How to Speak Boy

by Tiana Smith

  I snorted.

  “You take it personally. But it’s not personal, I promise.”

  Maybe for him it wasn’t.

  “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” I said, looking out the window.

  “So what’d Carter do to get on your bad side? Is it really that bad? Do I need to beat him up?”

  Grayson was smirking, obviously making light of the situation and trying to bring us back into familiar territory where we taunted each other and didn’t do nice things like give the other person a ride when all hope was lost, like some knight in shining armor to save the day.

  “Like you could ever beat anyone up,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You don’t have it in you.”

  “Hey, I can be mean.” He glanced over.

  “Oh, I didn’t say you couldn’t be mean. Those are two very different things. You’re rude all the time.”

  Grayson nodded slowly. “I can’t help it. I have too much fun arguing with you.”

  My eyebrows furrowed. “You like arguing with me? Are you okay? Are you sick?” I pretended to be concerned and placed the back of my hand to his forehead. Just as quickly, I snatched it away after realizing what I’d done.

  Grayson laughed. “Is it so hard to believe that I have fun arguing with you?”

  “No, I guess I believe that. You are a pretty awful person.”

  “See? I never know what you’re going to say. I like that.”

  This whole conversation was surreal. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to give me a compliment or if he was insulting me, yet again. Uncomfortable with the unfamiliar territory, I cleared my throat and looked out the window.

  The darkness surrounding the car made the conversation feel more intimate and close. Grayson was only sitting a foot away from me, and with his hand resting on the gearshift, his arm was almost touching mine. I shifted away, putting more distance between us.

  “You still haven’t told me what Carter did to end up on your bad list.”

  A car passed us in the other lane and the lights reflected off Grayson’s glasses.

  “He’s not really. I just think there’s a conflict of interest there with him being my friend. You’re the only one on my list.”

  This made Grayson laugh. We stopped at a light and he looked over at me. “I’m honored,” he said, pretending to bow. “That means I’m number one. No surprise there.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I guess we’ll wait and see after this next tournament, now won’t we?”

  “I don’t know, I have a pretty killer topic. I don’t think yours can beat it.”

  He looked over, obviously waiting for me to supply him with my topic. But it wasn’t like I was going to cough up the information that easily. I wasn’t sure what he’d do with it.

  “If you think I’m going to tell you my topic, you’re wrong.”

  “Oh, because speech topics are so worthy of secrecy?” Grayson raised his eyebrows in a dare, and I couldn’t back down.

  “You know mine is.”

  He made a “hmmmm” sound as he turned left. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  I drummed my fingers on the car handle. I remained silent and Grayson laughed.

  “You know everyone will hear it this weekend, right?”

  He had a point. Besides, he’d likely been writing his speech for weeks, and the chance that he’d scrap it all now, mere days before our first competition, was low.

  Low, but not impossible.

  I sucked in a breath, let it out in a whoosh, and, with it, told Grayson my speech topic. I wasn’t even sure why I did it. I didn’t need Grayson’s praise. Or even his approval. But I wanted it anyway. I wanted him to hear my topic and shake in fear. I wanted him to feel vastly inferior and bow to my superiority.

  Instead, he gave a low whistle, followed by a short laugh.

  “You sure do make this easy for me sometimes.”

  I scoffed. “You’re just jealous.”

  “Normally? Hands-down yes.” He sent me a smile that strangely stopped my breathing. “But, Quinn, you know the judges are going to eat you alive.”

  I brushed his backhanded compliment aside and focused on the hidden barb that was always there, like a buy-one-get-one-free coupon for insults. Grayson had this way of telling me his honest opinion, refusing to sugarcoat anything. Half of the time I didn’t know what to do with it. Everyone else nodded politely and went along with whatever I said, but not Grayson. He didn’t let me get away with anything, and that irked me more than almost anything he could have said. Carter was blunt too, but he didn’t actively antagonize me.

  “I appreciate your concern,” I said dryly. “But I think I can handle it.”

  “I admire your bravery,” Grayson said. “How you don’t even try to play their game or tell them what they want to hear. I mean, I think you’re wrong, but it’s brave nonetheless.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” I said lightly, waving his comments aside. “But then again, there’s nothing new.” I looked out the window at the buildings flashing by.

  I tried to ignore the conversation, but as was usual with Grayson, I couldn’t let it drop.

  “So you think I’d win more if I took the opposite stance? If I said we all need to honor our parents or something like that? Mother knows best and we teenagers should shut up and listen?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “But I have facts.”

  “Since when is winning about facts? It’s all about making the judges like you. I’m half tempted to take the opposing argument at this tournament simply so you can see I’m right.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  I knew he would. That was the problem.

  Well, the problem, and the thrill. Because this was also an opportunity in disguise. I could see it on the corners of my vision, dancing around the car in the silence between us. I never could resist a good competition.

