Chapter 3: The Speech That Went Viral

02

My carefully planned first encounter had failed. I sulked for two whole hours, even cursing my roommate for buying cheap wig pieces off Amazon. “Why didn’t you just go to Sally’s Beauty?” I groaned, already plotting to return the offending wig net to the depths of my laundry bin.

“Aubrey, are you going to Derek’s speech tonight?” My roommate kindly signed me up. The way she said it, you’d think it was a Taylor Swift concert. Our student Slack went wild, ASBSU even reposted it on their Instagram, and the whole thing had homecoming-week energy. Normally, I’d go for sure, but after today’s humiliation, I couldn’t face him.

“Relax, you have short hair, he met someone with long hair, and you had so much makeup on—he probably won’t recognize you.” My roommate had the kind of logic only college girls possess—half hope, half denial. I tugged at my actual short hair in the bathroom mirror, practicing a neutral face like that would erase the memory.

I thought about it and realized she had a point. So I happily ran to the auditorium to watch his speech, tossing my backpack over my shoulder and trying to forget about my earlier disaster.

He’s a biomedical engineering major. Honestly, more than half the girls there didn’t understand a word, but the place was packed. He could have been speaking Klingon, and the crowd would still show up. The auditorium seats squeaked when people fidgeted, the projector hummed, and the room had that faint stale-popcorn smell that somehow lives in every campus venue.

“A bunch of fangirls,” I whispered to my roommate, earning a big eye roll. We giggled like we were in on a secret.

Since I was sitting far away and couldn’t follow the talk, I took out my phone to secretly snap some photos. The auditorium was dark, but I hoped to capture at least one decent shot to memorialize my latest crush mishap.

Who knew, damn iPhone not only lit up our whole row with the flash, but the shutter click echoed like a gunshot. Even on silent mode, I’d forgotten about the flash betraying me. In the silent auditorium, it sounded painfully loud. I felt every eye on me—like I’d just committed the ultimate college sin.

People in front turned to look for the source, causing a stir. The embarrassment washed over me in a cold sweat.

“The student who just took a photo, come and answer: On what technical foundations is biomedical engineering built?” Derek pointed toward our section, voice echoing across the room.

More people turned to look our way. I shrank in my seat, wishing I could disappear.

“I’m talking to the wig girl in the back, please answer.” The whole audience burst into laughter. It stung—and yet a wrong-time thrill zinged through me that he remembered me at all.

Unwillingly, I stood up, my face burning with embarrassment. My knees felt like Jell-O, and my hands shook as I tried to form words.

“I…” I stammered for ages but couldn’t answer. My mind was a total blank.

“Forget it, if you don’t understand, don’t come to my speech and waste a seat.” His tone was stern and scolding. Ouch. A couple of audible gasps rippled through our row.

I sat down, too ashamed to lift my head, my eyes blurry with tears. My chest tightened like a belt.

“By the way, wait for me at the exit when it’s over.” After Derek said that, the auditorium buzzed again—whispers, elbows, a few not-so-subtle looks.

Before I could figure out who he was talking to, he added, “Did you hear me, wig girl?” Another round of laughter. I wanted to implode, yet a tiny, traitorous part of me warmed at being singled out.

I felt like I’d died of embarrassment ten thousand times that day. I considered texting my mom to transfer schools.

I endured his speech, only his good looks kept me awake through the boring talk. But they also made me drowsy every time. I doodled hearts in my notebook to keep myself from crying, the projector’s hum steadying me like white noise.

As promised, I waited for him at the exit. My roommate gave me a suggestive look, “Should I leave the door open for you tonight?”

I kicked her to make her leave faster, laughing despite myself.

But Derek was slow. I waited until nearly everyone had left before he finally strolled up, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

“Hey… what’s up?” I swear I used all my courage to sound less nervous. My voice came out squeaky.

But he was casual: “There wasn’t a photographer at today’s event, so I’d like you to send me the photos you took for school publicity.” He said it so matter-of-fact, like I was suddenly a campus influencer.

But I was so far away, and the photos on my phone were blurry and shaky. I zoomed in—he looked like a ghost on a rollercoaster.

He seemed to get my confusion. “We just need a candid vibe.” As he spoke, he pulled out his phone and opened Instagram. “Let’s add each other—I’ll scan your code. IG to follow, Messenger to chat if you need me later.”