Blackout ✓

26 | confession

OF COURSE, IT HAD TO rain.

It was uncommon in late April, so I hadn't thought to bring an umbrella. To avoid the droplets pelting me and make it in time for Jamie's presentation, I hauled ass across campus like I was fleeing the apocalypse itself. The overhangs and shelters fringing some buildings didn't help me with the open stretches of footpath between the Business Faculty and the new conference centre.

By the time I arrived, not only was I flushed and sweaty and likely odorous but also soaked to the bone.

I gave the wide-eyed volunteer attendant at the front door a bashful smile. I slipped into the conference centre, dripping a trail in my wake. My hands trembled as I followed the signs and the sounds of the emcee, amplified by a microphone. Then a wide auditorium yawned before me, semi-spherical rows of chairs tilting down to the speaker's lectern at the front.

Where Jamie stood.

The emcee—who looked like a professor of Innovating Philanthropy if I ever saw one, graphic t-shirt underneath a blazer and all—introduced Jamie.

It wasn't fair that someone could look that good in navy dress slacks and a pastel blue shirt. He buttoned and rolled up the sleeves, revealing his tanned, muscled forearms.

And yet, Jamie didn't seem to shine the same positive light on himself. The emcee left the slideshow remote in Jamie's hands and promptly walked back to his front-row seat.

Jamie took one breath and froze.

Oh, no.

I knew what it was. I saw the symptoms. One hand clutching the remote and the other squeezing the hem of his shirt. Fearful, wide eyes that roamed the audience. Stage fright. Jamie was used to performing—as a varsity football player—but seldom with his words and never alone.

Jamie's searching eyes fell on mine.

I waved discreetly, communicating without words. Hey. I held my index and middle fingers to my eyes. Eye contact. Then, a thumbs-up.

You got this.

A watery smile tugged at his lips. His shoulders relaxed. Then a dominating title appeared on the dual projector screens—Entern.

"Good evening, everyone," he greeted smoothly. "My name is Jamie, and I want to share how my innovation could change not just philanthropy, but the world."

I took a spare seat in the very back as debilitating relief swept over me.

At that moment I knew two things.

First: Jamie would ace this presentation.

Second: damn.

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"Entern is only one small and simple strategy to combat a large and complex issue, but I truly believe in it all the same." Jamie fought to say, over the rising applause, "You can ask me questions at my stall, and thanks for your time."

My heart was fit to burst. Though I'd seen his presentation over and over, I was still reeling from the surprise of him; all worldly and philanthropic on the surface, but still the same funny, considerate man I'd known for two years.

A dual wave of affection and guilt crashed over me. In the earlier stage of our friendship, I relegated him to a certain group of street smart individuals, more instinctive than expressly highbrow. Then, since working with him on the Innovating Philanthropy project, I'd changed my mind. I knew his motivation and passion matched mine perfectly.