  My heartbeat picked up as I mulled it over. If Grayson changed his speech topic now, at the last minute, I’d have weeks of research ahead of him. My speech was already written. Plus, it’d give me the opportunity to finally beat him and rub his too-handsome face in it. But there was a definite risk to presenting opposing speeches at a tournament. One of us was likely to win, and the other was bound to tank spectacularly. There wasn’t really room for middle ground. But if there was a chance I’d finally beat Grayson …

  “Do it,” I said. I tried to keep my voice as noncommittal as possible, even throwing in a shrug for good measure. If he knew I was pulling strings, he’d never go for it. Grayson was much too smart for his own good.

  Grayson stopped at a light and turned to face me. “Seriously?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What, are you scared?” I turned on my winning smile. “Not so tough now, huh? You know I’m right.”

  “I may agree with you in principal, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good speech topic,” Grayson said, shaking his head. “If I do this, you won’t tell Ms. Bates I sabotaged you and you won’t throw me under the bus?”

  I smiled sweetly. “I would never.”

  He grinned and held out his hand, which I shook.

  “It’s a deal.”

  Chapter Seven

  Everyone around me was busy talking to the wall. Literally. This was pretty common at speech and debate tournaments, especially early on in the year when we were all testing new speeches and smoothing out any kinks in our performances. Some students were still reading off notecards and I hoped for their sakes they didn’t bring them in with them to the actual rounds with judges. It was one thing to study notecards in the hallway, but at a varsity meet, notecards were the kiss of death.

  I was sitting against the wall with my legs sticking straight out in front of me. It’s hard to sit ladylike in a pencil skirt, even with years of practice. The more I thought about the competition, the more nervous I got, especially about whatever Grayson had planned.<
br />
  I tried to distract myself with Goldfish crackers. And music. There were a few things I brought with me to every single speech meet, and Goldfish crackers and headphones were high on the list. Call me superstitious, but the only time I didn’t break into the finals round was the time I’d forgotten to bring my music along.

  But even Shawn Mendes wasn’t helping now. My hands were still shaky each time I brought a Goldfish to my mouth, and despite the volume, I couldn’t seem to drown out the sounds going on around me. We had about fifteen minutes until the first round, and because I’d stayed up late going through every possible flaw in my speech, I could barely keep my eyes open. That’d be a great way to impress the judges, falling asleep before I even got to compete. I already wanted to tear my pantyhose off and throw them in a fire, so this was bound to end well. But this tournament needed to go perfectly. I needed this to be Grayson’s downfall. So I’d put in the extra time, just in case.

  I adjusted my suit coat, relaxed against the wall, and closed my eyes. Nope, that was a mistake. I felt myself falling asleep and I jerked away from the wall. Snacks and music weren’t cutting it. I needed something that would really hold my interest.

  I pulled out 15211’s latest note from my bag and smoothed it out over my legs. We’d exchanged more letters over the past few days, and AP Government had never been so entertaining. He’d never mentioned his real identity, and I hadn’t either. We hadn’t even discussed the possibility of finding out.

  I decided I liked it that way. If I knew who it was, the chances of me being disappointed rose by approximately a bazillion percent. Besides, we’d both gotten a little personal at times, and I didn’t want anyone really knowing all those things about me.

  Anonymous was safe.

  I learned 15211 liked his lists. Half of his notes were in list form. He liked tiptoeing around things that could possibly identify him without actually tipping the scales. Like how he could pronounce Worcestershire. It was real information, but nothing I could actually use.

  There was more actual information about him in this one letter than all his past ones combined, and I still hadn’t written him back. I wasn’t sure I could return the favor. It was long and rambly, like the lecture that day had been especially boring. My notes were mostly mindless, but this one of 15211’s showed some real thought.

  I liked it, and I didn’t. Because if these notes actually meant something, well, I wasn’t sure what to do then. I’d texted Naomi to ask her opinion, but she’d had a volleyball tournament all day and hadn’t responded.

  I reread the letter on my lap and found myself smiling.

  I think we should do twenty questions, but our own version of it where instead of guessing one thing, we give twenty facts about ourselves. But until I get your okay on that, I’ll just tell you all about myself and hope you do the same. No pressure, though. You can keep your secrets. I know I’m keeping some too.

  I like watching sports, even if I suck at playing them. I blame my parents, who never let me play (too many injuries!), so I guess we’ll never know what could have happened. I might have been a legend. For now, I watch football on Sundays and pretend I’m coordinated enough to have caught that pass someone else didn’t. Does paintball count as a sport? If so, I’ve got that one down.

  I like action movies and video games. And action video games. One day I’d love to be a programmer for them. You know, if the whole “president of the United States” thing doesn’t work out. But I doubt my parents would ever let me go into something like programming or coding, so that dream will never happen. Yay.

  I’ve never been in a fight, and would be terrified if I ever were. I’d probably lose. No, not probably. Definitely.

  Not that I’m a weakling. I think it’s important to note that I am just as strong as most guys. Okay, got that on the record.

  I like to cook. Surprised? My parents work long hours, and I got tired of eating frozen pizza, so I taught myself. My younger siblings don’t always appreciate it, though, especially when I try something more … experimental.

