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I shut my eyes. “Oh God. Dad.” I let my head fall to the counter.

“Okay, okay. Just checking.” He held up his hands. “Good talk.”

Awkward,
Kenny sang.

Toughen Up, Buttercup

Friday morning arrived, gloomy and freakin' cold. Snow was in the forecast. It was our last day before a week-long Christmas break.

And it was “speech day.”

I had practiced for so many hours. I'd dreamed about the damn speech. I had index cards of notes tucked in my back pocket. Wait—I patted my pocket just to make sure—yep.

You
faced
a
judge
sentencing
you
to
juvenile
detention, and this has you nervous?

My mouth went dry. I'd passed
nervous
and was now heading into
panic
attack
territory. On the way to the lockers, I saw Paul and Lisa. They waved, asked me if I was ready for the speech. I shrugged, but I didn't stop to chat. I was a man on a mission. I strode with single-minded purpose directly to Julie's locker, where she stood in front of the open door.

I skidded to a halt, abruptly blank and sweaty and embarrassed and totally drained of confidence. “Um. Hey.” I smiled wide. She wore jeans, boots, and a soft sweater nearly the same shade as her eyes, plain wire frames around them.

Julie jolted, whirled. Gave me a tight smile, the kind that showed no teeth, and then turned away. “Hey.”

The smile fell from my face. Julie kept her head in the locker, flipping through books, hanging up her jacket. I finished my inventory, and she still hadn't said anything else. She still wouldn't look at me.

I gave her the benefit of the doubt. “Nervous?”

“I'm fine,” she said over her shoulder and removed every last shred.

After all that talking. And the kissing. And we were back to this? Cold seeped into my pores. I wanted to take her in my arms, shove her against her locker, and force her to look at me. When my hands twitched, I whipped around and walked away, my shoes squeaking from the speed.

What
the
hell
are
you
doing? Go back.
Kenny poked me.

“No,” I said out loud, not giving a crap that half the damn corridor heard me. I was done with this. Done, period, full stop. I was done with the whole does-she-or-doesn't-she-like-me issue. We had a speech to make, so I strode to the auditorium by myself.

“Dan!”

I spun and saw Brandon behind me. I waited, not patiently, for him to catch up.

“So. Speech day. You, uh, okay?” He grinned.

“Uh.” I'd caught sight of Julie coming down the corridor. “Yeah. Speech day.”

The smile waned a bit. “You still up for watching a movie tonight?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The smile disappeared. “Hey, look, if you have better things to do, I get it.”

“Brandon, it's fine. I wouldn't have invited you over if I had better things to do.”

Shut
up, idiot.

As the words fell out of my mouth, I wished I could suck them back in. Brandon's face reddened, and his eyes drifted down.

“Shit, Brandon. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant.”

“Yeah, no problem. I…um…have something else going on tonight anyway.”

And he was gone.

The sound of slow clapping filled my head.
Nice
job, moron.

I gritted my teeth on my way inside the auditorium. I would fix things as soon as the speech was over.

Dozens of kids filled the seats. Panic descended on me like sharks on chum. Classes had been suspended this morning for the big event.

Terrific.

I breathed and tried to remind myself that we'd practiced until we were hoarse. We were ready.

We
hoped.

By the strength of sheer willpower alone, I stopped obsessing over Julie and Brandon and went over the speech plan one more time before we took the stage. We'd agreed that the girls would argue against the proposal while Paul and I would argue in favor. Paul and Lisa didn't care that much one way or the other, but Julie and I had strong opinions. No matter what I said, how much evidence I showed her, she remained stubbornly convinced that a “duty to respond” clause was a bad idea. I was just as strongly convinced it was good. According to the assignment, each of us would take turns presenting an argument. Paul would go first as a proponent of the law, with Julie next as an opponent. Then I would talk, and we'd end with Lisa.

The hard part was what came after the speech—the rebuttal. We're supposed to take notes during each other's talks and then ask a question that could be twisted around to prove your own point. I hadn't been very good at this in our practice sessions. So we'd tried to plan this part by preparing questions ahead of time. My questions and responses were printed on the cards I'd tucked into my pocket.

Holy crap.

My knees were already knocking. I was sweating and suddenly needed to pee.

So
let's sign up for another speech class next term.

Not helping, Kenny.

But Kenny, traitor that he was, chuckled deep in my mind and left me to twist.

It was two minutes. Just two minutes. I could talk for two minutes without choking, right? I wasn't going to puke. Nobody was going to laugh. It was all going to be just fine.

Toughen
up, buttercup.

I couldn't stop the irrational giggle that left my lips. Julie walked through the auditorium's side door, her eyes looking everywhere but at me, Paul and Lisa following behind. I stopped laughing after that.

We waited anxiously behind the drawn curtain, the first group up, probably the only good thing about the whole ordeal. Mr. Williams agreed to let us sit two to a table. When we addressed the audience, we would have to stand but, thankfully, not at the podium. We would also be wearing lapel mics, which, I was willing to bet, would broadcast the pounding of all four hearts across the auditorium.

Mr. Williams stood on the other side of the curtain, explaining the format to the assembly. I took another look at Julie, who immediately turned her head.

As
soon
as
the
speech
is
over, take care of this, bro.

Oh, I intended to.

I shrugged when Paul looked at Julie and then at me, his eyebrows raised. I knew as much as he did about her moods. We sat on the stage, and I tried not to swallow my tongue when the curtains parted with a soft swish. I didn't look at the faces I could make out under the bright lights. Some of them would be bored. Others would be thrilled at not having regular classes today. I would have paid good money to exchange places with any of them, even if I had to steal the good money first. Wish I'd thought of that sooner.

