Our Own Private Universe

by Robin Talley

  We’d planned to take turns introducing each topic. After Madison was done, Jake was supposed to introduce the next resolution, on marijuana legalization.

  “I need—” Jake seriously looked ready to pass out. “I’ve got to sit down, okay?”

  “All right, all right.” I pushed him into an empty seat. Only then did I realize he’d tossed all his notes into that messy pile on the chair. The introductions, too.

  “Well, Jake’s speech is basically impossible to follow,” Madison said from the podium. “I think we can all agree what he just did was awesome, right?”

  More cheers and applause. I fished through my pockets to find the schedule. After marijuana legalization, Rodney was talking about the police having access to military gear. How was I supposed to pivot from pot-smoking to such a serious issue?

  “But this is a debate,” Madison said when the cheers died down. “That means we’re supposed to argue for and against every issue on the table, and I think every perspective deserves a fair hearing. So here we go.”

  I stuck the schedule back in my pocket. The ballot the Harpers Ferry guy had handed me fell out. Except, I saw now, it wasn’t a ballot. It was a note.

  The note from Nick. The one Lori had warned me about.

  Oh, crap.

  This was real. He wasn’t bluffing.

  I shoved the note deep inside my pocket and tried to force it out of my mind.

  Madison launched into her speech. The strange thing was, she sounded almost as convincing as Jake. She used notes, but only to read quotes from judges and from what other church organizations had in their bylaws. She didn’t try to say we should be morally opposed to gay marriage, but she said the church could take some incremental steps, like allowing ministers to officiate at same-sex weddings that didn’t take place in churches, before we went whole hog. She talked about how not all gay people—actually, she called them “queer people”—wanted to get married, either legally or religiously, and how it was important not to equate the movement for marriage rights with the movement for fairness overall.

  “After all,” she said, “it might be legal for me to get married once I turn eighteen, but there are a still a lot of states where I can get fired from my job tomorrow for being who I am. And my trans friends back home are looking at some terrifying statistics on hate crimes. We can’t let marriage distract us from solving the urgent civil rights issues still facing the whole LGBT community.”

  People clapped for Madison, but not the way they had for Jake.

  “Well done,” I whispered under the applause as I passed her on my way back to the front.

  “Thanks,” she whispered back. “It was an interesting challenge, at least.”

  “The next resolution we’re going to talk about,” I said from the podium, glancing down at my schedule, “is number thirty-nine, the ‘Resolution to Support State Laws Removing Penalties for Use of Non-Lethal Substances.’ Um, that means legalizing marijuana, in case it wasn’t clear.”

  People laughed. I stood up a little straighter and introduced the debaters, then went back to the fence next to Dad.

  I watched the crowd more than the speakers this time. People seemed to be actually following along with the arguments. Even Juana and the other kids were paying attention.

  Not Nick, though. His eyes were locked on me.

  I had to do something. If he wasn’t bluffing, he could ruin everything for Christa.

  The pot legalization arguments ended and I walked quickly toward the front, glancing down at my notes. The last speakers had talked about the disproportionate police enforcement among young black men for marijuana use, so I went with that, using it as a lead-in to introduce the segment on police using military equipment.

  Then I stepped back to watch Rodney’s speech. It was great, even without the extra minute he’d begged me for. Like with Jake, you could tell he was really passionate about what he was saying.

  Everything went so fast after that. I got more and more anxious as the night crept closer to the end. Not because of the introductions—they were easier than I’d expected—but because of the way Nick kept glaring at me.

  When we’d first decided Jake and I would MC this thing, I’d thought I would embarrass myself every time I got to the podium. It turned out, though, I didn’t have time to stress about what I was saying. Whenever I went up to the front, people in the crowd smiled at me. They even laughed at my feeble attempts at jokes.

  It was starting to get dark, and people were settling into their seats. This wasn’t only politics, I realized. This was entertainment. There was no movie theater in Mudanza, but there was the Aki-and-friends show.

  I got into the groove of introducing each topic as I went. I stopped looking to see what was coming up next and paid closer attention to each argument as it was happening. I tried not to think about my speech on health care that kept getting closer—and with it, Nick’s threat.

  Rosa gave her speech on immigration in both English and Spanish, translating each sentence as she went. She got big cheers, and I clapped, too, but even though I was ridiculously impressed by what she’d done, I was too consumed with worry to listen closely. By the time Brian was finishing his speech on climate change, my stomach was tied in eight hundred different knots.

  I was up next. It was all about to happen.

  “Hey, Dad,” I whispered to him as the crowd clapped politely for Brian’s closing. “Wasn’t Brian’s speech terrific?”

  I glanced toward Nick, and sure enough, his eyes were glued to me and Dad. I had to keep talking so it would look as if I was really telling him what Nick wanted me to say. “For real. I thought he was fantastic. He totally convinced me, you know? Did he convince you, too?”

  “Sure, sweetheart, he was pretty good.” Dad was looking at his stopwatch.

