Before I could blink, my heart had jumped into hyperdrive. How could I ask him anything with my breath coming so fast? Besides, Peter was standing there, too, shaking orange Tic Tacs into his mouth. Plus, other kids were wandering up and the hallway was filling. A second after Megan took off, Sarah showed and we compared weekends. By the time we were done, Mrs. Lee had opened the door. Everyone pressed forward, but I hung back. My mouth turned dry as toast when I realized Devon had waited, too.
He tilted his head in greeting. “Wonder what torture Lee’s got planned for us this week?”
“Can hardly wait,” I said.
We shuffled forward a few more steps until he was so close I could smell the fabric softener on his shirt and feel the warmth of his arm next to mine. Breathe, I reminded myself. Breathe.
“My grandmother mentioned you this weekend.”
I shot him a surprised look, but this close, all I could see was the underside of his chin. “What did she say?”
“She thought you were very poised.” He paused. “Or did she say possessed?” He dipped his head just enough for me to see his half grin.
I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. Then we were in the door, and I went to my chair and he went to his. If we both went to Benedict’s next year, would it be like this?
Totally and completely perfect?
I didn’t have more time to daydream. Today we were picking topics. “This is the most important part of your oratory,” Mrs. Lee told us. “Once you pick a topic, you’ll spend all your time researching, writing, practicing, and performing. You’ll live and breathe this topic for the remainder of camp, so you’d better make sure it’s one that resonates with you.”
She walked down each aisle and laid an index card on every desk. “Too often, oratory topics can become a lecture on a general world problem. Students scan the headlines and write a well-researched argument.”
I found myself nodding. That was how we’d done it in middle school.
“What can sometimes be missing is the personal connection,” Mrs. Lee said. “No matter how far reaching your topic, it should be one that also hits close to home.” She walked back to the front of the room. “Remember, oratory is the only event that allows you to choose your subject and then argue any position you want. That’s why it’s called ‘original.’ So think about the issues facing you at school, at home, and in your clubs—and choose something that strikes an emotional chord. Use the index card I’ve provided to write down something that’s affected your world. What was the last thing that made you angry? What scared you or excited you?” She nodded encouragingly. “If you’re wondering how this will translate into a broader speech topic, trust me. It will.”
For a few minutes, it got completely quiet. So quiet, you couldn’t think, because all you could concentrate on was how quiet it was. Fortunately, I’d flashed on an idea in 0.1 second. A brilliant idea. I scribbled it down and read it over. I got tingles. Tingles were a good sign.
“Who wants to go first?” Mrs. Lee asked a few minutes later. “Nancy?”
Nancy nodded, her head bobbing up and down. She was like a hummingbird—always fluttering in high gear.
“My brother plays football at his high school,” she began. “Last year, his coach wanted him to take a special PE class. But the only way to make it work with his schedule was to give up honors English for regular English. And he did it.” Her hand flew up in disgust. “And my parents let him!”
“Okay,” Mrs. Lee said as she wove her way through our desks. “What are the issues here?”
“How coaches pretend that education is important, but it’s all about winning,” Andrew said.
Tammy raised her hand. “How sports are treated as more important than everything else at school.”
“Yeah,” Ethan added, popping his retainer in. “If you’re a good athlete, it doesn’t matter what grades you get.”
“Good,” Mrs. Lee said, nodding. “There are important issues underlying what happened with Nancy’s brother. And because it has meaning for Nancy, she has a better chance of creating that same emotional response in her audience.” She looked around again. “Let’s do a few more. Ellie?”
“This happened a few months ago,” I began. “I needed a physical for school, so my mom took me to the pediatrician’s office.” I swiveled in my seat so I could look at everyone. “That’s my doctor—still. I’m practically an adult, and I got examined in a room with Mickey Mouse wallpaper. It was humiliating. So it makes me wonder: there are special doctors for infants and old people; why aren’t there special doctors for teens?”
