Boundless, p.5
Boundless, page 5
There weren’t that many kids here, six total. Two adults sat in the front, facing the small podium with the logo of the school and the words INFO round 1 taped crookedly to its front. The judges, a youngish man in jeans and an older woman in a matching blue pantsuit set, looked bored as they sipped coffee from cheap paper cups. Three boys sat closer to the front of the room in a group, whispering quietly to each other. Their perfectly fitting jackets in a dark blue color all had a school patch sewn to the front. Some private school, then. The other three were girls whose eyes flicked toward me with mild curiosity. One of the girls openly stared at me with a raised eyebrow till I looked away, pretending to smooth the wrinkles of my clingy pants. It was then I realized that everyone in the room was white. I felt the darkness of my skin and wished I had convinced someone to come and sit with me.
I nervously flipped through the three index cards in my hands. I had worked hard at memorizing my speech and had it down pat. But this was competition, and I had yet to actually do this speech in front of an audience other than my own team.
I could feel the sweat on my palms staining the cards I was holding. The sound of a bell from the hallway announced the time. The older woman glanced around the room and waved her papers at the podium, her voice papery thin and dry.
“There is no order, so anyone can go first.” I immediately shot my hand up, and she motioned me to the front of the room. I preferred to get the speech over with as soon as possible—the waiting for my turn was more painful than giving the speech itself. I walked up to the podium and arranged my cards carefully on the small surface.
“Jennifer Akalik, Tikigaq High School,” I said. The judges nodded and wrote my info down on their pads, and the woman picked up a timer.
Most would say that giving speeches in front of people was terrifying, but for me it was the opposite. For a few minutes, I would know exactly what was expected of me, and I knew exactly what was going to happen, and that was comforting in a way. Predictable. I took a deep breath...and began singing in Inupiaq. It was a quick simple tune, a couple of lines in a lullaby singsong melody. I wasn’t that great of a singer, but it did what it was designed to do; all eyes turned toward me. Vague interest was at least some interest. I then poured myself into the speech, relying on the hours of practice I had done at home in front of my mirror, making sure to step in the predetermined pattern I was supposed to around the podium as I moved through the different topic points.
“My name is Jen, and I am from Tikigaq, also known as Point Hope, Alaska. I am Inupiaq and, in our culture, we still rely on hunting whales to feed our village for the whole year. My speech today will be about my experiences growing up in this tradition and what that looks like day to day...”
Once I had started the speech, I thought I did fairly well. No one looked bored at least. When I finished, I thanked the judges. They nodded at me as they finished writing notes before the next contestant got up, and I made my escape out the door.
The blood was pounding through my veins in delayed reaction as I walked through the dim halls. That always happened when I was in intense situations. Once I didn’t have something to focus all my energy on, my body caught up to me. It was fine in this circumstance, as long as I could make my escape before embarrassing myself. My fingertips were becoming numb, so I concentrated on taking deep breaths through my nose as I made my way back to the room my team was practicing in.
* * *
The next morning, we all raced to the huge corkboard wall at the front of the school building where they posted the results from the day before. Trying not to look too anxious, I made my way to the board and skimmed quickly through the pages, searching for the Informative speech group. There... My name sat at the top of the list; I was going straight to finals. FINALS.
“Cool, you made it into finals,” said a voice behind me. I turned to see one of the boys from yesterday’s round. The private school boys. Another boy stood behind him.
“Thanks,” I replied, trying hard not to smooth down hair that probably needed to be tucked behind my ear again. He was cute in a nerdy kind of way, dark-haired with freckles that stood out on his light skin.
“Everyone on our team thought your speech was sick. You know judges these days, though. They love that type of stuff. It’s almost a guaranteed pass. It’s so...cultural...you know?” He flashed his perfect white teeth in an odd smile.
I blinked a bit and smiled hesitantly. Did he just insult me? He was talking faster than I was used to. His expression didn’t match his words.
