Chapter 10 #2
Aria lets go of me and gives me a serious once-over.
“I’d feel the same, if it were me. But Nat and I have the best weekend ever planned for you, and we thought we’d start making up for all the overtime these past few weeks by taking off early!
If you want, we can pack up our things right now and call it a day. ”
“You guys are the best,” I say, and suddenly I realize how exhausted I am.
The entire ride back, I’ve either been reading comments or looking out the window and going over every possible variation of my upcoming meeting with Sophia.
Unfortunately, in all of those variations, she was less than thrilled about what happened.
“I’ll just go grab Nat, and then we can get going! She’s making TikToks with Kamal and Ramon. So we’d be doing the two of them a favor!”
“That’s going to have to wait a moment,” I tell Aria and slide my suitcase in under the coatrack. “I need to talk to Sophia. Has she . . . has she said anything yet?”
Aria shakes her head. “No, not yet. She seems to be doing a bit better today, but she didn’t join us for lunch—I suppose she’s still having stomach troubles. Didn’t she text you?”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “No. To be honest, I was too relieved to give it much thought.” I swallow. “Who knows, maybe she was actually just busy writing my termination notice.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Aria protests. “It’ll be fine.”
I snort dejectedly, put my coat on a hanger, and roll my shoulders. They give a mournful crack from my tense posture during the journey home. “Keep your fingers crossed for me. Or you might be welcoming a new coworker soon.”
Aria flicks her fingers at my upper arm. “Stop overthinking; that’s my job. You know how she is. She’ll understand.”
I can hear more laughter from the office kitchen, and I wish I could hide in there.
Nat could use me for one of her TikToks; even that sounds more appealing than talking to Sophia right now.
But I can feel Aria’s slender hand against my back, and she’s pushing me toward the glass door of Sophia’s office with surprising force.
Before I can cop out, Sophia’s already seen me.
She jumps up from her chair almost as quickly as Aria did.
“Lara, hi,” she says after flinging open the door with a bit too much force, banging it against her office wall.
She’s wearing a baggy jumper, and her hair is swept back from her face with little hair grips.
Her eyes are slightly redder than usual; I bet she didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.
Although she still isn’t looking too fit, I’m sure she could have delivered a better presentation than I did, even with the state she’s in.
“Come on in, then,” Sophia says when I still haven’t made a move to follow her.
“And try not to look like Anne Boleyn going to her execution, yeah? I’ve seen the video already. ”
“Anne Boleyn was wrongly beheaded. I’d deserve it.”
This is not one of the conversations I’d planned during my train ride, but it’s out now.
Sophia plops back down in her office chair and indicates the free seat across from her.
Her desk, which is normally quite tidy, is starting to compete with Nataly’s.
I see empty coffee cups stacked on top of a crazy array of notepads, crochet hooks of varying sizes, and a little wool elephant only missing its trunk.
Sophia’s gaze follows mine. “I’m ill; I have the time. Besides, crocheting is cool, OK? Everyone does it nowadays!”
I raise my hands defensively; under any normal circumstances, Sophia’s outburst would have gotten a laugh out of me.
Now, though, my stomach clenches. I just want to get this over with.
“I’m so incredibly sorry. I knew it; I shouldn’t have gone.
I’ve buggered up. I promise you to never show my face at an event ever again; I’ll never get on a stage again, I’ll . . .”
Sophia’s shaking her head, and I can feel my heart drop. This is it. It’s not enough for her. All my apologies are useless; she’s had enough of me; she . . .
“You don’t want to show your face at events ever again?” Sophia arches her eyebrows. “Forget it.”
“But you saw what happens when I get on stage.”
“Wrong. I saw what happens when you get anxious, when you don’t believe you have the right to be in a room where, by the way, I’m sure you were one of the smarter ones.
” Sophia drums her fingers on her desk impatiently, and I’m momentarily distracted by her normally carefully manicured nails, which look chewed.
That’s probably my fault too. “Lara, your performance was rubbish.”
I let out a short laugh. “I’m aware. I’m not like you or Nat, you know.”
“No, and that’s a good thing. Your performance wasn’t rubbish because you hate public speaking, or because your voice tends to break, or anything like that.
Your performance was rubbish because you were scared, because you don’t see what it is you’re capable of.
We’re a small team, and I will have to beg out now and then.
And so will Nat. I have to be able to rely on you. ”
“You can!”
“Do we have a realistic chance of making it to the next round?”
“No,” I tell her with a sigh.
“Bollocks.” She runs a hand through her hair. “How did Bytes I shouldn’t have sent you. We should have practiced this sort of thing in a smaller setting.”
A few minutes ago, I would have yelled, You’re bloody right!
then retreated to my desk and hoped I’d never have to set foot on a stage ever again.
But I hadn’t seen the dull look in Sophia’s eyes yet, then.
I didn’t have her words running through my head on repeat: I have to be able to rely on you—but she can’t.
Because I keep letting my past overshadow everything.
I let it grip me in its dark claws; I let it stop me from making progress.
Sophia gave me a chance when all I was getting was rejections. And I left her hanging.
Worse, instead of changing anything, I’m wallowing in self-pity.
“Isn’t there any other way we can get the money? Another crowdfunding campaign? I’m really sorry, I . . .”
“It’s not your fault that I didn’t budget this better.” Sophia’s smiling at me, but the smile doesn’t reach her normally sparkling eyes. I hate how she’s protecting me. I’d prefer it if she’d swear again, if she’d blame me, which she definitely should be doing.
I have to be able to rely on you.
I take a deep breath as a decision forms in my mind, and I look Sophia straight in the eye.
“I’ll go back to speech therapy; I’ll make sure things get better. I’ll make an appointment today.”
My stomach clenches unpleasantly as I think back on all the frustrating hours I’ve already spent doing therapy.
Of how rough and strained my voice felt afterward, of the tears of frustration stinging my eyes when my breathing wouldn’t do what I wanted it to.
But Sophia’s right; situations like the one yesterday will come up again.
And if I don’t change, I’ll just leave her and PixelPulse hanging again.
Those people don’t define you; that’s what Luca told me.
Maybe it’s the truth, but unfortunately, his words aren’t as encouraging to me as he might have hoped.
Because I know other people don’t define me; the way they see me is just a mirror of how I see myself.
The image I see reflected in that mirror—the humiliation, the ineptitude, that stumbling bundle of insecurity—all of that is me.