We weren’t close. Not yet.
I didn’t know how to approach him. I didn’t even know if I should. But when the groupings came, I took the chance.
I joined the group performance—shockingly—only so I could talk to him. I wasn’t the type to volunteer for things like that. But I did. Just to be near him. Just to hear his voice when I asked about the answers.
And he didn’t disappoint.
Our group performance was about plants and humans. We had to show how they were similar or different—through reporting, acting, or debating.
I was glad I was placed in that group. Because we chose debating.
I like debating. I really do. But the nervousness that comes after the decision is hell.
I tried to calm myself down. I wasn’t used to public speaking. Whenever my teacher called on me to read or answer, my heart would race like I’d just run a marathon. My hands would shake. My throat would tighten.
So I asked if I could back out. Quietly. Hoping no one would notice.
But he did.
Michael.
He looked at me and said, “It’s fine. You can do it.”
Then he handed me his water bottle. Told me to breathe slowly. To count to four. To let my shoulders drop.
I did. I followed. And I think it worked.
During the debate, I didn’t feel nervous. Not really. I spoke. I laughed. I even made our teacher laugh.
Afterward, my classmates said I carried the team. That my speech made the whole thing fun.
I didn’t think so.
Everyone in my group was good. They didn’t show nervousness. They weren’t stiff or serious. They made it light. Playful. Like we were just talking, not performing.
And in the end, we got the highest score.
I looked at Michael.
He was smiling.
Not at me. Just in general. But it still made the string on my finger pulse.
Softly.
Like it was proud of me.
I didn’t say anything to him after that. Just packed my things slowly, hoping he’d say something first.
He didn’t.
But that was okay.
Because for the first time since I transferred, I felt like I belonged. Even just a little.
I opened my notebook and drew another cat. This one had a red string tied to its paw.
I stared at it for a while.
Then I wrote beside it:
“He told me to breathe. And I did.”
Maybe that was the start of something.
Or maybe it was just a moment.
But either way, it mattered.
And I think I’ll remember it.
-
Hiiiii--I can't really extend it because it'll ruin the plot.
I'm already done with this story, just publishing it hehe
Lemme just reach 500 words....
I have no clue where it came back but I'm sure it was the best way for me and my family.
- Claire
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