“Interesting,” Mrs. Lee commented. “Class, what are the issues?”
“Equal rights for minors,” Sarah said.
Andrew added, “They call us young adults and treat us like babies.”
“How our medical needs change through life,” Peter offered.
Tammy’s hand shot up. “And how the medical world is falling behind.”
“Very nice,” Mrs. Lee said. “I think you can take this in any number of directions, Ellie, depending on what captures your interest. It also has great potential for humor, which is definitely one of your strengths.” She smiled, then looked around again. “One more?”
Hands went up around the room. Everyone’s hand, in fact, but Devon’s. Mrs. Lee must have noticed, too, because she walked over and perched on the edge of his desk.
“Devon?” She looked pointedly at his index card. He shrugged, and she slid the card out from under his fingers. She flipped the card over—it was completely blank.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Nothing hit me.”
“Well, let’s see if the class can help,” she said. She folded her arms across her chest. “Tell us something you really like, Devon. Off the top of your head.”
“Fast food?”
Everyone smiled, but Mrs. Lee seemed to take it seriously.
“Okay. What can you tell us about fast food?”
“I don’t get to eat it enough.”
There were a few laughs.
But not from Mrs. Lee. “Why not?”
He spiked a hand through his hair. “Because my mom thinks it’s bad for me.”
“Do you disagree with her?” she asked. “Do you feel her health concerns are unwarranted?”
He leaned back, stretching his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “My granddad grew up eating chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes. How healthy was that? I think it’s a double standard.”
“Okay.” She stood and faced the rest of us. “What do you think, class? Are there larger themes here?”
I raised my hand. “Has there always been some kind of junk food? Was it any better than what we eat today?”
Mrs. Lee nodded. “That would make a good informative oratory. What else?”
“Is comfort food healthier than fast food?” Peter said.
“Were the good old days really so good?” I said, then added, “And if food is so unhealthy now, why do people live longer?”
Mrs. Lee turned back to Devon. “What do you think? Something there to interest you?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled and tapped his desk with her knuckles. “Good.” She checked the clock. “It’s almost time for lunch. I’ll give you the rest of the afternoon to continue brainstorming topics. You’re welcome to work at your desks, or if you’d prefer to brainstorm with a group, you can find a table in the lab. In fact, work wherever you like, as long as you’re not disturbing other classes. You can use the next few minutes to arrange groups or organize your notes. By the end of today, I want everyone to have a topic and a list of potential issues to research. Tomorrow, I’ll want to see your thesis statement.”
Around me, everyone started moving. Sarah shifted back to talk to Tammy, and I heard Andrew behind me talking to Kim. I shut my notebook and just sat a minute, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. I had a kick-butt topic. Nish-kosh-eh, as Zeydeh would say—Not so bad. It had potential for humor, plus a serious side. I shut my eyes. Benedict’s, here I come.
“You asleep?” a voice said. His voice.
I opened my eyes as a ripple of warmth worked its way up my neck. “Just thinking.”
“You mean celebrating.” Devon sat on the edge of Sarah’s chair. “That’s a great topic.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I couldn’t help smiling.
“So you working with anyone this afternoon?”
I blinked. “Uh … not yet.”
“You want to work together?” He shrugged. “You already have so many ideas on my topic, I won’t have to come up with my own.”
The ripple of warmth turned into a flood, and I let my hair fall over my face, hoping to hide the blush. “Well, normally I don’t like to help the competition,” I said lightly, “but since you’re in such sorry shape …”
He laughed.
I got a whiff of orange a second before Peter appeared next to Devon. “Ready?”
Devon nodded. “We’re going to grab some lunch. Where do you want to work?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “The lab?”
“How about the hall?” he said. “The window seat. Mrs. Lee said anywhere.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Great.”
After he left, I sat there a minute longer. Not because I was still thinking.
Because I wasn’t sure my knees would hold me up.