Page 20 of Break Points and Face Offs

He looks at me like he’s genuinely confused. “I thought I was going first?” he asks.

“No, I’m going first.”

Professor Moreno clears her throat. Will nods for me to go ahead. It’s a small victory, since we’ve already gotten off to a bad start.

I deliver my part, and though it isn’t my best performance, I’m pleased with the points I make. They are well-researched and clearly written. I have been working on my oration with an esteemed tutor since I was ten-years-old. No one, not even Professor Moreno, could fault my presentation skills. Surely?

The rest of the group are fine. Will, I have to admit, is quite impressive. His voice carries well and his points are precise and well thought out. Any time I silently pray for him to mess up, I have to remind myself that, for now at least, we are on the same team. He can succeed in this, I’ll allow it.

I wait for praise from Professor Moreno as we take our seats, but she just asks for the next group to come up to the front, continuing to take notes.

The next group is Alice Liang’s. I try not to wince at how much more polished they sound. Hopefully, Professor Moreno will be judging us on the content more than the delivery. I try to ignore the content of the other groups’ presentations and tell myself they didn’t compete with ours.

At worst, I can accept second place on the group leaderboard—for now. We just have to work on our delivery. Then we’ll be perfect. Maybe I’ll give Peter Chow some private lessons in oration. Lend him some clothes or make him iron his own.

When the last group take their seats, Professor Moreno makes a few more scribbles in her notebook while we watch. The anticipation in the room is palpable. She promised to share her thoughts immediately after the last group finished presenting and she’s taking her time.

She clears her throat and stands up, moving toward the board.

After writing another set of numbers down the board, she starts filling it in. This time, though, she goes top to bottom.

As I feared, Alice Liang’s group is in the number one spot. They actually celebrate with little ‘yesses’ and fist bumps. I want to tell them this isn’t a tennis match and to reign themselves in, but I don’t want to appear bitter.

I compose myself, even as Professor Moreno starts filling in the number two spot. It isn’t us.

What?

Number three. Still not us.

Number four. Bottom of the board. Our group.

My heart sinks into my stomach. In the words of the legendary John McEnroe, You cannot be serious!

It takes everything in me not to leap to my feet and demand a recount. I’m mentally wording my outrage at Professor Moreno’s discriminatory behavior toward me when I realize that Will—the golden boy—is in our group, too. This can’t be solely due to the professor hating me. This is because we were genuinely bad.

When I look at Will, his expression is grave and his shoulders are slumped.

Professor Moreno dismisses the class, slipping behind her desk as we file out of the room.

I think about talking to her, but I don’t even know what I’d say.

Someone grabs me in the corridor. I turn around to find Will with his hand on my shoulder. This time, he doesn’t look like he’s about to punch me.

“Can we talk?”

I nod, still unable to speak.

We head out of the main building together, automatically walking toward the library.

“This has gotta stop,” Will says once we’re safely on the path.

I think about pushing him to say what exactly has to stop, but I don’t have the energy to argue with him right now. Is this what being an actual loser feels like? How do average people get out of bed in the morning?

“If we want to pass this group presentation and get off the bottom of the leaderboard⁠—”

“I know,” I interrupt.

For once, he doesn’t fume or throw a cutting remark back at me.