the art of

five » speech

The air was suffocating my lungs into a thousand shards, scattered across a forest of misery and papers with no names. Breathe, inhale and exhale; it isn't that hard. The room was damp with hairspray and bitter perfume as I looked everywhere but at the teacher. Presentations were never a favorite assignment of mine but they weren't the hardest.

The teacher had frizzy orange hair, like a fire spoken out a dancer's lips―painful to the eye. She had a devious smile pursing at her lips as she called on Alex. Oh no.

His soul looked like it was evaporating as the sun, peaking through the window, kissed him goodbye. His eyes lost all of the hope of not going on today. His face became pale as the beat-down white walls of the classroom.

Alex shuffled to the front of the room, entwining his fingers, locking them, releasing, locking, releasing―a pattern buried deep into his mind. He stuttered as his fingers reached into his pocket, pulling out a little notecard, with scribbles as dark as his empty eyes.

"Hey! He's not allowed to have a notecard. Ms. Hayes, you said no note cards."

A girl shot up from her seat, raising an eyebrow at Alex.

"Shut up, just let him be." I retorted to her snappy attitude.

Alex's fingers continued to entwine and release as if he was mimicking a puzzle―a secret code to unlocking a treasure chest of anxiety. He began to shake, miserably, and it looked like it was ripping him apart like a wave.

Ms. Hayes nudged the girl's shoulder lightly and whispered, "It's okay, just let him use it."

I let out a sigh of relief and crossed my arms; my eyes never left the rude girl, as if daring her to say a word.

Alex began to read off the notecard; his voice stuttered worse than it ever has.

"T-T-T-The a-a-ncient G-Gre-eks w-w-were g-gov-vere-end by aris-is-t-t-ocrats, who are rich lan-n-ndo-o-wners. At 750 B.C., th-th-they w-w-were c-controlled b-by a c-co-counc-i-il."

"Alex," Ms. Hayes jumped in, "It's okay. Take a seat."

Alex's face lost all of its colors; any of the small specks of pale it had―well, even that was gone. He failed. He failed again. He failed at everything. You name it, and he probably has failed at it. Speaking, failed. Making friends, failed. Finding love, failed. Living failed. Failed, failed, failed. Failure should be tattooed onto his forehead.

"Oh no," I whispered. "Ms. Hayes, maybe he can try again."

"No, it's fine, Alice. Thanks for being a good classmate!" She smiled and patted Alex's back as he made his walk of shame, which he was too comfortable with. He has made that walk at least a hundred times.

When the bell rang after a few other people had gone up, Alex stormed out of the room like a blizzard. He left no trace of him in the hallways as he disappeared into the corners. I ran after him but only found a splatter of students, all walking like dead zombies to their next class. I pulled out my phone and sent him a quick text.

Sent: Meet me at the tree stump after school ASAP.

Correction: Please don't hurt yourself.

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I looked at the clock, waiting for it to ring, to buzz and tell the world that freedom is finally in our hands till we go home and open up our textbooks again.

"Come on," I tapped my foot and started packing up quietly.

"Alice, do you have something to say to the class? We still have a minute left of school." One of my teachers raised her voice, snapping me out of my intense mental countdown.