  “No, I mean seriously.” I grabbed his arm. He looked up at me, alarmed. I prayed it would be enough to convince Nick. “He made me understand the issue in a way I never did before.”

  Dad looked down at my hand on his arm. “Sweetheart, you’re about to give your speech so we can talk about this later, but if that young man really convinced you that the rights of corrupt businesses are more important than the right of your children to have breathable air, then, well, I might need to have a talk with your science teachers when school starts up again.”

  Oh. Hmm... I’d have to backtrack on this later.

  But Nick was still watching us. Was that enough?

  It would have to be. I was out of time.

  “Sure,” I said to Dad. “Time for me to go give a speech now.”

  “Good luck, sweetie,” Dad said, pulling his arm out of my grip and patting my shoulder. “You’ll be terrific.”

  Nick had turned back around in his seat. I tried to breathe easily, but my notes were clutched in my hand as tightly as Jake’s had been in his.

  If Nick didn’t buy it, I was so screwed. Christa was so screwed.

  As I made my way back toward the front, the audience buzzing in low voices, someone stepped in front of me. I was sure, at first, it would be Nick. But it was Christa.

  “I have to tell you something,” she muttered, her voice low.

  I stopped walking. Was she here to tell me I should give in to Nick’s demands?

  Maybe she was right. After everything that had happened, she still meant so much to me. And this would mean so much to her.

  But I couldn’t. I was done lying. Even for her.

  I stepped around her, my heart thudding in my chest as I reached the podium. I forced a smile, relaxing into the patter I’d used to introduce every round before.

  “So,” I said, “our next topic is resolution fifty-one, in support of—oh. Sorry, you guys, apparently I’m up here introducing myself.”

  I didn’t look toward Nick or Chr
ista in the crowd this time, but the others laughed, shifting comfortably and fanning themselves with the final ballots Drew had just passed out. At the back fence, Aunt Miranda gave me a lazy thumbs-up.

  And I realized Nick and Christa weren’t the only problems I had.

  The crowd was too comfortable. The rapport I’d been building all night was going to work against me now that I had to talk about something serious. This was my one chance to convince people that they should support this issue that mattered so much. I had to change things up.

  I started by shifting my stance. I let go of the podium and let my notes fall down on top of Jake’s. Then I stepped around to the side, so everyone could see my whole body—I was wearing a long, light blue dress that actually fit me, because it was actually mine—and held my hands out, the way our lead pastor did at church when she was getting ready to start a sermon.

  It seemed to work. People sat up straighter in their seats. I swallowed down the anxiety that kept pulsing in the back of my throat.

  “I’m here to tell you,” I said, “why the conference delegates should vote yes on the ‘Resolution to Support Health Care Aid to Developing Nations.’”

  A few people shifted in their seats again. The name was boring. Why did these things have to have such boring names?

  “That’s a pretty dry title for something that could make a huge difference in the lives of thousands of people,” I said. “It could even save lives—maybe thousands of them—but only if people get behind it.”

  Now the crowd was paying attention again. I kept talking, my voice growing steadier with each word. This wasn’t how I’d written the speech, but my notes were out of my reach now. Besides, I knew what I wanted to say.

  “This resolution is about helping countries that are having trouble getting enough health care and other resources to their people. Here in Mudanza, we’re only a few hundred miles from the US, but the whole town only has one part-time doctor. That means when someone gets sick, it could take them weeks to get treated, no matter how badly they need it. And that’s only if they can afford to pay for it, and if the clinic happens to have the medicine they need.”

  A few people from our group glanced around at the local families standing in the back. The locals didn’t react, though. Their eyes were on me.

  “It’s not only Mexico, either,” I went on. “The nation of Angola, in Africa, has the highest rate of child death in the world. Half the kids born there die before their fifth birthday. There are nonprofit organizations that can help them, but only if enough people support the work they’re doing. That’s where our churches come in.”

  Every eye in the courtyard was locked on me now, and no one was laughing anymore. I took a breath before I delivered my final punch. I’d rehearsed this part a hundred times in my head.

  “We call ourselves Christians. Well, if you read the Bible, it’s very clear that it’s our responsibility as followers of Christ—and as human beings—to do what we can to help others. That’s why I’m calling on you. This resolution is asking us to look outside ourselves, outside our immediate personal needs, outside our own communities, and think about the lives of others in the wider world around us. That’s the Christian thing to do. And it’s the right thing, period.”

  That came out sounding more melodramatic than it had in my head.

  Even so, people clapped. Lots of them. I let myself smile for the first time since I’d started my speech.

  Members of the audience smiled back at me. Some of them were even reaching for their ballots to scribble things down, which they weren’t supposed to do yet, because the other side hadn’t presented their case.

  Oh, right. The other side. I had to introduce Lori now.

  Wait. Wait! This meant I’d made it through the whole speech.

  Either the covert whispering session with my dad had done the trick, or Nick really had been bluffing.

  I grinned and stepped back behind the podium, to signify that I’d switched roles.

