Whisper Privileges (39 page)

“I want you to speak for me tomorrow night at
closing ceremonies.”

Nerves fired and popped. No. Anything but
that
. Sydney grazed Clay with a questioning glance but
returned to settle on Q. She didn’t understand. “Speak for you
how?”

He sought his father for help.

“Q is what we in the Special Olympics family
call a Global Ambassador. It’s a very big honor to be chosen and
he’s been selected to say a few words about the events and what
they mean to him as an athlete. But under the circumstances, he and
I feel it best if he hands the honor off to someone else. And he
chose you.”

She balked. Heart thundering within its
confines, she protested, “But I’m not one of the athletes.”

“No, but you can represent him. You can share
his story and his triumph which is what closing ceremonies are all
about.”

She looked at Q, looked at Clay—and felt
trapped. She wasn’t a public speaker! Didn’t Clay remember?
Couldn’t he have talked Q out of this? Humming with fear, she
wracked her brain for a way out. She’d contact the Special Olympics
people. They’d understand. Surely they would prefer that a young
athlete speak on his behalf. A brave athlete and not some
doubt-pecked, scaredy-cat chicken like her.

“These events have meant everything to him,
Sydney. You know that.”

I don’t know anything! I only know what you
told me. She struggled to remain calm. I’m only a bystander. A
planner. She didn’t want to upset Q, but she didn’t want to tell
him she’d do it, either. She’d only make a mess of things and make
them both look bad. Sydney clenched her jaw she glanced between
them.

“You’re an athlete, Sydney.” Q’s voice hooked
her attention and pulled it in his direction. “You helped me.”

“Q, you didn’t need me,” she protested. “You
did great on your own. It was all you.”

“I want people to know I’m an athlete.”

“They do,” she said, battling the response
that most certainly was coming. “Everyone knows it.” She tried to
smile and make light. “You have a fan club, remember? They adore
you.”

“I want people to know I worked hard to win
and they can, too.”

Crap, crap, crap
. “They do—they saw
you. Don’t you remember?” She flashed a glance to Clay, mercilessly
mute in her time of need. “The place was packed. Everyone knows
what an outstanding athlete you are, Q.”

“The Special Olympics helped me.”

“Yes, and they’ll help you with this, too. I
bet there are a ton of kids who would love to speak for you.”

So far from the strong, competitive athlete
that he was only days ago, Q looked young and fragile in his bed.
He glanced at his dad. Clay nodded. “I want you to thank everyone
for me. The Special Olympics said you could.”

Damn, damn, damn
—she fought the words
forming on her lips. She dodged to Clay in a desperate attempt for
an escape—an excuse—anything that would prevent her from spiraling
into another fiasco but as expected, he offered no help. Nothing.
Zippo. Returning to Q, she wanted to tell him that his teammates
would pitch in. Any single one of them would step up and speak on
his behalf. It made better sense! Any one of them would do a better
job than her.

“Will you do it, Sydney?”

The question was quiet, vulnerable. The
tender request crushed any and all resistance, every ounce of
defense. Her shoulders sagged. “Of course.” She blew out a ragged
sigh and the lid to her coffin fell closed. “Of course I will.”

Clay joined her outside Q’s room. In the
hall, staff worked around them, some busy, some hurried, yet Sydney
felt disconnected to the hive of activity around her. He touched
her arm with the palm of his hand and she tensed. Warm and hot, the
connection was a stark reminder of the intimacy they shared. “I
really appreciate you doing this for him.”

She nodded. She knew that he did. Clay was
all about his son and anyone that was a friend to Q was a friend to
him. Great. She was admirable. She’d make an admirable fool of
herself this time.

“I’ve already cleared it with the Special
Olympics committee. While they declined at first, they eventually
gave in.”

Yes. They’re smart that way.
They’ve heard
me speak on stage
.

“You don’t have to say a lot. You can be
brief. Just a few words of thanks to the organization, let them
know how these games have really helped Q not only with his
athletic ability, but his schoolwork, too.”

