Chapter 13
All week long, I eat lunch with Jeremy in the stairwell. Caro spends every lunch hour at the speech team table, and every afternoon, everyone at speech team practice acts like this is no big deal. The only difference is Tory points her digital camera my way with a fierceness I haven’t seen all season. She’s convinced I can make the final round, maybe even this Saturday at the Big 9 tournament.
“Can I ask you a favor?” I say on Thursday afternoon. I’ve run through my piece at least five times. I know it by heart, and only glance at my script because if you hold one in a round, you need to at least appear to refer to it. But I feel safer just hanging onto it. Sam’s words echo in my head: Not a prop or a crutch. I’ve seen some kids perform without a script at all. I’ll never be t