  “Now,” I said, “here to tell you why everything I just said is wrong, please welcome Lori Smith.”

  The crowd chuckled. As she approached the podium, I could see Lori’s hands clenching and unclenching.

  I studied my own hands as I took my spot on the wall next to Dad. They were steady.

  I looked calm. I felt calm.

  How had that happened? I’d been a nervous wreck before every school presentation of my life.

  “Great job, sweetie,” Dad whispered.

  “How’d I do on time?” I whispered back.

  Dad held up his watch so I could see. “Two and a half minutes. You could’ve kept going.”

  “Nah,” I said. “No use talking just to fill the space.”

  Dad clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Well said.”

  Lori started her speech. It was hard for me to pay attention with the adrenaline surging through me, but from what I could tell, she was actually pretty good. The arguments she was making were totally wrong, of course, but I could see some people in the audience nodding along as she talked about how we should focus on solving the problems that were close to us before we tried to take on the whole world. I didn’t see why we couldn’t do both at the same time, but I still clapped when she was done to show that I was being magnanimous.

  “All right, everyone,” Drew called when the clapping subsided. “You know the drill. Stick your new ballots in the hat so we can compare them against the vote from the beginning of the night.”

  Everyone was talking at once as they filled out their ballots. Even the chaperones and the local families seemed to be voting. People were talking about what the speakers had said, or trying to convince their friends to vote one way or another. None of them seemed to be talking about a scandalous photo of Christa and me, though, so I thanked God for that small gift.

  It was so weird to think we’d done all this. Only a few weeks ago, everyone thought Jake’s petitions were a big joke. Me included. Things changed so fast sometimes.

  “Aki,” someone said. I turned, expecting another question. Instead it was Christa, holding out a ballot and looking straight into my eyes.

  With her standing in front of me, I expected everything else to stop mattering. To float to some distant corner in the back of my mind, the way it used to.

  Instead it all collided. I was splitting into pieces. My brain wasn’t big enough to hold Christa and everything else that was happening all at once.

  Then she said, “Can we please talk? Soon?” and it got even worse.

  All I could do was stare at her. I couldn’t imagine my mouth forming actual words.

  “Aki.” Dad’s voice this time. “Your brother needs you.”

  I took Christa’s ballot from her hand and spun around. Drew, Jake and Lori were standing by a table on the far side of the courtyard, pulling ballots out of Drew’s hat and pressing them down flat. I strode up to them and added Christa’s ballot to their pile.

  “We’re still counting these up, but I’ve got the tally from the first round of voting over here.” Drew handed me a crumpled sheet of paper as Lori and Jake sorted through the second-round ballots. “Check it out.”

  I blinked down at the list, trying to forget the stricken look on Christa’s face. Drew had listed everything out by percentages. Before the speeches, gay marriage had gotten 55 percent support, lower than I’d expected. Ending the war had gotten about 50 percent, too.

  My heart sank further when I saw the numbers for global health. Only 20 percent had voted yes. How was that even possible?

  “I think we’ve almost got the numbers for the new round.” Drew jotted something down. “You going to announce the results?”

  I glanced at Jake and Lori.

  “This is all you,” Jake said.

  “Everyone out there loves you,” Lo
ri said. “You should be the one to wind things up.”

  People in the crowd were standing, stretching, chattering. A few of them looked over toward the gates. I had to tell them the results now before they started filtering out.

  “Okay.” I grabbed the list from Drew. There was no time to read the numbers from the second round of votes. I strode back toward our trusty chair-podium and yelled, “Hey, everyone, I have the results!”

  People stopped moving toward the exits and turned to face me. It was dark out, but the lights from the house cast a warm glow across the group. Half of them were standing behind the no-longer-neat rows of chairs my friends had set up.

  Christa was at the front of the crowd. I wondered what she’d wanted to tell me. Though I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

  “I’ll go in the same order as the speeches.” I looked at the first vote and broke into a grin. “The marriage equality resolution had 55 percent of the vote before the debate, but now it’s at 80 percent.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Drew yelled. Other people laughed and clapped. Jake was beet red at the back of the group, but he was smiling bigger than I’d ever seen him smile before.

  I went down the rest of the list. Not one issue had the same results on both sets of ballots. The debate had changed at least someone’s mind on every single topic. For some, it had changed a lot. On the war, only a few votes had moved—I guess people already felt pretty strongly about that one way or another—but on the police equipment resolution, more than half of the no votes had changed their minds. Rodney had made a really powerful case.

  The global health resolution was last. I was already grimacing for a bad result.

  “And finally, on international health care,” I said, “before the debate, support for the resolution stood at 20 percent. Afterward—”

  I stopped. I stared down at the number. That couldn’t be right. Could it?

  “And after the debate.” I swallowed. “It’s at 65 percent.”

  My dad led the applause this time, but the others joined in fast.

  How had this happened? I hadn’t said anything in my speech that wasn’t self-explanatory.