An Extra Pump of Sugar

Chapter 34

"Ramona, you're next."

I snapped out of my rehearsal fog and walked to the front of the lecture hall to plug in my flash drive. Elijah threw me a thumbs up on his way back to his seat, and I let out an anxious breath.

Somehow, I'd managed to submit my essay before midnight, print out the rest of my portfolio, and finalize my slides. It was one hell of a push, though, and I felt a bit delirious this morning, operating on nothing but caffeine, nerves, and four hours of sleep.

I dragged my presentation to the desktop and paid a quick glance at my classmates, a million butterflies looping through my ribcage. Normally, public speaking had Carl foaming at the mouth, but after Jay's funeral, I'd worked hard to keep that panicked feeling diluted and impotent. At the end of the day, this was a grade for an elective course, not a job interview.

Professor Fontaine nodded at me from the front row—an indicator that I should begin—and I proceeded to open up my PowerPoint.

A second later, "An Extra Pump of Sugar" popped up on the projection screen in giant, cursive letters.

Okay.

Here goes nothing...

"As we've seen here today, we carry numerous misconceptions with us. We all have preconceived notions about car brands, mental health, and what it takes to be a college student, and that's just scratching the surface," I said, using the introduction I'd memorized to smooth out the inflections in my voice. "For me, I used to think I had to live a perfect, extraordinary life to feel fulfilled. I thought I had to be someone, do something, or go somewhere remarkable to be happy. I thought I had to chase dreams and fairytales to have a story worth telling. But I was wrong."

I clicked through the next few slides describing my theme, watching my attentive audience skim the bullet points. Watching the hook snag, then reeling them in.

"Despite what the media says, subscribing to societal expectations, finding your soulmate, and achieving notoriety aren't the secrets to lifelong happiness. In fact, some of us may never obtain those things. Some of those paths might not even exist for us." My comment was met with a few weak smiles throughout the room, and my heart rate slowed a bit, calmed by their favorable reactions. "But we can all find joy in the ordinary. In the mundane. And in the people we surround ourselves with."

I launched the sequence of photographs in my portfolio, each slide detailing the compositional strategies and photography techniques I used.

First, I depicted Elijah sitting in a garage surrounded by tools and various car parts. Grease and oil painted his skin, but mental stimulation swam in his eyes and the upward tilt of his mouth.

Next was a photo of the homeless man, Arthur, and his dog, Hiccup, whom I passed every time I drove to the grocery store. The two were inseparable, and I knew there were nights when Hiccup was the only thing keeping Arthur in the fight.

After several other photographs, I paused on the image of my grandmother showing off her biblical salt and pepper shakers, and Fontaine chuckled into her hand.

"We can obtain happiness through life's simple pleasures," I said. "Some of them good for us..."

I showed a picture of Walker at his music studio, then one of Charlie painting at a Picasso and Wine class, her upturned nose crinkled with concentration. I also included a photo of Adora and Van sitting in the snow with their ski gear half-off, laughing together for once instead of chucking jibes.

I'd debated over keeping the following shot—a black-and-white photo of Theo playing guitar in a room devoid of belongings—but it fit my theme so well, I couldn't part with it. And of course, I had to add a Nevada sunset to the mix, the fading light leaving pink and purple bruises across the desert.