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“That’s you.” Priya’s squeeze of my arm jolts me back to reality. “You’re on. Time to tell them how important this place is. To all of us.”
I can’t let her down. Nor can I let down Charlotte, who’s pulled this thing together in record time and under terrible circumstances. And most of all, I can’t let down Owen, who’s desperately trying to keep the dwindling applause going while looking at me with the expression of an increasingly worried expectant father.
They’re all depending on me to make this work, to make Netto happy, to explain to the press what we’re doing and why we’re doing it.
Me.
It’s the first time anything has been entirely dependent upon me. Well, the first time since Charlotte needed me to get her home without choking on her own vomit. That night it felt good. It felt good that she needed me.
Now Owen and everyone else who’s poured their heart and soul into this project need me. Can I make that feel good too?
“Come on up, Elliot,” Owen says as the clapping starts to fade.
Taking a page out of Charlotte’s book, I think only of the people I’ll let down if I don’t do this. She put her whole life on hold for the benefit of others. She sacrificed her education to make sure her brothers got theirs. In comparison to that, feeling awkward reading a speech out loud to a bunch of people is a pretty pathetic sacrifice. It’s actually the least I can fucking do.
I shove everything to do with myself out of my head. And in the space left behind, I find the strength to put one foot in front of the other and meet Owen at the lectern.
The room looks spectacular. The fresh paint gleams in the bright lights. The faces of the kids sitting at the different workstations around the room are a joy to behold. They’re as eager as children on Christmas morning who’ve been told they have to wait five more minutes before they can start ripping the wrapping paper.
Priya and her band of volunteer teachers follow me onto the platform and line up at the back. They are the real heroes here.
Neither Owen nor I were much better off than any of the kids smiling up at me with excitement and hope when we were their age. Looking at their faces is humbling. Their eagerness to learn touches me somewhere deep inside. It’s a true privilege to be able to use the wealth we’ve built to give them experience with the latest tech they’re unlikely to get anywhere else. Their time here could spark an interest, a skill, a talent, that might change the course of their lives.
Behind them stands a row of Netto executives in suits. They shuffle uncomfortably, check their watches, and fold their arms as an uneasy silence descends on the room.
“Thank you for—” My voice wobbles as much as my stomach. I clear my throat and try to take a breath, but my chest is so tight there’s barely room for my lungs to expand. “Thank you all for coming.”
I grip the sides of the lectern to at least hide how much my hands are shaking. It has the added benefit of keeping me upright if my knees make good on their current threat to buckle and send me crashing to the floor in a humiliated heap.
“It means so much to all of us…” The script on the tablet in front of me blurs before my eyes. “…that you came.”
If I can just keep my focus on the words and don’t look up, maybe I can get through this. All I have to do is read these words out loud until I get to the end.
“Developing free tech learning hubs for kids has been a dream for us for many years,” I say into my chest.
Someone at the back coughs, and my eyes automatically lift. I catch the cougher rolling their eyes. To be fair that’s justified. Even to my own ears I sound like a bad robot reciting the words correctly but with zero heart or emotion.
Something ripples overhead, and for the first time I notice the swags of fabric covering the ceiling. Thin and slightly sparkly material in our yellow-and-blue brand colors hangs from the corners and meets in the center, almost like a circus top, cleverly covering up the holes.
I bet that was Charlotte.
Off to the left, one of the kids pokes another and they giggle.
Shit, I’ve lost this crowd completely. I’ve already been irreparably bad.
My eyes drift around this terrifyingly silent room, till my attention’s drawn to movement by the door.
A group of the kids’ parents are moving aside to make room for a latecomer.
My heart, which hadn’t been able to decide whether to go into overdrive or come to a complete stop, now thumps a deep and heavy rhythm as a brown ponytail bobs between the parents.
And out steps Charlotte.
23
ELLIOT
My whole body stops functioning. No breath. No heartbeat. It’s as though I’ve been cryogenically preserved for the future.