“You can speak well for being rural, though. You must not have grown up there. My name is Tim, and this is Chance.” He gestured to the other guy before I could respond, who nodded. “We usually get together between rounds and work on our speeches. We can give you some tips if you like. Coaches like that type of thing. Your coach would be impressed.” I glanced at the rest of my team as they searched for rankings a few feet away, trying to hide the clenching of my jaws.
“The rest of my team, too?” I asked, trying to buy myself some time, not wanting to reject him outright. He didn’t seem the type to take something like that lightly by the way he liked the sound of his own voice. Tim exchanged a quick glance with Chance who smirked and shrugged, and then turned to me again with that smile. He sighed and stepped back a bit from me, tucking his hands in his trouser pockets.
“They would probably be a little too much, you know? But anyways, we got to run.” He did a little salute, and turned, and walked away before I could answer. I watched him for a moment.
Slim hands reached around the crook of my elbows from either side. Eddy was on my left and Franky on my right. I could feel their freshly manicured nails scrape across the fabric of my cardigan.
“Got a nalagumiu boyfriend, Jen?” asked Franky. Eddy made a hmm? noise in my other ear. I felt my ears heat up as I blushed. “The dark-haired one is cute. He looks expensive.” They giggled.
I reached up with both my hands and smoothed my hair behind my ears, using the movement to dislodge the girls from my arms. If only they knew what he just said, they probably wouldn’t think he was so cute.
“Atchu, I don’t know,” I said and shrugged my shoulders as I stepped away from them, hoping they wouldn’t ask me any more questions. The brief conversation with the expensive cute boy left me feeling like I needed a shower.
* * *
Later that night, I sat at the desk, staring at the door to our hotel room, a twenty-dollar bill gripped in my hand. I glanced at my phone and confirmed that the pizza was now fifteen minutes late. My stomach grumbled. Helen was reading on her bed. It had been a long day, and I had been too nervous from competition to eat much till now. I debated whether or not I should go back down to the lobby and grab something from the vending machines before our curfew.
“Those private school boys, they are jerks,” she said as she looked at me over her book.
“What?” I said, caught off guard. We rarely spoke to each other unless it was about the competition.
“Those boys that talked to you at the rankings board? I know them, or at least I’ve seen them at events. They tried talking to me a few times, till they found out I didn’t have the same...opinions...as them.” She frowned. “They are pretty stuck up. They think that Speech and Debate should be, you know...like a club. For certain people.” My hand tightened around the twenty-dollar bill. What was she getting at?
“Huh. Yeah, they seemed a bit sketchy. I don’t know why they talked to me,” I said.
She shrugged, a frown on her face. “They like to get under people’s skin, try and get them rattled. Plus, they probably think you’re...you know... African-American.” I glanced at her face, trying to figure out her motives. Most people don’t just straight out say that. She didn’t look like she was trolling, though.
“I am, though,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her boldness.
“I mean, they probably can’t tell you’re Native. Till they heard your speech. I mean, you didn’t grow up Black, though, right?” I blinked a bit. Again, usually people don’t say that part out loud. Yeah, it was true I wasn’t part of that scene, and my relationship with my birth dad was sparse and rocky to say the least, but it didn’t negate the parts of me that were curlier, darker, and rounder than others.
“There aren’t many POC in Debate in Alaska,” she said quickly before I could form a reply. And she was right. I sat there and tried to think of how many non-white faces I had seen during competition. At least obvious ones. I didn’t really wonder why till now. Maybe one other person came to mind. Besides me and...
“What about Eddy and Franky? They count. Why didn’t the guys talk to them?” Again, that little shrug.
“They are...you know...” she waved a hand in the air like she was trying to flick at mosquitoes “...too Native. Kind of over-the-top. I don’t think they see them as a threat.”
“Too Native?” I repeated, like a parrot learning new words.
Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “Just be careful, Jen,” she said and shrugged, raising her book back up, stopping the conversation. I rubbed a finger on the bill I was holding, trying to figure out what she meant by too Native. Eddy and Franky were a bit much sometimes. They weren’t shy, and the giggling could get annoying. But I had known them my whole life. I tried to see them how a stranger would see them. They were definitely Indigenous-looking and Indigenous-sounding. Their speeches were peppered with emotive Inupiaq words, and they already had that “aunty” confidence that intimidated a lot of people. But too Native? And what did that say about me?
Did the boys see me as someone they could easily eliminate as competition?
* * *
Informative speech finals were one of the first events of the morning on the last day of competition. This time when I walked into the room, it was more than half filled with kids and a few coaches along with the judges. The judges were an older dark-skinned woman with gray hair and thick glasses, and a middle-aged man wearing a bulky red sweater. The paper pads that sat in front of them were wrinkled with notes from the multitudes of rounds they’d judged before.
Senior judges, then.
I could feel my heartbeat in my chest again, thundering against my rib cage. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Easy as cake, Jen. CAKE. I took a seat in the back once again and looked around. Besides me and the one judge, the room was filled with curious white faces. I had asked Eddy and Franky to come and sit in the audience this time, but they weren’t here yet. We weren’t that close, but they didn’t even bat an eye when I asked them. It made me feel a little less anxious knowing that there would be at least a couple people there not staring at me like I was a unicorn.
I saw the private school boys at the front. Tim turned in his chair and gave me a little wave. I waved back. I don’t know why I waved back. Geez, Jen, get yourself together. A few of the other kids turned in their chairs and looked at me with curiosity.
Where were Eddy and Franky?
The bell rang, and again the judges asked for volunteers to start off the competition. I raised my hand as quick as I could, but this time another girl was picked to go first. She had bright red hair that looked just vivid enough to come from a box. I leaned back into my chair and twisted my hair between my fingers. Coach hated it when I did that, but he wasn’t here to frown at me. He was busy helping Helen and Luke prep for a round in Debate.
The judge signaled that the timer had begun, and the red-haired girl moved her hands in the air in fluid graceful movements. It was instantly captivating. She didn’t speak at all for a full minute, the silence working to grab her audience immediately as everyone tried to work out what was happening. It was beautiful. Her speech was about learning sign language and her experience growing up deaf. It took me a minute to adjust to her speech pattern. I was impressed. She was articulate and friendly and even got the audience to laugh a few times. I don’t remember if I even got a chuckle during my speech. Of course, I didn’t write any funny stuff in there, but still. Maybe I should have? Am I funny, though? Geez, Jen, concentrate.
When she was done, she even got a few brief claps. I raised my hand even before the woman turned for more volunteers. She nodded in my direction, and I got up and walked to the front of the room. I smoothed the suffocating clothes around my body. As I stepped up to the podium, Eddy and Franky walked into the room, giving everyone a little wave and big apologetic smiles as they found some seats in the back. I sighed in relief and the nervous smoothing-of-clothes ritual stopped.
I concentrated on relaxing the rest of my body as I sang, and once again the world slipped into that oh-so-comfortable, predictable zone. This time I focused on projecting my voice more, trying to make sure the people in the back could hear me. When I got nervous, I tended to grow quieter. The audience blurred into vague figures as I paced myself through the speech.
Once I was done, I heard a few enthusiastic claps, mostly from the back where Eddy and Franky sat. I didn’t care that a few of the other kids turned to frown at them. I thanked the judges and made my way out the door, not wanting to wait around and watch the rest of the speeches. The adrenaline rush I was expecting was building. Eddy and Franky followed right behind me.
“Jen! That was so goooood, holy! Kinaaq, crazy, even better than practice,” Eddy said, giving me a quick awkward hug once we were in the hallway and away from the door so no one could hear us. Franky added an enthusiastic, “Yeah!” and a giggle. I smiled at them, a genuine one, and mumbled, “Thanks.”
