Chapter 3
In less than a week, I will speak at my first tournament. I will stand in front of judges and students for eight minutes. For those eight minutes, words will have to come from my mouth. I’ll have to do that three times.
Three times eight is twenty four. Twenty four minutes of speaking. Just me. Caro can’t save me; I know Tory won’t. My stomach clenches every time I think about it.
So I try not to. Instead, I think about my other problem: finding eight minutes worth of words. I’ve paged through dozens of books, read so many short stories that my eyes are starting to cross. The words all blur into each other. I search the National Book Award and Printz Honor lists, looking for the perfect title, but nothing feels right. I’ll have to live with this piece for the entire season. It