She nodded again, dulled to the enormity of
gratitude swimming in his gaze, the polite glances from
passersby.

“And give thanks to Q’s fellow athletes. Let
them know how much he appreciates them. Give them some words of
encouragement moving forward. And tell them all he will see them at
the world games.

“Anything else?”

“Try not to look like you’re walking the
plank.”

“Very funny.” She heaved a sigh and raked a
hand over the smooth hair on her head, the taut ponytail behind,
dragging the length of it with a curled finer. Sydney took in their
surroundings and warned, “You know this isn’t my thing.”

“I know.” He tipped her chin up to face him
and she allowed her hand to fall away. “Which makes me all the more
happy that you agreed.”

“I couldn’t very well say no.”

“You could have.” A smile formed on his lips.
“But it would have devastated him.”

“Great.”

“And me.”

Her mood sank. “You’re good at this guilt
stuff.”

“You can thank my mother.” A glimmer of
mischief flitted across his eyes. “My parents will be sitting in
the front row.”

She moaned. “Perfect.”

“Afterward, you and I can have dinner.”

“
At ten o’clock at night
?”

“You owe me.”

“Owe you,
how
?”

“Before Q’s race you promised me one last
dinner. Tomorrow night.”

Memories of the morning rushed to the
forefront of her mind. Clay’s heavy-handed grip, his refusal to
take no for an answer. His resolve to convince her she was wrong,
they did have a chance. She’d completely forgotten.

“I’m holding you to it.”

A mix of desire and trepidation washed over
her. She was supposed to be ending it between them. Convince him it
was unrealistic to pursue a relationship. They had no chance. How
was she going to do that over dinner? A shimmy of excitement skated
through her loins, betraying her resolve. Dinner with Clay usually
opened more doors than it closed.

“I’ll call you.”

She nodded. “But not for dinner. We can talk,
but I’ll have already eaten by then.”

“Have it your way,” he said, then touched his
lips lightly to hers. The soft press of flesh, the warm, intimate
promise left her breathless—and aching for more. “Tomorrow night,”
he whispered.

Tomorrow night
.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Seated in the front row on the opposite side
of the stage from Clay’s parents, Sydney felt the familiar knot
twisted within her stomach. Wound so tight, the lump of nerves
began to make her feel nauseous. She did her best to ignore it,
breathing in, breathing out. She told herself to calm down,
she
could do this
. It was a mantra she’d repeated many times in the
past on the volleyball court and it worked. Made sense it should
work here, too. But no matter what, she could not make Q look like
a fool for choosing her.

Clutching tightly to the paper in her
hands—her speech notes—Sydney glanced into the stands, landed on
bystanders here and there and mentally went over her talk. Athletes
were still filing in to a splash of grand music, medals hanging
from their necks by wide ribbons. Some had one, some had two, but a
few athletes wore three or four spread across their chest in
layers.

And all wore smiles. Each and every
participant here brandished a smile on their face. It struck Sydney
as she watched them find their seats that it was true what they
said: they’re all winners in the Special Olympics. Not because they
all walked away with awards whether they won or lost, but because
each and every one felt like a winner inside.
What was the
motto
? Sydney searched her memory.
Let me win. But if I
can’t win, let me be brave. Let me be brave in the attempt
, she
added and thought yes, that’s it.
Let me be brave in the
attempt
. She’d seen it written throughout the venues, heard it
quoted several times and realized that’s what made these athletes
different. Intensely competitive, yet they never lost sight of the
reason they were here.
Let me win.
But if I cannot win,
let me be brave in the attempt
.

It was about overcoming challenge in life.
Doing that which others believed you couldn’t, and proving to
yourself you could. The notion gave her pause. As an athlete, she
understood the meaning of challenge. Looking closer at the faces
around her, the expressions of elation and joy exhibited varying
degrees of mental disabilities she believed they did as well. Each
athlete here boasted pride and gratitude. They felt good about
themselves. They felt part of something greater than themselves.
One boy danced around in line as his team walked to their seats,
the jig-style dance drawing a smile from her. Looking further,
Sydney noticed the sense of pride and joy wasn’t limited to the
athletes. Everyone here seemed on top of the world. But she had
seen that over the course of the last week, hadn’t she? The
enormous number of volunteers on scene, the families and friends,
the strangers that joined in to cheer on athletes they never
met.

