Chapter 10: Finalist

"Clay."

He made himself look up.

"I don't know," he said. "That's the truth. I don't know what I'm going to say."

"Then you have two days to figure it out."

I walked away from him and didn't hear him follow.

Boone was sitting on the low wall by the path, in the dark past the last lamp.

He'd been there the whole time.

"I didn't hear anything," he said.

"Liar."

"I heard the cake go in the trash. That was loud."

He stood and fell in beside me.

"Two days," he said.

"Two days."

"Then let's use them."

So we did.

I asked the director for five minutes at the ceremony. He gave me three and the projector.

My advisor read my notes and crossed out half of them.

"Don't argue. Show."

My roommate made me practice my walk to the front of the auditorium in our room, from her bed to the closet, a dozen times.

"Chin up. Shoulders down. You look like a raccoon caught in a trash can."

"That's very specific."

"I have four brothers. I've seen a lot of raccoons."

Saturday came cold and blue.

The visitor center auditorium held three hundred people, and every seat was full.

Families of the finalists. Professors. Half the astronomy club in the third row in matching hoodies my roommate had ordered without asking anyone.

The night assistant sat on the aisle with a bag of pistachios.

The gear company's rep sat in the front row, a woman in a quilted vest with the logo on the chest.

Kenzie sat with the finalists in the first row on the right.

Pale pink sweater. Hair in soft waves. The diamond clover on her wrist.

The boys sat behind her.

Ford saw me come in and half stood.

I looked away before he could decide what to do with it.

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