I tried to shut out the sound of the other students’ speeches and go over my notes in my head. But what I had planned to say now sounded like a fifth grade show and tell project, and I couldn’t stop imagining myself in front of the classroom, shaking as I held my notes, every other word caught by an “umm” or a “soo” Every time another student explained something well, I imagined myself doing the exact opposite—starting to speak, forgetting my place, backtracking, shaking, botching a difficult word, shaking some more. Ok, ok, ok, I could do this. I just needed to develop an entirely different presentation. I frantically restructured my notes and began practicing under my breath. But I was getting disapproving glares from my peers. “Who was this muttering psycho?” their faces seemed to ask. No, this wasn’t working! I had to stick to my original presentation. But panic had destroyed any memory of my former speech. A sense of impending doom overcame me, causing me to let out a tiny high-pitched squeal. Just then, the professor stuck his hand in the hat. A quick glance at the clock told me that there was time for one more presentation. My back stiffened, and my eyes widened. I was a frightened doe, listening for the minute sounds of a predator in the woods. I stared at the hat, willing the piece of paper with my name on it to run, hide, or destroy itself! “Ok, who do we got here…” Dr. Jefferson trailed, “James!” I collapsed with relief onto my desk. When class ended I went home to really prepare my presentation.
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