Sydney dropped her gaze to her notes in hand.
Q was right in wanting to give praise to this organization. It
helped not only him, but countless others involved, whether
directly or indirectly. An echo of pulse galloped through her
chest. She would make sure they heard him. She would be his
voice

Sydney felt a tap on her knee and jerked her
head up. It was the girl from opening ceremonies. Passing by with
her Miami team, she caught Sydney’s attention and waved, then shot
a thumb up. Tears pricked. The girl was giving her encouragement.
Again
. Sydney waved and returned a “thumbs-up,” perturbed by
the fact that her arm was shaky and weak. She pulled it quickly to
her lap.
Why was she so darned nervous
? Other people could
stand on stage and speak. They didn’t have a nervous meltdown. They
were calm and cool, comfortable and confident. What was her
problem? Why couldn’t she do this? All she had to do was speak, for
God’s sake. She’d been doing it for years now. Speak. Speak! That’s
all you have to do.

But rather than ease her stress, she felt
like an old dog incapable of learning new tricks. It was
humiliating. The music swept into big band tones, signaling the
official commencement. Ceremonies were about to begin. Her heart
was pounding so hard she swore people had to be able to see it! She
glanced around and a vacuum of sound formed between her ears. The
music had muffled, the audience had calmed. Sydney could only hear
the beat of her heart.
Thump, thump, thump
. The rate at
which it was pumping was almost painful. She might have a heart
attack right here, in front of everyone!

But no such luck. Time passed in a blur of
videos and music until Sydney was called to the stage. Her legs
were liquid sticks of goop incapable of scaling the stairs, yet
somehow she managed. Notes in hand, she squared her shoulders and
looked across the stage at the podium. Heart thundering, her pulse
shot out through her ears. Fear hammered into nausea.
Would she
be able to speak once she got there
?

Sydney managed to cross the stage, tried to
smile in polite acknowledgment at the man who introduced her, but
met with skepticism, the concern etched in his face, she abandoned
the effort. What he thought about her, whether wrong or right,
didn’t matter. She was here for Q, not him.

With a marked tremor in her hands, she
unfolded her notes and straightened the paper against the angled
podium top. Instinct made her look out into the crowd, as though
she could see past the glare of stage lights, past the haze of
special-effects smoke. She couldn’t. “Good evening,” she said, her
mouth uncomfortably dry. “My name is Sydney Flores. I’m here
tonight on behalf of Q Rutledge.” A low rumble of disinterested
conversation rolled across the arena. “Q was supposed to be
standing here tonight as your global ambassador, but unfortunately
he is unable to be here…” Her tongue threatened to swell her mouth
closed, but she pushed out, “due to a seizure during his last
event.”

A hushed murmur blanketed the crowd.

Sydney paused, held tightly to the podium’s
edge and glanced around. There was an enormous number of people in
attendance tonight. Thousands. Athletes. Coaches. Families.
Strangers. She tried not to think about it. Just say your piece and
be done, she cautioned herself. Just speak. Tears bridled within
her lids, undermining her poise as she said, “He’s okay. He’s doing
well,” she added quickly, cleared the shake from her throat. “And
he looks forward to seeing you all in Rio.”

Applause broke out across the stands, marked
by shouts and hollers. Sydney waited through it, cursing the fact
that she’d spoken out of order. She wasn’t supposed to mention that
until the end! Panicked, she scanned her notes. She tried to pick
out which line she left off but the lines blurred into a block of
black and white scribble. “He has asked me to say a few words on
his behalf,” she stalled. But unable to make sense of her outline
said, “First...” The audience settled, awaiting her next response.
“He would like to thank the Special Olympics board for their
organization and commitment,” the words scratched out against her
vocal chords, “without which these events would not be
possible.”