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I stepped inside and recited my game plan for the evening, particularly who I was supposed to connect with based on our pre-gala preparations. OurCode, like other programs designed to encourage girls and nonbinary kids to take an interest in coding and careers in tech, had support across the industry and a solid reputation. The assembled crowd had paid a thousand dollars a head to attend and would donate more to support the program’s growth. Despite some recent setbacks to our inclusion-related programming, we were ready to hit the ground running. Katrina and I had curated a list of potential new relationships we could cultivate, and I made a mental note of names on the list who had arrived. The gala was going to be the launching pad for our new plans, and we’d been working late every night with Kendra. It was odd she hadn’t arrived yet.
“Pearl, a minute?” The chairman of the OurCode board touched my elbow. Kevin wore a tux, his entire look put together, but his expression was harried, a deep crease between his brows.
“Sure.”
He waved Katrina over as well and we walked toward a corner of the ballroom.
Katrina’s dress caught the light, the red fabric dipping lowbetween her breasts and flowing to the floor, giving her a glow. “Hey, Kevin. What’s up? I was just talking to the Kellers about increasing their annual donation while you and Pearl chatted.”
Maybe it didn’t exactly bother me—I wanted us both to do well—but I couldn’t deny that I wanted to be the one doing slightly better.
Kevin cut through any pleasantries. “Kendra isn’t coming.”
To my right, Katrina stilled, her shock seeming to register along with mine. “What?” and “Why?” came from us at the same time.
“I can’t get into the details for legal reasons, but she has resigned from OurCode, effective immediately.” Kevin’s tone was hushed, and both of us leaned forward to hear him better.
“She quit?” Katrina’s voice was a hiss, and she shook her head as if trying to slot the new information into existing grooves in her brain.
“She is no longer affiliated with the program.” The impatience that bled into his tone made it clear he wasn’t planning to give any further information.
I intentionally took a breath before speaking, the combined weight of the bodies behind us suddenly pushing against my back and making me feel claustrophobic. “There are hundreds of people here expecting to learn about the future of the program. Everything is arranged around Kendra making those announcements. What are we going to do?” I pictured the detailed plans we’d spent weeks on, the speech we’d crafted, the hours spent toiling over the right wording and how to frame the strategic goals.
“One of you will have to give the speech.”
“That will raise red flags,” Katrina said. “Whoever goes up there will be flying without a net. Can you do it?”
My stomach dropped, and I pulled my sweaty palms away from the fabric of my dress. “I know the speech, but...”
“Okay, well, Pearl, you give the speech. Come Monday, we’ll figure the rest out. You can do it, right?”
I glanced to my left, expecting Katrina to step in, to try to take the spotlight, but she’d literally taken a step back, and I returned my gaze to Kevin. “I could, but wouldn’t it be better coming from you or another board member?”Or someone who isn’t petrified by the idea of standing on a stage.
“You’ll do great. You’re very articulate.” He glanced over my shoulder, a polished expression returning to his features when he made eye contact with someone else.Apparently articulate and bangable are the descriptors I’m getting tonight.He held up a hand to whomever had caught his eye. “We’ll touch base afterward. Excuse me.”
He left us standing in unsteady silence, and Katrina turned to me. “What the hell just happened?”
Just me volunteering to speak in front of three hundred people because our boss is mysteriously gone.I took another quick breath, knowing I didn’t get to lose it, not in this space and not in this room.
Katrina’s tone was doubtful, our moment of shared uncertainty already over. “Are you sure you can give the speech?”
Even though I wasn’t, her tone rankled me and made pride puff up my chest. “I don’t have a choice.”And it’s not like you stepped up.I gave her a slight smile and searched the stage for the notebook containing a printout of the speech along with reference materials, everything that I’d need to cram before getting on the stage and coming face-to-face with my fear of public speaking.
Once I was sitting backstage with the binder and eyeing the podium every few minutes, I let myself freak out, now that there was no one around who I needed to think I was bulletproof. I’d never been one to let my guard down at work, certainly not in this new position. The only time was when I worked at FitMi, and even then, really just with one person.
Cord’s face filled my mind. His sable brown eyes and long lashes—lashes a lot of women would kill for—and his hair that was always too long, falling over his face and tempting me to brush it back. When I’d admitted my fear of public speaking, he hadn’t tried to make me feel better about it, hadn’t told me to imagine everyone in their underwear or whatever other advice people usually gave. He’d met my eyes, hair falling in his face, and told me I could speak directly to him and he’d be smiling. He’d added that I could do that any time I needed. I sipped from my glass of wine and grinned at the memory. He’d been so sure that if I ever had to be on a stage, he’d be there to support me. That was before everything happened and before I left without saying a proper goodbye.
He’d been my boss, then we’d been friends, and one night, I’d given in to the urge to brush the hair off his face, and we’d almost been so much more. Now, he was nothing to me anymore, and we hadn’t spoken in years. I let my eyes fall closed, the sounds of the bustling hall surrounding me, with the hum of conversation and smatterings of laughter rising over the din. They were all going to be staring at me. My neck heated and the dress felt too small, but there was no choice—I couldn’t go back to Kevin and tell him I couldn’t do it or that I was scared. Women didn’t have that option, especially not women of color.
Not today.
I stood. Soon, the lights would dim, and then I’d be on. I read through the script again. Welcome. Thank-yous. Review successes. Introduce new opportunities. Calls to action. More thank-yous. Goodnight.
I repeated that to myself while the lights dimmed on cue and the volume rose as people shuffled and move toward their seats. I imagined a sea of black, spotted with brightly colored gowns and pastel satin moving between the tables like water, everyone full fromdinner and cocktails. I smoothed my hair, making sure my edges weren’t the mess my nerves were, then rested a palm on my stomach and took another slow breath.Okay.
My fingers shook as I clutched the notebook, and the memory of Cord’s too-long hair and baritone voice once again filled my head.I’ll be smiling.
I decided I could give the speech as if he were in the audience, even though he wasn’t there, and I stepped out onto the stage.
