Mrs. Cyprus is the one I’ve been communicating with to organize this whole thing, so that makes sense. The secretary steps out from behind the counter and leads me farther down the hall beyond it until we stop outside a closed office door with the words Principal Julia Cyprus etched into it. The secretary knocks politely.

“Come in,” Mrs. Cyprus calls, so the secretary opens the door and waves me in.

“Mr. Murray is here to see you,” she tells the principal.

Mrs. Cyprus immediately stands to hurry around her desk and shake my hand. She holds it tight, her warm brown eyes sparkling as she smiles at me. “It’s wonderful to meet you! Thank you so much for coming to do this. I can’t tell you how much it means to me, or how much the kids are going to appreciate it.”

I nod, but all I can focus on is the way my blood seems to be rushing in my ears. I can’t remember the last time I felt this anxious. It wasn’t even this bad when I tried out for the Aces, and that was probably the most high-stakes thing I’ve ever done in my life.

“It’s nice to meet you too. Thanks for inviting me,” I say. She releases my hand, and I shove it in my pocket. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”

Mrs. Cyprus’s warm smile broadens, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. “Totally understandable. There’s nothing more menacing than a crowd of teenagers.”

I can’t help laughing along with her despite my nerves, because she’s right. I was a teenager once, so I know exactly how ruthless they can be.

But it’s not just the content of my speech I’m worried about. I’ve had my dyslexia under control for a long time and learned a lot of skills to manage it over the years, but I’ve never been asked to read in front of a giant crowd like this before. So I don’t know what’s going to happen. I have the speech memorized just in case I have trouble reading it, but I’m worried my nerves and the lingering symptoms from my concussion might make that difficult too.

“I’ve already called all the students to the auditorium for the assembly. Are you ready, or do you need a few minutes?” Mrs. Cyprus asks.

Despite the lump in my throat, I shrug. “Nope, I’m ready now.”

She must sense my lingering nerves, because she puts a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I’ve seen you play. I don’t think you have anything to worry about with these kids. And I’ll be there to keep them in line if they get too rowdy.”

“Thanks. I’ll take all the emotional support I can get. I’m a hockey player, not a motivational speaker.”