is stare back at me with panic.
Still frozen. We’re in a semi-public spot, in the open study area.
I link my arm in his and start tugging him toward the non-fiction stacks, which is bound to be empty this time of day.
It’s harder than I expected. Danny’s grown a lot over the past year physically, adding layers of muscle in preparation for football season.
“Come on, we’ve got to move.”
He drags his feet, but once we get there, we sit together on the floor in between bookshelves.
“Breathe,” I instruct.
Easier said than done, apparently. His shallow breaths haven’t let up, and he looks paler by the second. What is happening? Where’s my confident, charming, happy-go-lucky Danny? I hold his hand, and it’s clammy. Pressing my hand on his chest, I check his heartbeat, and it’s out of control.
“Look at me.”
Danny tilts his chin up. When his eyes lock on mine, I feel his heartbeat slow. I want to keep it there, so I do what feels natural. Holding my hand in front of my face, I put up four fingers and wiggle them.
“Where did these candles come from?” I ask playfully.
The corners of his mouth tick up and his uneven breaths seem slightly deeper.
“You know what to do.”
Danny leans forward, inhales, and blows on my hand.
I put down two fingers.
Danny leans his head back and forcefully exhales this time. I lower the remaining fingers, and his shoulders relax.
I pop a finger right back up again.
Grinning mischievously, I raise an eyebrow. “Trick candle. Gotcha.”
He chuckles softly and puts a hand over his heart. When he blows one more time, I finally put down my finger.
“What’s going on?”