4. Will
WILL
“Fuck, why am I always the first to die?” Cam complains, dropping his controller for the first-person shooter game we’re playing before class.
“Because you get too distracted exploring. You’re the one who always wants the wartime setting. We could choose the made-up future one instead if you’d like,” Nathan suggests.
“But that’s not as interesting,” Cam explains. I can’t say I necessarily agree with him, but I guess that’s why he’s the history major.
“It’s actually good timing to end the game,” I point out as Nathan and I finish out that round. “It might be syllabus week, but I don’t want us to be late for class. Don’t you guys have lectures soon too?”
Nathan laughs. “How do you already know our schedules?”
“Yeah, I barely know my own at this point,” Cam adds.
“Sorry I care about my friends,” I tease. “Besides, I figured you might want me to drive you.”
Cam stands. “Yes, please. My class isn’t for an hour, but I guess I should get there early to make sure I can sit by Casey.”
“Who?” Nathan asks as he puts the controllers away neatly.
“Decker, you know, our teammate?” Cam explains, rolling his eyes. “Why am I the only one who ever remembers his actual name?”
“Because he hates his actual name and freaks out if anyone but you calls him it,” I remind him before I head into the kitchen.
I fill my water bottle and grab a protein bar before class and realize we’re nearly out.
I offered to buy all our groceries when we agreed to move in here last year.
I wanted the biggest room in our apartment, and it seemed like a fair trade, especially because my parents don’t mind paying for it.
It’s also nice to not have to worry about what food belongs to who, like I know some of our other friends complain about.
My roommates have disappeared into their rooms, so I grab my backpack and call out, “Hey, can you add any groceries we need to the list tonight? I want to order a delivery for tomorrow.”
“Hell yeah, of course!” Cam yells back before he reappears with his backpack. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, thanks, man,” Nathan responds, joining us as we head outside.
I drive us all to campus like I usually do because I’m the only one with a car, and we part ways after parking. I make it to class with plenty of time to find a good seat in the middle of the room and wait for the professor to begin.
“Hello and welcome. Some of you might have already seen this in the syllabus, but the majority of your grade in this class will come from presentations. Hopefully that doesn’t come as too big a shock to anyone, given this is a public speaking class.
” She earns a few laughs from the students with that comment, myself included.
It’s only the first week of the semester, but so far, this teacher is already one of my favorites.
She’s probably in her forties, if I had to guess, big glasses, smiles a lot, and she’s casually leaning against her desk at the front of the room instead of ranting behind a podium like some of my other instructors.
“There will be three main presentations to go along with the three main types of speeches,” she continues.
“We’ll ease everyone into it with persuasive speeches.
Those tend to be the easiest because they’re opinion-based.
You’ll do it with a randomly assigned partner, and one of you will argue for and the other against. You’ll have to choose a topic to give opposing persuasive speeches on in about a month.
The next will be an informative speech on a historical figure of your choosing, and to finish out the class, your final project will be a fake special occasion speech, such as a wedding toast or eulogy. ”
Seems easy enough, but I take notes in case I want to start thinking about my topics ahead of time.
“I’m aware no one wants to listen to a lecture the first week of class, so today we’re doing partner introductions, and once I’ve approved your chosen topic, you’ll be free to go.
I emailed a list of suggestions to each of you this morning, and if you look up at the board, you should see your assigned partner.
If anyone’s name isn’t up there or you can’t find your partner, let me know. ”
Yeah, this class is going to be my favorite; easy topic and chill teacher.
Can’t ask for more than that. I’m so glad I saved this gen ed for junior year now that some of the science classes for my major have become more technical.
There are maybe thirty students, so I quickly find my name, and it looks like Porter Johnson will be my partner for this project.
Not sure who that is, so I throw my stuff in my bag, stand up, and start introducing myself to the people around me.
My gaze locks with familiar deep blue eyes—no eyeliner this time, though they do look just as annoyed with me—and I smirk as I approach the guy who left before I could ask his name at the party the other night.
I’ve thought about that interaction a lot this week actually.
I think it’s because I’m used to getting along with people right away.
I’m still not sure if his comments were joking, and he has the driest sense of humor, or if he actually dislikes me for some unknown reason, but I have a feeling it’s the latter.
“Are you Porter?” I guess with a big smile. “I didn’t catch your name the other night.”
“Unfortunately, I am,” he confirms as he sits in an open seat.
Well, shit. Not off to a great start. I take the seat next to him, smile still in place, trying to maintain my positive approach to this, but honestly, I’m thrown off by his contempt for me.
Especially because I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before the other night.
I’m not even sure what I could’ve done besides accidentally bump into him at Bo’s, and if he hates me that much for that, then he’s clearly an asshole.
Maybe he got the wrong impression at the party when I commented on his shirt?
Hopefully, he doesn’t think I’m homophobic because he did tell me he was gay.
Maybe now we’ll get a chance to get to know each other, and he can see that whatever opinion he has of me is misguided.
It might be a little self-inflated to think everyone should like me, but people normally do.