Mr. Williams introduced our topic. “Resolved. Existing Good Samaritan laws should be expanded to include a ‘duty to respond' provision.”

A few seconds after the bored applause faded, I elbowed Paul in the ribs, and he climbed to his feet, leaving his notes on the table in front of us. I suddenly remembered mine, fished the cards out of the rear pocket of my jeans, and fanned them out on the table.

“Paul Oliva, arguing in support of the resolution.” Paul's voice shook. I heard him suck in air and start the speech, leading off with a list of crimes in which people were killed while witnesses did nothing, like the 1964 Kitty Genovese case, Princess Diana's death in 1997, and the rape and murder of a little girl in a casino bathroom while the killer's friend watched. He ended with the major ethical philosophies that supported our law.

But my eyes stayed glued to Julie. Each time Paul nailed one of his points, Julie moved a note card to the pile on the table in front of her. My hands went damp.

“Time,” Mr. Williams said, and I jerked in my seat.

Paul sat beside me, sighing heavily. I gave him a nod.

Julie stood and pushed her glasses up.

“I'm Julie Murphy, arguing against the resolution.”

Julie's voice didn't tremble at all, which both impressed and upset me.

“In 2004, a woman pulled her coworker from the wreckage of a car, leaving the victim a paraplegic. Crash investigators later said the victim could have walked away from the accident if someone who knew what he was doing had rescued her instead.”

Paul elbowed me. Right. We'd practiced this one. I knew what to say. I grabbed one of my cards from the table, moved it to the front of my deck, and waited for Julie to finish her argument.

“This law is trying to legislate morality. That violates our rights
and
fails Kant's categorical imperative test because there's no way you can predict the right response in all situations,” she argued.

I wiped damp palms on my pants and added another card to my response deck.

“That 1964 example? What if the widowed mother of several children tried to stop it and got herself killed? That would have left her children orphaned, so doing nothing was the right thing for this mother to do,” Julie finished with a sigh of relief.

“Time.”

Crap. I was sweating in rivers now. Where the hell had Julie pulled all that from? I barely had time to make a note of her point when Mr. Williams called time. I was up next.

I stood, drew in a deep breath and began. “Daniel Ellison, arguing in favor of the resolution.” My voice shook. No surprise there. I sucked in another breath to calm myself and locked eyes with Julie. Suddenly, there was nobody else in the room but her. I didn't need to convince Mr. Williams or the assembly or the faculty. I only needed to convince
her
that this law had merit.

“Mr. Ellison, ninety seconds left.”

I jerked and cursed myself for wasting time.

“Um. Sorry,” I mumbled, drawing another deep breath. “The Constitution protects our rights with a system of government that passes laws. For example, there is a law that says parents have to rescue children. There is a law that says married people have to rescue spouses. And there are laws that say doctors, police, and firefighters have to rescue people when off duty. It's pretty clear the law already does legislate morality. But
this
law isn't about
rescuing
people. It's about
responding
. Just open a cell phone, call 911, and you've complied.” I looked down at one of my cards. Right, I nearly forgot about the categorical imperative. “And because today's technology addresses special needs, like people with physical handicaps, anyone can make that call. Therefore, the categorical imperative is satisfied as well as the different variations of the Golden Rule preached by all the Abrahamic religions.” I never stopped looking at Julie.

“Time.”

Thank you, God. I blew out a gust of air. I did it. Lisa was up last. I held my breath. So did Kenny.

“Lisa McKenna, arguing against the resolution.” Lisa faced the audience and returned to the major ethical philosophies and said something about how forcing a duty to respond on everybody violates utilitarianism's
maximum
happiness
principle. I was still watching Julie and hardly heard a word Lisa said.

“Time.”

I jerked back to attention. Julie gave me a mean little smile I didn't understand. I smiled back, but she would not acknowledge me again.

“The team will now refute the arguments they've presented in a cross fire round,” Mr. Morris notified the assembly.

All four of us stood. Paul grabbed his first card. “You mentioned the maximum happiness principle. But doesn't utilitarianism theory
support
this law on the basis that it serves the greater good?”

Oh, that was good. Paul phrased his question so Julie and Lisa pretty much had to say yes. They not only had to remember the theory but twist it around to argue their own point…and do it in less than a minute.

“Yes, but only as long as the greatest good for the greatest number of people is
always
served. In the Kitty Genovese example, that test fails if three children were orphaned to save one life,” Lisa answered.

You
guys
are
toast,
Kenny jeered.

I had the next question and tried to follow Paul's lead. But I abandoned our script. “If you were in trouble—the victim of a crime or an accident—would you be mad if bystanders did nothing to help you?”

“Yeah,” Julie shrugged.

“Would you wear a seat belt or wait until you were twenty-one to drink if the law didn't force you?”

“Probably not.”

“So you agree the law already limits our rights?”

Julie's eyes went cold, and she wasted precious seconds glaring at me before she muttered a terse yes.

The assembly applauded.

“Okay, we're out of time. Summary review. Who is the team's last speaker?” Mr. Williams interrupted.

Julie was our designated summarizer. She was supposed to close with a bias against the law. She turned wide eyes to me, and I recognized the look. Stunned. Paralyzed. It was the same look as the day I'd met her. And suddenly, I realized it was the same look from this morning. Lisa was frantically nudging Julie, who remained immobile. Paul looked at me.