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."
"Mhmm." I force my lips into a smile even though I'd like to give him another swift elbow to the solar plexus. "Must of slipped my mind while I was busy following up with Giselle about the catering, calling Tom about the wood delivery, and checking in with Chief Johnson to make sure the fire department would be on hand tonight. You know, by myself."
"Well, some of us were cleaning your aunt's swimming pool all day."
"Because some of you decided it was necessary to pull yet another idiotic prank."
"Fi-re! Fi-re! Fi-re! Fi-re!" The crowd picks up their chant again with more enthusiasm than before.
Every drop of blood in my body migrates from my head to my feet. I'm probably paler than Chance. Ty scans my face, and I'm sure he can see my sheer terror. There's no point hiding it. He knows me too well.
"Why don't you just wait here?" Ty asks. "I'll give the speech since you had to work so hard today."
I would sell my left kidney to avoid getting up in front of the entire town. But the sarcasm in Ty's voice makes my hands curl into fists at my sides. There's no freaking way I did all the work this afternoon for him to go up there and take the credit.
"Not a chance, California boy." I reach up and straighten my pristine ponytail, trying to envision myself as Katniss, or Beyonce, or some equally kick-ass female icon. "Let's do this."
"Fine, new girl." Ty looks me up and down like he's sizing me up. "Just try not to puke on me this time."
I scowl at him.
"Fi-re! Fi-re!" The townsfolk are practically screaming now.
"Showtime." Ty holds his hand out to escort me up the gazebo steps. To my complete and utter satisfaction, it's still very green. I smirk as I link my fingers through his and follow him up the stairs. The skin of his palm is warm and rough from spending the day elbow-deep in Betty's pool. I'd never admit it to him, but holding his hand does help calm the butterflies flapping inside my gut.
The audience cheers as we step up to the railing, and the marching band cuts off abruptly, the metallic sound of horns fading into the night.
"Yeah, Quinn!" Liv hollers. Glancing around the park, I spot her and Betty next to the buffet table. Giselle's put out a spread of mini sliders, potato chips, and a variety of pasta salads. Marco is standing under one of the giant maple trees with Ty's sisters. I can't see his mom, Lucia, anywhere, though. Weird. She's usually at all the town events.
Chance and Kelvin are tossing little packets on top of the firewood and dowsing it in kerosene. The chemical sting of it burns my nostrils, and my stomach turns over. I focus on taking deep breaths in through my mouth.
I will not puke. I will not puke. I will not puke.
Ty makes a sweeping gesture toward the mic, murmuring, "Ladies first," against my ear. Goosebumps trail across my skin where his breath kissed it.
"Hello," I say into the mic. It gives a god-awful burst of feedback that screeches through the trees, making everyone wince and sending a flock of birds into the air. I cover my ears as Chance rushes to the speaker and adjusts the dials.
I shift my weight onto my right foot, and my leg trembles like a spoonful of green Jello on the set of Jurassic Park. Crap. My condition occasionally has some fun neurological symptoms, including extreme muscle weakness when I get stressed.
I take a step back, trying to get my muscles under control. My legs wobble, and I wrap my fingers around Ty's arm for balance. He looks down at my shaky legs. His brows draw together in concern, and I can tell he remembers this happening before. He loops his arm around my waist and whispers, "You good?"
I glance out at the thousands of faces staring up at us. "I'm fine," I say, and despite evidence to the contrary, I mean it. Having bizarre symptoms hit you out of nowhere is part of life with a chronic illness. At least this type of episode doesn't make me feel ill or leave me with a splitting headache.
"Do you want me to help you down?"
I meet Ty's eyes. There's no gloating there. No vindictive glint. He's genuinely concerned for my well-being. And darn it, if that doesn't turn my insides to goo.
"I'm alright. Really. Just...don't let me fall?"
Ty's gaze skitters over my face. He nods. "Deal. Let's keep this short and sweet."
"Preaching to the choir, mister."
Chance gives us a thumbs up, and I lean on Ty as we step up to the mic again. I'm surprised it doesn't broadcast the sound of my hammering heartbeat. My arm is draped over Ty's shoulders like we're the best of pals. I catch Betty's eye. Her lips are turned in a frown. She knows exactly what's going on.