* * *
Oddly enough, one of the most boring parts of the whole competition was the awards ceremony. I mean, sure, we might win and get a trophy and have to grab it from the stage, but really it was a few hours of sitting at a table, trying our best not to fall asleep to the droning speeches of the school thanking sponsors and trying their best to “inspire” kids.
We sat at a round dining table in the back of a dark conference room at the hotel, struggling not to nod off. We had already checked out of our rooms early that morning and had our luggage and most of our winter gear piled into our rented van. We would be heading to the airport after the awards ceremony to make our way back to the village, a trip that would take a couple flights and all day to get back home.
The actual announcing of the results seemed to go by pretty fast. Eddy placed third in Dramatic Interpretation, and both Eddy and Franky placed fourth in Team Debate, which was pretty good for the first time they had ever tried it. Luke and Helen placed high in their own events, of course, winning second place in Team Debate.
“And now for the top awards for Informative speeches,” said the man on stage. I froze in my seat, trying not to look too eager to hear the lineup. Don’t be disappointed, Jen. Don’t embarrass yourself. It’s your first time. Don’t expect too much. He unfolded a piece of paper and leaned down to speak closer to the microphone. “Third place goes to Andrew Parker, West Valley High School. Second place goes to Tim Klein, Monroe Central School,” he said, pausing between each name for the smattering of applause and to give time for the winners to make their way to the front of the room to receive their awards from a table on stage. “And first place goes to Jennifer Akalik, Tikigaq High School.” Everyone at my table looked at me. I blinked and froze, not too sure I had heard it right. Eddy reached over and pulled on my arm, lifting me out of my seat, letting out a loud howl and laugh.
I won. What?
They mispronounced my last name and school name, of course, but nothing could dull the warm feeling in my chest. I floated to the stage and took the small plastic trophy and certificate from the hand of the dark-skinned older woman. She smiled at me and shook my hand. As I walked back to my team, I heard a smattering of clapping. Of course, Eddy and Franky were whistling and stomping their feet in enthusiasm, causing some other kids to look askance in our direction.
My head buzzed with success. I texted my mom back home. She promised to make a big pot of my favorite caribou soup when I got back, complete with deep-fried doughnuts. We found a section of floor space out of the way of normal hotel traffic near the conference rooms and piled our heavy coats so we could sit comfortably. We had about two hours before we needed to head to the airport, and since the Wi-Fi and coffee were free here, the Gerterys decided to take advantage of it.
Coach, his wife, and Luke had wandered back to the vending machines. Franky was leaning over, and we were watching a video together. Her uncle had posted a couple of Kivgiq dances online. The drums sounded tinny and small coming out of her old phone.
I heard footsteps approaching me on the carpet and looked up to see Tim and his friend Chance. It took me a moment to recognize them without their matching school coats. Their clothes looked new and expensive, and I suddenly became aware of my worn-out Alaska Grown T-shirt. I stood up quickly and kicked my heavy jacket over my feet, hoping they would not notice that I had my heavy winter boots on.
“Just wanted to come over and congratulate you on your win, Jennifer,” Tim said. I nodded and shrugged, not too sure what to say. “Of course, it was almost a for-sure thing, right? I mean Judge Mathison was guaranteed to enjoy your speech.”
“Judge Mathison?” I tried to remember if I had met someone by that name. I didn’t like how off-balance I felt when I talked to him.
“She was the Black woman judging Finals. I mean, you guys seem to stick together.” You. Guys. Something hardened in the pit of my stomach. “We were about to go and get some coffee around the corner if you want to hang out before you go? I’m sure your coach would be okay with it.” I looked at Franky who sat wide-eyed and quiet for a second. I watched as the realization of what type of guy he was dawned on her face. She looked at me with raised eyebrows and crossed her arms. Something passed between us. There weren’t any crashing waves in my chest this time. She waited.
