Speech and Debacles Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Legal Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

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  About the Author

  SPEECH AND DEBACLES

  HEATHER DIANGELIS

  Speech and Debacles

  ISBN # 978-1-83943-705-2

  ©Copyright Heather DiAngelis 2022

  Cover Art by Kelly Martin ©Copyright May 2022

  Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Finch Books

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Finch Books.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Finch Books. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2022 by Finch Books, United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

  Finch Books is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  Who knew Speech and Debate could be such a thorn in the side?

  Drama class is nothing like Taryn Platt’s favorite TV show—no one has broken out into song yet, and there isn’t nearly as much kissing. But the seventeen-year-old is surprised to find one thing going the way she’d hoped. It turns out she’s not half bad at acting. When her Drama teacher recruits her for the school’s powerhouse Speech and Debate team, she can’t believe her luck. Even better when she finds out the guy catching her eye, Riker, is one of the team’s strongest competitors—and hopefully he got the hint that she likes boys as well as girls. But when painful, amped-up cramps invade her pelvis, performing on demand and getting close to Riker become increasingly less feasible.

  Up until junior year, Riker Lucas had one life goal—break into the world of voice acting to perform video game voiceovers. Then one look from the green-eyed new girl from Speech brings on a second goal—getting himself over the hurdle of actually talking to her. The task proves impossible when a nagging inner voice constantly reminds him how worthless he is, how he doesn’t stand a chance.

  Taryn’s pain worsens, keeping her out of commission at the most inopportune moments, and Riker’s oppressive self-denigrating thoughts steal his interest from his favorite activities. As Riker and Taryn float closer together, then farther apart, they both must work to find ways of coping—or they’ll miss out on each other as well as their performance goals.

  Dedication

  To Dad, who always said I could do anything I dreamed. I wish you were here to watch this one come true.

  Acknowledgements

  It goes without saying that it takes a village to create a book, and mine is no exception. Thanks first and foremost to my amazing agent, Jessica Reino—thank you for finding the joy and meaning in Speech and Debacles and for championing it every step of the way. Thank you to my editor, Anna Olson, for just getting this story; your suggestions have helped mold it into something better than I ever could have imagined. Thank you so much to my cover artist, Kelly Martin—I’ve spent more time than I can count ogling your beautiful work. And thank you to Finch Books and the Totally Entwined Group, particularly my publisher Rebecca Scott, for giving me the opportunity to join this amazing club. I’m pinching myself every day over how lucky I am to be here.

  To Mossy, Bollas and the rest of the Speech and Debate crew—and especially to Bollas, whose stage light extinguished too soon. Through an eternal array of never-ending Saturdays and early morning bus trips, I learned, I loved, I lost, and I learned again. You all encouraged me to dust off my knees and persist, no matter how bleak the outlook. I hope you’ll forgive the liberties I took on the timeline of the Speech and Debate season throughout this book.

  To Laura Brown and Kari Mahara, my constant confidantes who’ve read almost every word I’ve ever written and are always available for bouncing around ideas; I would be nowhere without you. To Maria Ann Green, for being my critique partner and cheerleader and just getting me. To Nikkie Pacuk, for encouraging my passion for writing, editing and reading all the way back in those days of Glee-inspired fanfiction. And thanks a million to the #22Debuts bunch, who never ceased to keep my spirits up when our debut year got tough.

  Thanks to my best friend in the entire world, Carolyn “K” Corzine, for co-creating all those handmade books for our second-grade teacher and every issue of our teenybop magazine with the painfully low subscriber list. More than twenty-five years into this friendship, you still inspire me.

  To Jan Abbott, my phone date buddy who never ceases to warm my heart with her encouragement and love.

  Thanks forever to Dad, who kindled my love of reading and told me I could do whatever I set out to do. I miss you every day.

  To Sydney, my sweet toddler who ran around the living room while I added the finishing touches to this novel, and who had the audacity to be born at the start of a pandemic.

  To Junior, the energetic light of my life who shows me love in his own special ways and had no complaints about watching an extra episode so Mommy could “write her story.”

  And finally, thank you to Tony—my love, my partner, my world. You’ve encouraged my writing from the beginning and always acted as a reliable sounding board. There’s no one else with whom I’d rather spend quarantine.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Duck Hunt: Nintendo Co.,
Ltd.