"Hello, everyone," Ty says into the microphone. Naturally, it doesn't screech at him. "Welcome to the Rosedale Founder's Festival!" His voice echoes through the park, and everybody cheers like he's Freddie Mercury reincarnated to play a Queen reunion concert.
"Paula wanted us to tell you how sorry she is that she couldn't be here this year," Ty continues. "But Quinn and I will do our best to fill her shoes and make this the finest festival this town's ever seen."
There's another thunderous round of applause. Liv lets out a loud wolf whistle.
"We've got events lined up all week, so be sure to check one of the million flyers hanging around town for the itinerary." Ty looks down at me expectantly, and I blink back at him. He jerks his chin toward the microphone.
"Oh, ummm..." I scramble to think of anything to say. My eyes land on the over-stuffed head of Larry the Liger, and before I can think it through, the words, "Goooo, Ligers!" are out of my mouth, and my fist does a little pump in the air.
Oh. My. God. I am officially never speaking in public again.
The crowd doesn't seem put off by my awkwardness. They cheer, and the marching band strikes up another chorus of the fight song.
Ty and I wave, and he helps me walk down the stairs. Well, he walks. What I'm doing could better be described as vibrating. "Go, Ligers? Are you trying out for the spirit squad?" Ty chuckles.
I really want to pinch him, but since he's currently keeping me from collapsing onto the ground, I resist the temptation.
"I didn't know what else to say." I try to step toward the mountain of firewood where everyone is gathered, but letting go of Ty's arm is a mistake. My legs tremble so hard that you'd think I was standing on a fault line during a quake.
Ty's hands wrap around my waist, holding me steady. He's so close I could press my lips against the skin of his collarbone. I drop my gaze to the ground. His proximity is doing nothing to settle my nerves, which, in turn, is doing nothing to keep my muscles from going haywire.
"Do you want me to carry you home?" Ty has to yell to be heard over the mob. They've started counting down from sixty, like New Year's Eve in Times Square. Kelvin and Chance are standing in the center of the throng, matches in hand. I wonder if I'm the only person who finds that sight extremely disturbing.
"No, I'm fine," I say. "I just need—"
"Step right up. Step right up. I've got your antihistamines right here," Betty calls like a barker selling cotton candy at a baseball game. She and Liv appear next to us. Betty passes me a couple of pills and a bottle of water.
Antihistamines are life savers for me, as is the Cromolyn I take daily—which should be made out of solid gold, considering how much it costs. MCAS is a condition where people's allergen-detecting cells are defective. People with MCAS have mast cells that produce allergic responses to abnormal signals like food and environmental elements. Other things, like stress, can be triggers as well.
I swallow the Zyrtec as Liv grabs my arm and helps me sit on the grass. Ty takes a step back, looking between Betty and me and making sure we've got this handled.
"I know you're, like, a huge Taylor Swift fan and whatever," Liv says. "But I think you might be taking the whole 'Shake it Off' thing a little too literally."
"Yeah, you big drama queen," Betty says. She kneels on the lawn next to me, examining my face closely before turning my arms over to check for hives. "Are we good here?"
I nod. "I feel fine. As soon as these pills kick in, I'll be doing sprints across the park."
"Good thing I wore my running shoes. We'll race." Betty stands up and turns to Ty. "Thanks for giving our girl a hand."
"My pleasure." Ty glances over at me and gives me a close-lipped smile.
"I'm sure it was," Liv mutters, and I scowl at her.
I turn to Ty to thank him myself, but the crowd drowns me out. They shout out the final countdown, "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six...!"
I take Betty and Liv's hands, and they hoist me to my feet, so I can witness the traditional lighting of the bonfire.
"...Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"
Kelvin and Chance flick their matches on the woodpile, and it ignites in a whoosh. A wall of orange flame leaps into the air, and a cheer rings through the town square. But it's cut off by gasps as the flames transform into flickering shades of green, blue, and purple.
"What kind of sorcery is this?" Gary's voice can be heard above everyone else's oohs and aahs. The leaves in the trees reflect the fire's dancing light, transforming them into a riot of color. It's beautiful and enchanting, and I know exactly which three wizards are responsible.
I turn to Ty, tilting my head to the side and raising my eyebrows.
He shrugs, looking almost sheepish. "They're called magical flames. I thought it would be fun."
I shake my head at him but can't hide the smile creeping across my face. Of course, even literal fire isn't exciting enough for Ty.