  I know nothing about cars except for how to drive them, and even then, I can’t drive a stick shift, despite the twenty or so lessons my dad gave me. He said it was something every guy needed to know. So then my mom made me take ballroom dancing classes because she said that was something every guy needed. I can still do the waltz, so it wasn’t all for nothing.

  I hate camping. Why do people do that to themselves? You have a perfectly good bed, away from mosquitoes and water. Sleep in it.

  I will freely admit (but only to you, since you don’t know who I am) that I like chick flicks. I’d always complain when girlfriends would drag me to them, but secretly, I’d be glad to have an excuse to see it. I’d much rather see a rom-com over a horror movie any day.

  Now, I think all that info deserves at least one fact about you in return, but I’ll understand if you run away screaming instead.

  All the sound around me had dulled to a buzz as I read 15211’s letter. I hadn’t even noticed that my playlist had ended. I pulled the earbuds from my ear and put them in my bag. The letter crinkled as I moved, and I smoothed it out again.

  I reread the sentence about his past girlfriends taking him to chick flicks. Was he saying he was currently single? The thought made me smile and I rolled my eyes at my own naivety. I didn’t even know this guy.

  But you already know a lot about him. More than you have some other guys you’ve dated, my thoughts answered back.

  Yeah, well, now I was being ridiculous and arguing with myself, so that was great. I folded the letter and put it away, watching the students around me practice their speeches. Maybe I should be focusing on that. I could use the practice, and my memorization wasn’t as solid as I’d like. But my thoughts kept circulating back to the letter.

  I hadn’t told anyone about my secret pen pal, well, except Naomi, and sometimes we were so in sync I wasn’t sure she counted. It’d been going on long enough now that I probably should be more open about it with others. Like Carter. But I never talked with Carter about boy stuff. And what if Naomi was right and Carter did have a thing for me? It’d be cruel to throw this in his face.

  It was better this way.

  Right now, this was just ours. Mine and 15211’s, whoever he was. And it was strangely thrilling to have a secret like this. Each letter was like a clue, hinting at just enough to keep me guessing. Bringing me closer to finding … something at the end of it. A friend? Something more? The possibilities felt endless. Because while I might not know who he was, I kind of did all the same. The essence of him, at least.

  Knowing his name might change that.

  I thought of everything he’d told me so far and tried to picture the boy that would match that image in my mind. Even with the letter safely tucked away, I could remember it all, almost word for word.

  I didn’t know any physical features, except that he was “as strong as most guys,” whatever that meant. I knew his parents were still married, which eliminated about half the boys in our grade. He played video games, which eliminated exactly no one.

  I readjusted my skirt and took another handful of Goldfish. Whoever he was, I was pretty sure I didn’t know him well in real life because I didn’t know anyone who cooked and did the waltz. Maybe he kept those facts to himself, though, like how he wouldn’t admit to liking chick flicks. After all, he’d said he’d kept some secrets, and my thoughts kept returning to that piece of information like a tongue probing at a missing tooth.

  What was he hiding? And should I be worried about it?

  Maybe he had a postage stamp collection.

  Maybe he fought crime after dark.

  Maybe he had the whole periodic table memorized.

  Even wondering about those things didn’t change the fact that I was way more interested in this guy than I probably should be.

  Maybe it was irrational, but perhaps the biggest reason I didn’t want to reveal my name was because he was too good to be true. To
o good for me, at least. 15211 was obviously smart and talented, and I was … just normal ol’ me.

  Carter slumped to the ground beside me, his suit coat unbuttoned and flapping around him as he slouched.

  “Lists are up,” he said, showing me his phone and the picture he’d taken of them.

  The lists were how we knew which room we’d be competing in. We’d be in different rooms for each round, competing against different people most of the time until finals.

  “How many rooms of Oratory?” I asked, taking Carter’s phone from his hands. He’d taken pictures of four Oratory rooms, which meant we luckily didn’t have a whole lot of competition at this tournament. I found my number listed under room 151A.

  “I’m in room 200,” Carter said. “Where are you at?” We used numbers to identify ourselves at meets, instead of names, so it wasn’t like he knew.

  “Not yours.” I passed his phone back. “So we’re not competing yet.”

  I wondered if Grayson would be in my first round, delivering his speech that was a direct argument to mine. I almost rubbed my hands together in anticipation, but stopped just short.

  “I dodged a bullet,” Carter said. “But I’m sad I have to wait even longer to hear your speech. I’m sure it’s amazing.”

  I stood up and started picking up my things. The first round started soon and I needed to be ready.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Carter said, standing. I nodded. “Did you tell Grayson your speech topic before this meet?”

  I hesitated before answering. Carter knew how secretive I was with my speech topics. If I let him know I’d told Grayson, he’d read into it. But in the end, I couldn’t lie to my friend.

  “Yes. Why?”

  Carter nodded slowly. “Just be careful, okay? Becoming friends with him, I mean.” I sucked in a breath and Carter continued before I could say anything. “Remember what he did to Zara. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you before the state finals.”

  I blinked. “Grayson and I aren’t friends,” I said. “Pretty much the opposite.”

  Carter gave me a thin-lipped smile, clearly appeasing me. “Sure.”