I’m taking sixteen credits this semester. Writing 101, a required composition class for freshmen, Victorian literature, an advanced elective that I was lucky to get into, Introduction to Anthropology, another requirement—I think it fills the civilization requirement, but I’m not sure—and Public Speaking. Public Speaking is also required, and this is the class that I’m looking forward to the least or rather, not at all.
Public speaking gives me heart palpitations. It makes me shiver (not in a good way!) and makes me want to throw up. I’m not a public speaker. I’m terrified of giving speeches. I’m so bad at it that sometimes when I raise my hand in class, if the professor doesn’t call on me immediately, I start to freak out and drop my hand and don’t participate at all.
“I’m sorry, Alice, but you can’t drop this class,” my counselor informs me when I barge into her office without an appointment and try to weasel out of it. “Unfortunately, Public Speaking is one of the only classes that fulfills the diversity requirement and fits your schedule. If you didn’t want this class, you should’ve thought about this last semester.”
“The thing is that last semester, I thought I’d be brave. I thought that it would be good for me to take it and get over this fear, once and for all. But now that I actually have to go to class, I just don’t think I can do it. I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“You’re going to be just fine, Alice.” She smiles at me and ushers me outside. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about this anymore. I have a lot of people waiting. If you would like to schedule an appointment…”
“No, thank you for your time.” I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
I lie. I’m not going to be fine. I’m going to fail.
I meet Hudson for a late lunch after class. It’s worse than I even imagined.
“I thought the professor would lecture for a bit and we would speak in public later. Like later in the semester. But no. I have to make a speech next week!” I say.
I’m jumbling my words together. I can barely breathe at the very thought.
“You’re going to be fine,” he says, patting my shoulders.
Why do people keep saying this? How do they know this? It’s not a given.
“I have to make five speeches!” I say. “What am I going to do, Hudson? I’m going to die.”
Hudson smiles. “You’re not going to die.”
He’s not mocking me, but I’m not sure that he’s getting the severity of this problem either.
“I’ll help you prepare,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”
“You will?” I ask. I like the sound of that.
Public speaking is not a big deal for Hudson. He was our class president for three years before he moved up north. Speaking in front of people doesn’t faze him. He doesn’t fear what others think of him. I wish I could be like that. Confident. Self-assured. I’m not and the more I want to be like that, the more embarrassed I get over how I really am.
“My first speech is next week,” I say. “I have to give a toast.”
“To whom?” he asks.
“Whomever I want. But I can’t. No, I have to figure out a way to drop this class.”
“No, you don’t.” He smiles at me. A confident, self-assured smile. “I’ll help you. We’ll get through this together.”
Something about the way he says that puts me at ease. He’s telling the truth and I believe him. I’m not doing this alone. I’ll be doing this with him. We’ll be doing it together. It’s always easier to do things together, right? I suddenly feel like this is actually possible.
10
“So, I’m starting the internship tomorrow,” Hudson says after our pizza is ready.
We only ordered two slices, but the slices are so large at this place they take up half the table. Thin crust with a thin layer of fresh mozzarella and veggies. Delicious.
“Young’s and Associates, right?” I ask, taking a big bite of my slice. He nods.
“Three days per week,” he adds. “Full days.”
“That’s intense,” I say. “But exciting, right?”
He shrugs. He’s anxious about this. I’ve never really seen him this way.
“What if I’m no good?” he asks. I shake my head.
“Impossible.”
He smiles.
Young’s and Associates is an investment bank on Wall Street. The internship is very prestigious and ridiculously competitive. He found out that he got in over Christmas break. In addition to the internship, he’s also taking a full load of classes. Hard classes. Calculus II and Macroeconomics and a couple of requirements.
“How are you going to manage?” I ask.
“Somehow, I guess. It’s such a great opportunity. I just don’t want to mess it up.”
“So, when are you taking classes then, if the internship is all day long?”
“I had to rearrange my schedule today. I’m not taking any classes on the days I’m working. So, they’re all crammed into the evenings and two are three hours long on Thursdays and Fridays.”
“Wow, that sucks!” I sympathize. “Is it all semester?”
He nods.
“Until May. Then if it all goes well and I do really well, I’ll be in the running for their full-time summer internship.”
“That’s a lot of free labor they’re getting out of college students,” I say.
“I guess.” He shrugs. “I know I’m going to learn a lot. Plus, it will set me up well for getting a
