Writing Challenge - Day 13

Chapter 9 - The Presentation

By now, the girls had become stitched into the rhythm of Eile’s week—an expected warmth, like sunlight on tile floors in the morning. Maya sent her TikToks between lectures. Jane had a habit of braiding little pieces of Eile’s hair when she was zoning out in the common room. Bailey had given her a nickname she refused to explain.

It was strange, in a good way. Having people. Being one of the girls.

Classes weren’t awful anymore. Some even felt manageable. But today wasn’t one of those days.

Today was the presentation.

Eile had woken up with her stomach in knots and the urge to fake an illness so strong she actually typed out a draft email to her professor—Hi, I have a rare and sudden case of please-don’t-make-me-speak-in-front-of-people.

She didn’t send it.

Instead, she showed up.

The classroom was already half full when she walked in, clutching her USB like it held the nuclear codes. Inside: her PowerPoint. Nine slides. Clean. Minimal. Each one was carefully put together, each choice of font or color agonized over for days.

“Today’s the day,” Maya said as Eile sat beside her.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You’ll be fine,” Angela added from the next row up, glancing back. “Just imagine everyone naked or whatever that tip is.”

“I’d rather imagine myself unconscious. I swear that I will crawl in a hole and die.”

Bailey snorted. “Mood.”

“No, it would be better if the earth opened up now and swallowed me whole,” Eile said as she nervously tapped her fingers on the desk. 

The professor called for attention. The first presenter walked up, and the lights dimmed. Eile tried to focus on their slides, but her thoughts were a blur of what if I forget my words, what if the slides don’t load, what if I trip walking up there, what if they hate it, what if I look stupid.

When her name was called, her heart knocked hard against her ribs.

She stood. Walked up slowly. Slid her USB into the port as if it might burn her. The file loaded. Her first slide appeared on the projector: her name, the title of her project, and a soft gradient in the background. Her aesthetic. Her design. Her.

She clicked the remote to slide two and started to speak.

Nothing came out.

She cleared her throat and tried again. Her voice cracked. Too soft, too shaky.

Her hand rose instinctively, shielding part of her face as she spoke.

Slide by slide, she clicked forward. Describing her process, her inspiration, and the iterations she went through. The way her project reflected her belief in quietness as a strength, in subtle details holding the loudest meaning. It was all in there—in the muted colors, the clean spacing, the deliberate use of white space.

Her voice never got loud. Her eyes never lifted from the ground.

She hated how small she felt. How vulnerable.

When she finished, the last slide glowing behind her with a thank-you message in a soft serif font, she closed the presentation and sat back down so quickly she barely heard the polite claps.

She pressed her hands into her lap to keep them from shaking.

But Maya leaned over, whispering, “You did a good job. The way you explained your design—I really loved it.”

Jane gave her a look that said you survived and offered a quiet fist bump. Angela mouthed, “Proud,” and Bailey grinned wide enough to split her face.

Eile didn’t know what to say.

Her face burned in embarrassment. Her stomach churned with everything she should have said differently. Her presentation wasn’t the best—maybe it was the worst. The slides were… okay. Clean, but not remarkable. She’d frozen. She’d read too fast. Her voice barely made it out of her mouth.

But at least it was over.

She sank into her seat and let herself disappear into the back-and-forth drone of the next speaker. Let the shame settle into her spine like weight.

No one laughed. No one tore her apart.

Still, she hated how small she felt.

She tried to focus on Maya’s whisper, the kindness in it. She tried to hold onto Angela’s nod and Bailey’s grin.

But in her chest, all she could think was:

Next time, I’ll do better.

And for now… that had to be enough.

xoxo, @auroxisia_

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