Never Getting Back Together

TEN

My hands shake, and I'm positive my chest is covered in angry, red splotches. I stare at the microphone stand set up inside the gazebo. I've read the bonfire night section of that stupid binder at least twenty times, and nowhere did it mention that I'd have to give a Founder's Festival kickoff speech. Nowhere.

Most people would expect someone who teaches for a living to be more comfortable with public speaking. But since I've only had at most five people in my classroom at a time—two of whom were Liv and Betty—I don't have much experience.

A pair of cymbals crash as the marching band launches into the Rosedale High fight song, and I just about jump out of my skin. Some poor soul wearing the Larry the Liger costume does a tumbling pass in front of the giant woodpile Ty, Chance, and Kelvin erected. The crowd erupts in applause, and someone starts chanting fi-re, fi-re, fi-re, dragging the word out into two syllables. Within seconds, the rest of the town has joined in. My heart pounds faster as the chant gains momentum.

A broad hand closes around my shoulder, and I gasp. Having someone grab me unexpectedly when adrenaline is already thrumming through my system has the unfortunate side effect of making me lash out. Literally. My elbow shoots back in a gut punch entirely of its own accord—a move I learned in a self-defense class Betty made Liv and I take back in high school. I feel it collide with a set of washboard abs.

Oomph. The air whooshes out of Ty's lungs, and his stomach contracts. He bends forward at the waist, biting his lips together like he's trying to keep himself from cursing.

"Oops." I bare my teeth in a grimace as I look down at Ty's hunched form. The muscles in his neck are rigid, either from pain or irritation. "You scared me."

"You don't say." Ty straightens, sucking a heavy breath through his nostrils and giving me a death glare. Definitely irritation, then.

"Sorry." I give him an awkward pat on the shoulder.

Ty sighs. "You know, it's almost worth getting gut-checked to hear you apologize for once."

"Oh, haha. You're hilarious."

"So people tell me."

The band switches to "Uptown Funk," and everyone whoops. People begin dancing around the woodpile. Gary busts out his best imitation of the sprinkler, looking utterly ridiculous but distinctly less green than yesterday. This place is like the PBS version of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Ty catches my eye. "So, you okay?"

"I'm...fine." I narrow my eyes at him. Ty being nice is unsettling. Snarky Ty, I can handle. Angry Ty? Bring it on. But considerate Ty? I have no idea what to do with that. I clear my throat. "I'm great. Perfect." My heart is still beating twice its normal pace. I press my hand over my neck, so he can't see my pulse pounding.

"You sure?" Ty glances from my hand to my eyes. "Because you look like you're about to self-destruct. And if I recall correctly, you aren't a fan of public speaking."

Ty would remember that. He's the one who had to hold my hair back when I was puking from nerves in the classroom garbage can instead of delivering my presentation for our AP Lit class.

"Nope." I give my head a stubborn shake. Admitting I'm on the verge of a meltdown when Ty's all calm and collected is unacceptable. "That whole stage fright thing is ancient history." I wipe my trembling palms against my skinny jeans. "I mean, it would've been wonderful if anywhere in the eleven hundred pages of the binder it had mentioned that we're expected to give a kickoff speech. But I'm totally fine. Cool as a cucumber."

Ty squints at me in the glow of the twinkle lights decorating the gazebo. "Paula has given a kickoff speech before the bonfire for longer than I've been alive. I assumed you knew we'd have to do this." His expression turns gloating. "Since you know this town so well and all."