When the Worst Happens

She beckons to me from the podium with an expectant smile. I fight my feet to walk up on stage, one step at a time, careful to prevent catastrophe. My head detaches, hovering behind a mist of sheer terror as I avoid the eyes of the crowd before me. This is it; the culmination of twelve years of hard work, late nights, and pure dedication, and I know I’m about to blow it.

My mental checklist flashes as I finally take my place at the podium. Note cards, check. Smile, check. Brain… I guess I’ll find that later. I face my audience: four hundred of my fellow graduates and all of their families and friends waiting to hear what I have to say.

I can’t do this. The gymnasium warps as my tingling fingers reach out in dizzied panic. My stomach is in my throat, my heart slams to a halt, and I crash to the stage.

Nobody moves. I lay on the floor in the crumpled mess of my white graduation gown for an eternity as all those people stare. My principal stretches her hand toward me with a quizzical expression. I should probably get up now.

A laugh escapes my lips as I shuffle to my feet, not yet glancing at my anxious audience. The worst has actually happened. I’m still alive, I’m breathing, and someone took the lead out of my shoes. I perch behind the podium and face the throng below. All eyes are on me and for the first time in my eighteen years I don’t panic.

I can do this.

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