How to Speak Boy

by Tiana Smith

  Grayson couldn’t be 15211. That was wishful thinking. His own father had put the kibosh on that idea when he said Grayson had never taken dancing lessons. You couldn’t get more direct than that.

  The fact of the matter was, Grayson was my competition, and it was time I started acting like it.

  Sometimes coaches really did know what was best.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  My brain officially was done. I couldn’t have added two and two even if my life depended on it. Naomi and I had crashed at my apartment after finishing the ACT that morning, and I was still experiencing aftershocks of stress. Technically I didn’t need to take it, since I’d already gotten my college acceptance letter. But some scholarships required a higher score, and I was hoping to increase my chances at them. Even if I was now brain-dead. I’d made Naomi promise we wouldn’t do anything that would involve actual thinking, so now we were sprawled out on my bed, staring at nothing. I could tell it was getting to Naomi, though, because she kept unlocking her phone, like maybe this time there’d be something for her to look at. She’d always been better at testing than me, as was evidenced by the fact that I was still seeing fill-in-the-space bubbles floating in my mind.

  “Listen to this,” she said, shoving an earbud at me. It was hooked up to her phone, and as I brought it to my ear, she hit play. I wasn’t familiar with the music, but it was catchy. Still not catchy enough when my brain was running on empty. I handed the earbud back.

  “Nice,” I said noncommittally.

  “It’s this new band from Australia and I think they’re going to be huge,” she gushed. When I didn’t respond right away, she kicked my leg. “Seriously, Quinn, you’re boring. We have to do something.” She sighed and flopped over so she was lying on her stomach. “Let’s get a group together to hang out.”

  I grunted and barely raised my head from the pillow. “No people. I can’t people.”

  She flounced off my bed and walked over to my desk, sitting down on the chair and flipping through the various papers, books, and magazines I had there. I left her to it, and rearranged the pillow under my head.

  “I don’t think you showed me this letter,” I heard her say. Her voice wasn’t accusing, just curious. I sat up to see which one she held.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s an older one.”

  I didn’t say anything else as she read. I just sat there, suddenly alert and awake despite all the hours of testing I’d had to endure earlier today. My knee bounced up and down, and I was torn between snatching the letter from her hands and waiting with bated breath to see what she thought. I knew the letter she held. It’d been one I’d purposefully kept to myself because it was almost too perfect to be real and I didn’t want anyone to burst the bubble.

  It was one of my favorites, from when we’d played our own version of twenty questions that didn’t lead to only one answer but a wealth of information about 15211 that I occasionally dreamed about. It described his views on education and politics, how he didn’t like the color orange because it reminded him of Halloween, and, most importantly, how he thought I was funny.

  I totally wasn’t funny. I was a neurotic mess sometimes, too much of a control freak, and entirely out of my element 90 percent of the time. But 15211 didn’t see all those things. The way he often described me in his letters was like he recognized only the good things and couldn’t even see the bad. He thought I was smart and witty, and in the letters, I was. I had time to think up clever responses, while in real life I only thought of the perfect thing to say ten minutes after the conversation had already ended.

  Naomi turned to face me and started fanning herself with the letter. “Girl, tell me again why you haven’t met this guy yet?”

  Our letters weren’t that spicy that she needed to fan herself. It wasn’t like he declared his undying love for me or anything. I sat back against my headrest and let out a breath.

  “I guess we haven’t had it work out.”

  Naomi came and practically jumped back on the bed. “You need to change that, ASAP.”

  “We tried it once, remember? He didn’t show up.” And the more I thought about things, the more I worried 15211 was a figment of my imagination, that his reality couldn’t match up with the fantasy I’d built up in my head. The longer this drew on, the more I was convinced it simply wasn’t meant to be. The longer it took, the more Grayson replaced 15211 in my mind, despite the fact I knew he liked someone else and it wouldn’t work.

  I still liked the idea of 15211. But the reality, well, that was becoming fuzzier with every passing day, and I found it really didn’t matter who 15211 was, because he wasn’t Grayson.

  Naomi waved the letter in my face. “Hello! This guy is practically perfect. I’m in a relationship and even I think so. Why don’t you see it? You don’t let a guy like that slip through your fingers.”

  “It’s complicated,” I said. “And yes, I’m aware that that’s the lamest line in all of history, thank you very much.”

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “Is this about Grayson? You were right to put that on a permanent hiatus, and I totally support that decision. Now you have to stand by it. But this letter guy.” She breathed a dreamy sigh. “I don’t want to see you mess this one up.”

  I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head. Naomi yanked it off, so I covered the back of my head with my arms, as if they’d be any sort of protection against Naomi’s truth bombs.

  “Come on, you need to stop mooning over Grayson already. It’s been months since you two kissed.”

  “Thanks for the reminder. I am moving on. I’m keeping busy. Or did you not see how well my mom’s business has been doing on Instagram lately?”

  “If anything, that shows how much you aren’t moving on, because you’re just throwing yourself into that as a distraction.”

