spits.
“I’m sorry, Leed,” Janell tried.
Her smile was met by a drooly look of disbelief from our friend. “I’m a vegetarian, Kelly!”
Janell forced her lips into a straight line. “It’s terrible for you, I know,” she said. “But it was an accident.”
“I don’t ‘accidentally’ eat meat!”
“Fat,” I corrected.
“Meat! Fat! I don’t care! How could you do this to me?” She cast eyes on Janell, blinking a furious SOS.
“It
was
an accident. . . . ,” I said, as surprised as Janell at Leda’s wrath.
Leda spit into the sink once more. “Well, it won’t happen again. I can’t even be around you two!” She wiped her mouth on her shirtsleeve and stomped out the front door.
One
dama
down, I thought, one to go.
15
Ganell and I were surprised to see Leda wave us over in Room C206 the next afternoon at our speech team meeting. We exchanged wary glances but went and sat next to her.
“Hey, dudes, what’s up? Ready to face our impending speech tournament doom?”
I hesitated. “What about yesterday?”
“Yeah, about never wanting to see us again?” Janell added.
Leda shrugged. “Oh, that. I channeled it. I can’t help it if you guys are pathetic.”
I sighed, knowing that no matter what she said, she’d never forgive us for that one.
She pulled out her ratty purple notebook covered with stick-figure doodles and opened it. “See? I channeled the bad energy into my Oratory routine. ‘Plows, Not Cows,’ I call it. I went home and wrote the whole thing in about half an hour. I showed it to The Ax at lunch today, and he loved it.”
“Then I guess you should thank us,” Janell said dryly.
We hadn’t finalized our routines yet. “Mine’s not done,” I said to Leda. “Maybe you should piss
me
off.”
Janell slapped me a wry five.
I looked around but didn’t see Clarence Williams anywhere. Ms. Joyner, resplendent in a flowing batik robe, manhandled the crowd into submission as usual and got started. We were prepping for our first tournament, the following Saturday at Taylor Park.
Ms. Joyner described the timetable: two preliminary rounds, plus a final, then the awards ceremony. “You should have all received the rules for your events from your coaches, so you already know that you have to be on time for your rounds, or the team loses points with your disqualification. Even though these are individual events, a team trophy is at stake too. Please make it a habit to wear a watch. You have a little over a week to prepare.” She looked up at the booth. “Are you ready, Rick?”
“Ten-four.” The Ax’s voice cut through the sound system like piano wire. “Let’s see what kind of blood we’ve got this year.”
Ms. Joyner called everybody center stage one by one, according to event. Janell sailed away first, along with another sharply dressed girl named Cherise, to represent Verse Reading. I saw Gina from my gym class with the Dramatic Interpretation group, which included Zeno Clark and his duet partner, Trish Lazlo, the favorites. Competitors in Humorous Interpretation, Oratorical Declamation, Radio Speaking, and Prose Reading filed down to the stage. When Extemporaneous Speaking was called, Clarence still hadn’t shown up.
Leda was the lone Original Oratory candidate, and I shared Original Comedy with Vera Campbell, a junior who sometimes sold the school newspaper; the rest of the team members I’d either met at the first meeting or never seen before in my life. It’s a big school.
“Okay, gang,” Ms. Joyner said, surveying us all. “We’re a team now. You can sit down.”
As we filtered back to our seats, she delivered final instructions. “Clean, neat clothing is a must! Do not talk during your round. Do not ask the judges for your ranks; you’ll get critique sheets later. Do not ask the judges how you did,” she said with a smile. “You’ll do fine.”
“And above all,”
the tech mike boomed, its operator sounding not unlike the great and powerful
“I’m sorry, Leed,” Janell tried.
Her smile was met by a drooly look of disbelief from our friend. “I’m a vegetarian, Kelly!”
Janell forced her lips into a straight line. “It’s terrible for you, I know,” she said. “But it was an accident.”
“I don’t ‘accidentally’ eat meat!”
“Fat,” I corrected.
“Meat! Fat! I don’t care! How could you do this to me?” She cast eyes on Janell, blinking a furious SOS.
“It
was
an accident. . . . ,” I said, as surprised as Janell at Leda’s wrath.
Leda spit into the sink once more. “Well, it won’t happen again. I can’t even be around you two!” She wiped her mouth on her shirtsleeve and stomped out the front door.
One
dama
down, I thought, one to go.
15
Ganell and I were surprised to see Leda wave us over in Room C206 the next afternoon at our speech team meeting. We exchanged wary glances but went and sat next to her.
“Hey, dudes, what’s up? Ready to face our impending speech tournament doom?”
I hesitated. “What about yesterday?”
“Yeah, about never wanting to see us again?” Janell added.
Leda shrugged. “Oh, that. I channeled it. I can’t help it if you guys are pathetic.”
I sighed, knowing that no matter what she said, she’d never forgive us for that one.
She pulled out her ratty purple notebook covered with stick-figure doodles and opened it. “See? I channeled the bad energy into my Oratory routine. ‘Plows, Not Cows,’ I call it. I went home and wrote the whole thing in about half an hour. I showed it to The Ax at lunch today, and he loved it.”
“Then I guess you should thank us,” Janell said dryly.
We hadn’t finalized our routines yet. “Mine’s not done,” I said to Leda. “Maybe you should piss
me
off.”
Janell slapped me a wry five.
I looked around but didn’t see Clarence Williams anywhere. Ms. Joyner, resplendent in a flowing batik robe, manhandled the crowd into submission as usual and got started. We were prepping for our first tournament, the following Saturday at Taylor Park.
Ms. Joyner described the timetable: two preliminary rounds, plus a final, then the awards ceremony. “You should have all received the rules for your events from your coaches, so you already know that you have to be on time for your rounds, or the team loses points with your disqualification. Even though these are individual events, a team trophy is at stake too. Please make it a habit to wear a watch. You have a little over a week to prepare.” She looked up at the booth. “Are you ready, Rick?”
“Ten-four.” The Ax’s voice cut through the sound system like piano wire. “Let’s see what kind of blood we’ve got this year.”
Ms. Joyner called everybody center stage one by one, according to event. Janell sailed away first, along with another sharply dressed girl named Cherise, to represent Verse Reading. I saw Gina from my gym class with the Dramatic Interpretation group, which included Zeno Clark and his duet partner, Trish Lazlo, the favorites. Competitors in Humorous Interpretation, Oratorical Declamation, Radio Speaking, and Prose Reading filed down to the stage. When Extemporaneous Speaking was called, Clarence still hadn’t shown up.
Leda was the lone Original Oratory candidate, and I shared Original Comedy with Vera Campbell, a junior who sometimes sold the school newspaper; the rest of the team members I’d either met at the first meeting or never seen before in my life. It’s a big school.
“Okay, gang,” Ms. Joyner said, surveying us all. “We’re a team now. You can sit down.”
As we filtered back to our seats, she delivered final instructions. “Clean, neat clothing is a must! Do not talk during your round. Do not ask the judges for your ranks; you’ll get critique sheets later. Do not ask the judges how you did,” she said with a smile. “You’ll do fine.”
“And above all,”
the tech mike boomed, its operator sounding not unlike the great and powerful
Similar Books