  Fences: August Wilson

  GIF: CompuServe and Steve Wilhite

  Sense and Sensibility: Jane Austen

  Gone With the Wind: Margaret Mitchell

  Catch-22: Joseph Heller

  The Catcher in the Rye: J. D. Salinger

  The Odd Couple: Neil Simon

  Chicago: John Kander, Fred Ebbe and Bob Fosse

  Chipotle: Chipotle Mexican Grill, Inc.

  The Normal Heart: Larry Kramer

  Robin Hood: Larry Blamire

  Kool-Aid: Kraft Heinz

  West Side Story (1961): Mirisch Pictures and Seven Arts Productions

  Guys and Dolls: Samuel Goldwyn Productions and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

  Little Shop of Horrors: The Geffen Company and Warner Bros.

  Mean Girls: Lorne Michaels Productions and Paramount Pictures

  Maria: Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim and Arthur Laurents

  A Puzzlement: Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II

  The King and I: 20th Century Fox

  Something Wonderful: Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II

  White Christmas: Paramount Pictures

  Take Me or Leave Me: Jonathan Larson

  Rent: Jonathan Larson

  Getting to Know You: Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II

  Cat on a Hot Tin Roof: Tennessee Williams

  Satisfied: Lin Manuel-Miranda

  Motrin: Johnson & Johnson, Inc.

  Chapter One

  Taryn

  Taryn Platt had dragged herself to school today, but the logic behind the gesture escaped her—besides the obvious fact that Grandma had made her. Even her mom hadn’t said more than, “You should probably get moving.”

  Taryn powerwalked through the crowd toward the Arts Wing, her backpack bouncing on her shoulders with each overextended step. Because Grandma wouldn’t accept any excuses to stay home.

  Grandmas were unreasonable like that.

  Yesterday, Taryn’s arrival at a new school on her first day of junior year had been a miserable mess of trudging through hallways and forgetting names. Now here she was on day two, unprepared for a second round of suffering but required to endure it all the same. A different set of classes than yesterday, a new set of people to remember. Block scheduling was a royal pain in her jean-clad butt. And, good lord, this gigantic school hadn’t made it easy.

  Taryn’s previous school hadn’t come close to the square footage—acreage—of this place, even if the student population had been larger. Apparently, that’s what happened when you switched from an inner-city school to the rich suburbs…from Mom’s foreclosed-on house downtown to Grandma’s detached home, complete with paved driveway and pruned flowerbeds.

  A boy whizzed past, grazing Taryn’s shoulder and leaving a cough-worthy draft of cologne in his wake. A girl two paces ahead skidded and caught herself before weaving onward, as if passing cars in traffic via squeaky-clean tennis shoes. Everyone in this deep sea of backpacks had mastered the fine art of arriving to class on time.

  She turned the final corner to the Arts Wing and slowed. The crowd was considerably thinner here. Hell, maybe she was early for the first time since starting at Fir Grove High School.

  Yeah, right.

  Now if she could only find her damn Drama class.

  Taryn retreated to the wall and tapped her phone to life to check her schedule, like she hadn’t already memorized it. There it was in plain letters—Drama III, Auditorium 1B. Surely this school couldn’t have more than one auditorium, let alone enough auditoriums to break them down into sublevels “A” and “B.” Her old school had shared the “auditorium” with the gymnasium, which meant there was definitely no room for a Drama class—let alone Drama I, II, III and IV, one level for each grade.

  A gold placard above the double doors in front of her said “Auditorium 1.” No “B” in sight. With a deep breath, she climbed the five steps to the main entrance. Then she pulled open one of the large red doors. Inside the auditorium, the lights were dim—not a single student.

  Day two and I’m lost again. Typical.

  Maybe there was another door around the corner. Taryn’s lack of experience aside, she was pretty sure auditoriums had multiple entrances.

  She pattered down the steps, turned to the right and sped down the hall and around the corner. The damn bell was going to ring soon.

  Halfway down the hall, she came across another door that, judging by its position, must have been a side entrance to the auditorium. She tugged on it and peered in but was met once again with a dimly lit empty room.

  Fudge nuggets.

  Another door down the hall led to a dark backstage area. Definitely no classes going on in there. Just a quiet area with shadow-filled corners, the kind of place she’d love to escape to and catch her breath.