  “I thought best friends were supposed to be supportive and helpful and all that,” I mumbled through the mouthful of bedding around my face.

  “That’s what I’m doing,” she said. “Being helpful by getting you to realize how perfect 15211 is for you.” She poked my side and I jerked away, still keeping my face buried in the sheets.

  What was it about people who were in relationships always trying to play matchmaker? Did they think the rest of us were miserable simply because we weren’t with someone? I still had my friends, speech and debate, and, you know, my whole life to live. When faced with the idea of getting rejected by 15211 again, or simply keeping everything the same, I was quite content to wait this one out. Besides, I had Coach’s orders.

  Naomi walked to my desk and rooted through everything until she found a notepad and pen. Then she tossed them on the bed, an inch away from my head. I sat up with a sigh.

  “You’re going to ask him to meet. I’m doing this because I love you,” she said, pushing the notebook even closer. “Besides, maybe it’d do Grayson good to see he has some serious competition.”

  I begrudgingly picked up the pen and wrote another letter to 15211, asking him if maybe he’d want to meet me again.

  I didn’t plan on giving it to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Two weeks later, I put the letter in 15211’s cubby because the suspense was finally getting to me. I did it after speech practice on Thursday, when no one from school, especially Naomi, would see what I’d done. I didn’t need Naomi questioning me all the time whether he’d written back. It was easier for her to think I still hadn’t given him the letter. And I was still obeying Coach, because there was no way I’d be able to meet him before the state competition was over. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop with Grayson, but he’d also been pressuring me into meeting 15211, so that meant he really wasn’t interested in me. I needed to accept that.

  All day Friday, I tried to ignore the urge to check my cubby incessantly, because the state competition was finally here and I needed to focus. I’d promised myself, and Coach.

  That first day of the tournament, I was a good girl and I didn’t look
.

  So much was riding on this now. On me. I felt it in every step I took. Like a bolt of lightning, it infused all my actions with purpose. Each time I presented my speech, I delivered it with precision.

  My teammates could tell I was dialed in. No one talked to me once they saw I had earbuds in, which I did anytime I wasn’t actively competing. The music drowned everything else out and kept me from dwelling too much on all the possibilities. The possibility of failure. Of defeat. Of all this work amounting to nothing. Those things crept in on the corners of my vision every time I allowed myself a moment to think, so I pretended they didn’t exist.

  The energy was palpable in the air. The judges were actually excited to be there, and the students more so.

  Every student competing was doing their best, so I had to be even better.

  I was a torpedo, and nothing could keep me from my target. Not even the knowledge that in all likelihood I had a letter waiting for me. That was another possibility I tried to ignore for as long as possible.

  Until it became impossible.

  On the second day, I had a round that took place in the AP Government room and I couldn’t hold out any longer. Looking wasn’t disobeying my coach. Because I’d be meeting him after state.

  It was right there, calling to me. I could see there was something in my cubby. It was there, and I had to read it.

  I grabbed the letter and then went to the hallway, where I opened it with shaky fingers, hoping I wasn’t making a terrible mistake that would destroy my concentration for the rest of the competition. That had been the whole goal of pushing both 15211 and Grayson away lately, after all.

  Dear Quinn,

  Don’t freak out.

  Whatever you do, please promise me you’ll read to the end.

  You’ll notice I used your name and not your number. Yes, I know who you are, but I swear I haven’t known all that long, and I wanted to tell you. I really, really did.

  But I couldn’t. Because if I told you who I was, I was pretty sure you’d want nothing to do with me. Maybe that’s selfish, but I had to have you in my life, even if only in letters.

  We’ve been writing to each other for months now, and I’ve been surprised by how much I’ve come to rely on it—on you. You make me laugh when I’m down, you make me look outside myself, and most importantly, you give me something to look forward to each and every day. Even if it’s only a short sentence or two, it makes me smile. I’ve kept every single letter.

  When I got your first note, I had no idea I’d come to fall for the girl writing it. But I’ll come right out and say it now so there is no confusion.

  I like you.

  And I’d hate for you to walk away without knowing that.

  Which is why I’m so glad you finally asked to meet me again. I’ve been waiting for that. Because after I didn’t show up last time, I didn’t know if you’d ever trust me again. And I had to wait until I at least thought you might give me a chance.

  Please give me a chance. To explain everything, and hopefully to change things between us in a more-than-friends kind of way.

  Again, don’t freak out. I promise I’m not a creep. I just don’t know how to say what I’ve been bottling up for so long now without sounding desperate. I’m trying to put everything into words, but everything I write comes out sounding wrong. Lately it seems we’ve been circling around things without ever actually coming right out and saying it.

  I’m tired of circling. I don’t want you to have any excuse to misinterpret what I’ve said. I need you to hear it. I need to know how you feel. Which is why I’m sounding like a complete fool right now by repeating myself and being so blunt when I’d rather hide away about now.

