Page 100 of Goalkeeper
“What? I swear to God, if you are freaking out because we kissed a couple weeks ago, we are going to have some words,” she says, hands on her hips and looking sassy as fuck.
“No, but—”
“No buts. We’ll deal with your apparent intimacy issues later. Right now, we have speeches to give.” She nods decisively and tugs at my arm.
But the word “speeches” has me stopped dead. I’ve got close to a hundred pounds on this woman, and I’m not budging.
“I can’t.”
She turns to look at me, really look at me, and asks, “What can’t you do, Spence?” No judgment, no attitude (as much as I love it). Just one question that has my heart beating out of my chest.
“I thought I could, but I can’t,” I tell her, aware that I’m babbling, but my words make perfect sense to me. Her small hand rests on my forearm and before I realize what’s happening, she’s leading me to a little bench in a nearby alcove. Apparently, she can make me move.
“That’s ok. Tell me what you can’t do.”
“You need to get in there. You’re going to be late.”
“Much to my parents’ chagrin, this is not the first class I’ll be late for,” she smiles, her hand still on my arm, the other one rubbing my back.
Her comforting gestures are sweet, but they do little to calm the nerves raging inside of me. “Tell Winslow I’m sick or whatever. I’ll drop the class. Jesus. I never should have— I can’t do this.”
“Spence,” she says calmly, quietly. “What is it that you can’t do?” She keeps asking, and the answer banging around my head is still the same, but I can’t find the words. Ha. That’s a fucking understatement.
“The speech,” I wrestle the words out, “I can’t give a speech in front of all those people—I. Fuck. I can’t do this. That’s why I ditched this class so many times last year. I mean, yeah, Birdy and I got drunk once. And another time I overslept, but that was it. The rest of it— fuck. The rest of it was to avoid having to get up in front of sixty people and make a fool of myself.”
Her hands continue their gentle ministrations, and I’ll admit, they’re soothing. Too bad I am not in the headspace to accept any comfort.
“Yeah, I kind of freaked out freshman year and went to a few too many parties the first couple of weeks. But almost failing this class? That was all me and my fucking fear of public speaking.”
“Spence...”
“No. I know what you’re going to say. I’ve heard it a million times. Fuck, it makes no sense to me. How can I get up in front of thousands of fans and have no issues? None what-so-fucking-ever. But present in front of a couple dozen people? Hell no. It’s like fucking torture. My heart races and my palms sweat and, Jesus. I’m a fucking wreck. I’m sorry. I’ll deal with my own fall out from this. It’s late to drop, but...I don’t know. Anyway, I’m not tanking your grade because I’m a goddamn basket case.”
“Satisfy a gal’s curiosity, will ya?”
“You wanna know why a guy with paralyzing stage fright signs up for a speech class for the second time, after bombing the first one because of said paralyzing stage fright?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well,” I say, rubbing my palms on my jeans. “Last year, I had to. The athletic staff has an academic adviser who makes all the freshmen schedules. And he made mine with a speech class. I always hated group presentations in high school, but I didn’t want to be that guy, you know? The student-athlete who needed adjustments to his schedule. Plus, I figured it might not be too bad. Shit, was I wrong. I ditched almost every class until Coach pulled me. And everybody figured I was just a messy freshman, you know— trouble adjusting and all that. And yeah, the adjustment of not being under my dad’s thumb took a minute. But needing a late-drop from this class? You can thank my crippling fear of public speaking.”
“And you’re taking it again because?”
“Because the only way to get over your fears is to face them and conquer them.” I say it with a straight face because I’ve heard that my whole life. But then, I laugh. “That’s what my dad always says. Also, ‘Spencer, don’t fuck up twice.’ That’s one of his favorite phrases, too.”
“So you signed up for a class that epitomizes all your fears to show your dad that you can?”
“Well, when you say it like that…”
“Then, come on.” She stands and motions for me to follow. “Let’s do it. Let’s show your dad you can. And more importantly, let’s show you that you can kick this speech’s ass.”
“I appreciate the gesture, but did you miss the part where I told you I basically hid from this class for weeks last year?”
“Nope, I got it.”
“So, what, exactly, makes you think I can do this today, or hell, even next week?”
“Easy. This year, you have me.”
