Toe the Line(17)

CHAPTER 7


ARCHIE


PAST



NOELLE LOOKED SO damn cute when she was being all serious. A couple of nights after my panic attack, we were in her room for my first how-not-to-be-a-fucking-blubbering-idiot lesson. She paced as I sat up against the headboard on her bed. She didn’t realize it, but I was sketching her while she spoke.

“I was Googling today,” she said. “And I found many articles that talked about the seven Ps of public speaking.” She tried to recall what they were as she counted on her fingers. “Purpose…people…preparation…planning…personality…” She paused.

“Penis,” I deadpanned. Already, I’m not taking this seriously enough.

“Good guess, but no.”

“Penetration?”

She laughed. “It’s…performance.”

“Sexual performance. See? I was right.”

“Very funny.”

“All right. I’m sorry.” I sighed. “I’ll try to be good.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Okay, never mind the seven Ps. The first rule of public speaking is knowing what the hell you’re talking about. If you’re not confident in what you’re relaying, that’s gonna be an issue.”

I sat up straight. “Well, that’s problem number one. I have to make a speech about how wonderful my father is when he’s been nothing but an asshole to me almost my entire life.”

She scratched her chin. “Hmm... Well, even if he hasn’t been the best father, you can agree that he’s had a remarkable career. There’s probably a lot we can compile that will have you convinced he’s worthy of accolades, even if Father of the Year isn’t one of them.”

“Yeah…of course. I just have to put it all together.”

“Can you interview him?”

I immediately shook my head. “No. He wants me to do this on my own, and he’ll only end up pissing me off if I ask him for any help.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “That’s why you’re going to have homework.”

Shading in some of my drawing, I said, “I didn’t realize I’d enrolled in school.”

Noelle winked. “No actual grades though, which is pretty nice for you.” She took a seat and kicked her feet up on the edge of her bed. “In my research on public-speaking fear, it seems one of the biggest challenges is the false impression people have of their importance as the speaker. People are listening to what you have to say. They don’t care as much about you as you perceive. Somehow the person who’s nervous assumes they’re being judged on a personal level. So we have to get you to somehow…lose yourself.”

I pointed my thumb behind me. “I’ve got a bottle of tequila in my room. That usually does the trick. Will that work?”

“As tempting as that might be… No.”

I snapped my fingers. “Damn.”

Noelle stood up and started pacing again. She waved her hand as she spoke as if she were conducting an orchestra instead of my blubbering-idiot class.

“You have to become someone else when you’re up there. Like an alter ego.” She stopped and turned to me. “Let’s pick who you’re gonna be up on that stage.”

I squinted. “You’re losing me a little…”

“He needs a name. Your alter ego. Something very opposite of the egotistical person who worries about what everyone thinks.”

“Fred,” I said. That’s the first name that came to mind.

“Fred?” She laughed.

“Yeah. Generic. Boring. He doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”

“Okay…Fred.” She wrote it down.

“Why are you taking notes on this shit?” I asked.

“This isn’t shit…” She threw her notebook on the bed. “This is your future, Archie. And you should be taking notes, too, instead of drawing. Don’t think I don’t notice. At least pretend to take it seriously.”

I sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

She picked her notebook back up and tapped her pen against it. “Okay…so a few things we have to work on. First, you’ve got to get to know your dad better.”

“Hard no.”

“I don’t mean spending more time with him. But Google him. Memorize his bio on the firm’s website—that kind of thing. Second, you have to lose yourself and become Fred. The challenging part is going to be not avoiding eye contact while you do that. It’s easy to want to look down when you’re not comfortable.”

“Kind of like you the first night I arrived,” I pointed out.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You avoided eye contact with me at the dinner table that first night.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s probably because I was intimidated. So that would make sense. My ego cared too much about what you thought of me.”

“And now? You know I’m really a blubbering idiot who panics, so I don’t intimidate you anymore?”

She smacked me with her notebook. “Stop calling yourself that.”

“Okay…” I sighed.