  I know you have the state speech and debate tournament this weekend. All the students here will get out early today so that our school can host it.

  Is it weird to say I’m proud of you for making state? That takes a lot of work and it’s really impressive.

  I want to celebrate with you. In person. I think that’s where we should meet, especially since it’s here. I can come on Saturday after it’s all over and we can go out after. That way I won’t be a distraction to you and you can focus on competing, rather than who I am. If we go out after, I’ll have time to explain everything and it won’t take up time during your tournament.

  I’ll wear a red scarf so you know who I am. I’ll find you.

  Please say yes.

  15211

  The state tournament started yesterday. This was the final day, and he sprung this on me now? He had to know I wouldn’t get his letter right away. I hadn’t even come into the AP Government room on Friday for class because everyone on the speech team got the whole day off instead of only the last couple of hours. I’d avoided this room like my life depended on it.

  I knew I shouldn’t have looked. Coach had been right. My concentration was nonexistent now.

  Here I was, all dressed up, with only a half an hour before the finals round, and this announcement of his was supposed to make me feel more focused because we’d be meeting after the awards ceremony? Now was the time I needed to focus more than ever.

  I paced the hallway. There was so much to dissect from this letter. The biggest bombshell of all was that 15211 knew who I was. He knew who I was, and he still liked me. That realization made me feel all kinds of fluttery and dread at the same time. My stomach kept flipping over and over and I swallowed hard. This could all go so wrong.

  I liked somebody else.

  Reading this letter, everything became concrete in my mind. I couldn’t meet up with 15211 with him hoping for something more when I had feelings for Grayson. That wasn’t fair to 15211, no matter who he was. I still felt something for 15211, but it didn’t feel solid. Not in the way Grayson did. No matter what orders I’d been given, it didn’t change how I felt. I’d been waiting for finals to be over so I could finally stop listening to everyone else telling me not to trust him, but the fact was, I did trust Grayson. I trusted him not to use me, or set me up for failure. I trusted him to put my needs and wants before his own. Because that was what he’d always done.

  I sat against the wall and stared down at the floor. It didn’t have any answers.

  Perhaps the biggest disappointment was that this letter meant 15211 really wasn’t Grayson. I already knew that, from when he said he’d never taken dancing lessons, but this was even more evidence. Because of course Grayson knew about the state tournament and wouldn’t feel the need to tell me he was proud of me or what a big accomplishment that was. He was here too. How could it be a big accomplishment if he’d done the same thing? Even Carter was here.

  Besides, neither of them had been treating me any differently lately. Neither of them came in today wearing a red scarf. And if 15211 was on the speech team, he would have mentioned wearing a tie or something instead. No one wore scarves inside, and if he was planning on being inside all day for the competition, that wouldn’t have been on his mind.

  Was I reading too much into everything? Probably. But it was what I was best at, and too much was going on for me to stop now.

  There wasn’t time to process everything before I heard footsteps coming down the hallway. I looked up to see Carter coming my way and I scrambled to my feet, heartbeat still beating overtime in my ribs. The letter was limp and folded up in my hand, but I couldn’t bring myself to put it away entirely.

  “The lists are up,” he said. He was smiling, which could only mean one thing.

  “You made it into finals?”

  He nodded, then scooped me into a hug, twirling me around in the hallway. I squealed in protest, but didn’t put up a fight. He deserved to be happy about this. His position had been iffy, so breaking into finals was a big deal. There was a corner of my mind that said if he was 15211, I shouldn’t be leading him on by hugging him right now. But this last letter made all that seem so improbable, I brushed the thought aside.

  He put me down and pulled out his phone, showing me the picture h
e’d saved there. It was the paper with all our competition codes assigned to our finals room. He pointed to his number, which was set to go right before mine. I somehow managed to score the coveted last spot in the lineup, which was great for having judges remember you, but not so great for my nerves. I’d have to spend the entire round wondering who 15211 was, and what I was going to do about Grayson.

  I needed to resolve all this sooner rather than later. Coach was wrong. I couldn’t handle all the waiting. This was worse. If I had to wait through the whole round, and then the awards ceremony later, all without knowing? I really might combust.

  I couldn’t do anything about 15211. Not yet. I couldn’t tell him I’d fallen for someone else, no matter how much I wanted to. But I could tell that someone else, and then at least I’d know, one way or another. Like 15211 had mentioned, I was tired of all this circling. I needed to land, even if it was a crash. At least that way I could pick up the pieces and move on once and for all.

  If I told Grayson how I felt now, before the finals round, he’d know I trusted him. I needed him to know that.

  I needed to talk with Grayson before I met 15211, but most of all, I needed to talk to Grayson before finals started.

  I took the letter and shoved it into my bag.

  “Can you text me that picture so I have the order and room number?” I asked Carter, slinging the bag over my shoulder. I had to find Grayson. Maybe it wasn’t fair to spring this all on him before the finals round, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Maybe if I’d read 15211’s letter earlier, but now I was out of options.