Is it that bad I want the guy who’s my presentation partner to like me too?
I take my laptop back out and open up the email of suggested topics, deciding to just get right into it.
“Are there any that stand out to you on the list? Some of them seem pretty straightforward. I can’t imagine we’d disagree that puppy mills should be banned and that plastic bags are bad for the environment.
” I look up when he doesn’t answer, assuming I’ll find him reading the list too, not staring at me with a raised brow and a look of confusion on his face. “What?”
He shakes his head, the corners of his lips pulled down as he says, “Nothing,” as if once again, I somehow did something wrong.
“I don’t know what you think I did, but I’m not actually a bad person.”
He finally smirks, shrugging. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Seriously, what is his problem? No one has ever been this rude to me before. “Wait, are you friends with Sydney?” That would make sense if she’s one of his friends and he knew what’d happened at the party this weekend.
“Who?” he questions, still with an obvious edge of attitude in his voice.
“Never mind,” I dismiss, not wanting to get into that, even though he clearly saw me after I’d had the drink thrown in my face.
The best thing is probably just to move forward with the topic and maybe show him I’m not some giant asshole.
“Well, Porter, I’m considering becoming a coach, so I might end up teaching one day; would you want to do one about high school requirements? ”
“Let me guess, exercise science major?” he taunts, ignoring my question. I nod, and he chuckles. “How original, Mr. Student Athlete.”
His constant pushback should probably annoy me.
I’m not used to interacting with someone who doesn’t seem to give a fuck about if I like them or not, so my curiosity is definitely piqued.
I’m honestly more entertained than bothered by it.
His unpredictability is refreshing. “Yep, I’m basically a walking cliché,” I confirm with a smile.
If this is how he wants to see me, I’ll play along for now.
“What about you? Something artsy maybe?”
“Why, because I’m gay?” he deadpans, and my expression immediately falls.
“What? No! Because of the nail polish and the tattoo.” I gesture to his forearm where his sleeve is pushed up to reveal the edges of a tattoo.
I can’t see it, but I’m curious what it is.
Shit, maybe he does think I’m homophobic?
“I don’t know. I wasn’t… I didn’t mean anything offensive.
I don’t care who people are attracted to. Love is love.”
He blinks at me a few times before finally snorts a laugh. “Sure, whatever you say. Guess I can take homophobic off my list of strikes against you.”
“Wait, what list?” Seriously, what could I have done for there to be a whole fucking list?
“Forget it,” he mutters, and then before I can push, he answers my previous question. “I’m a communications major.”
I really want to ask about this list and why it exists at all, but he doesn’t seem very open to a constructive conversation right now, so maybe I’m better off focusing on the assignment. “Does that mean you’ll get us an A on this project then?” I ask with a hesitant smile.
“You know, now that I think about it, debating with you does actually sound kind of fun. I can’t wait to prove you wrong in front of everyone.” He grins, and same.
Except if I’m being honest, I’m a little more focused on figuring out why he hates me so much. Maybe as we’re working on this I’ll be able to prove to him I’m not whoever he thinks I am, but I don’t see that happening today.
He’s all business now as he returns his focus to the list of topics. “So, what high school question are you looking at?”
“The uniform thing is pretty overdone. Maybe requiring volunteer hours? Or is that one an obvious answer, too? I don’t know why that would be a bad thing.”
“I do,” he argues immediately. “Some high schoolers have enough pressure without adding unpaid labor to it. We can do that one, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
His answer sounds personal, and I don’t know him well enough to ask yet, but for some reason, I really want to know more about his life.
“Works for me. When are you available to meet up? I have weight lifting at six a.m. before classes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We might be able to schedule something between lectures. I also have afternoon lacrosse practice most days at four. If you want to give me your schedule, I can figure out our availability.”
“I work Sunday mornings, and Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday after classes. What’s your number? I’ll text it to you.”
Clearly, he’s only asking for the project, but it feels like a positive step when he’s been so frosty. I give him my number, and he sends me his schedule for the rest of the month.
“Do we even really need to get together, though?” he asks as I start to look for when we’re both free. “We’re giving opposing speeches, right? It seems like we can prepare for that on our own.”
I don’t like the sound of that at all. How am I supposed to prove to him that I’m not the bad person he thinks I am if we don’t spend any time together outside of this class?
“Well, I think we should make sure we cover the same topics so it seems organized…” I trail off as I realize he’s right, that could probably be done in an email, so I blurt out, “But I was also hoping you’d help me practice. ”
“Practice? Are you afraid of public speaking?”
“Yes! That,” I quickly agree, latching onto the excuse even if it isn’t exactly true. “I was hoping we could practice so I’m less nervous during the actual speech.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t want you bringing down my grade. Let me know when to meet you. Are we good for today then? Should we go have her approve the topic before anyone else takes it?”
I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s agreed and nod. We talk to the professor and confirm our topic, and Porter leaves without another word.
I have a feeling this will be the most interesting partner project I’ve ever done. Besides, I’ve always enjoyed a challenge, and winning Porter over, becoming friends even, seems like a fun challenge to focus on.