  But no time for that. She turned another corner at the end of the hall, sped past several closed doors with no windows that apparently didn’t lead to classrooms. At least by now she had a shallow understanding of how the wings were dispersed across the campus—the sciences just past the registration desk, the humanities near the main entrance and so on. As such, she’d intended her first day in the Arts Wing to go much smoother than this.

  Only two more corners before she was back where she started. Based on her luck, the next hall sure as hell wouldn’t have the room she was looking for. Then she’d be stuck going to the office with a desperate plea for help. “I found an auditorium but apparently not the right one?” Pathetic.

  On the next turn, something sharp jabbed into her shoulder.

  “Ow! What the—”

  “Holy—” came a voice several inches above her.

  Her hand flew to her shoulder as she took in the victim of her rush. She’d somehow managed to run into a freaking elbow, of all things. A very pale elbow connected to a very pale arm speckled with blond hair.

  “I’m so sorry,” the voice said.

  Right. Elbows were typically attached to human beings. Taryn looked up to find a boy a head taller than herself. He had the widest cheekbones she’d ever seen, despite his frown. Freckles dotted his face, and on top of his head was a swooped-up arrangement of whitish-blond hair.

  She blinked hard, struggling to recall where she’d been headed before her shoulder had rammed into the cutest freaking elbow she’d ever seen—a thought she’d never expected to pop into her head.

  “That’s okay. It only hurt a little.” Or maybe more than a little.

  One side of his mouth crooked into a smile. “I’ve been told I have sharp elbows, so you know, I’m a walking hazard.”

  She laughed as he stepped aside. He splayed his hands out to give her the full go-ahead.

  Above them, the bell rang. Taryn looked up at it, as if that would make her hear it better. At least she wasn’t the only person still in the halls. Being late didn’t feel nearly as bad when someone else was late, too.

  “Shit. I have to go.” She stepped past him. “Thanks for the elbow warning. I’ll watch out for them next time.”

  Jesus H., stop embarrassing yourself.

  “Noted!” he called after her as she sped down the hall. She glanced over her sore shoulder for a quick smile to acknowledge his remark, but he’d already disappeared. It was only then that she realized she should’ve asked for directions. Too late now. And probably for the best, since stumbling through an awkward question to a cute boy would have been slightly more humiliating than showing up late for class. Or so she assumed.

  She heard the correct auditorium before she saw it, a jumble of words wafting toward her. When she reached the door, almost a full hallway circle from where she started, it was wide open, with “Auditorium 1B” above it. She slipped inside and halted.

  The teacher was already at the front of the room. Instead of assembling the students, though, he was lost in conversation with a tall boy who was clutching a tan satchel slung across his torso. Neither seemed to notice her.

  She took a step forward, u
nsure where to sit. A couple dozen students were scattered throughout the room in the most casual classroom setting she’d ever seen. The red padded seats of the auditorium angled to the back of the room in an upward slant. While two walls were made of concrete, the other two were flimsy wooden partitions that extended from floor to ceiling. They wrapped around two sides of the room like a curtain, blocking the students into a makeshift room with theater seats but no stage.

  There were far more rows of seats than necessary. The students in the room could sit two to a row with room to spare. And for the moment, that seemed approximately how they were spread out. Was the teacher just supposed to shout across the room?

  She found a bare spot halfway up the rows and slunk over. It was probably a rule against nature to be shy in a Drama class, but to hell with that. People could come to her if they wanted to talk.

  Not that they would. But that wasn’t the point.

  If the teacher had noticed that it was time for class, he gave no indication. In fact, no one in the room seemed to give a flying flip about the clock or the bell or whatever schedule all the other teachers cared about at this fancy, multi-auditorium school. Come to think of it, that guy in the hall with the elbow spears hadn’t been in a hurry to get to class. For his sake, she hoped his teacher cared as little about punctuality as hers did.

  The door to the room closed. Her ears perked up at the sound.

  But the teacher hadn’t been the one to close it. No, a pale arm was retreating from the doorknob. The guy from the hall, showing up late as if he knew the teacher wouldn’t care, in stark contrast to her desperation to find the room

  He walked up the stairs at the edge of the auditorium, passing rows of seats. Then he glanced her way.

  She swallowed hard and darted her gaze to the front of the classroom, where the teacher was continuing his side conversation. Cute though he might be, Elbow Guy was not her type. Not only had he been late for class, but he’d been walking in the opposite direction of the classroom when the bell rang.