Burning Yves (Benedicts #2.5) by Joss Stirling Page B

about a third of the way into his speech that delivering it wasn’t as bad as thinking about it. The audience had laughed in the right places and cheered some of his comments in praise of their much-loved town. So far so good, but he wanted them all to leave just a little better than they had come in, himself included.
    ‘Do you know something, my friends?’ His eyes scanned the room. These were the people who had known him since his birth: family, classmates, neighbours, teachers. He felt a keen love for all of them in their amazing, sometimes annoying, often inspiring, variety. ‘To borrow words from Kirk Schneider, “We’re not just gathered here on a lovely May day in an ordinary auditorium. We’re all strapped in, seated together on a gigantic ball whirling around the sun at sixty-seven thousand miles per hour, nested in a galaxy hurtling through the depths of space and time at one point three million miles per hour.” That should make you feel special because the chances of you existing are so microscopically small, you must never forget you are a miracle. Let’s not waste our miracle. This is what I tell myself so now I’m passing it on to you: when you leave here, look after this planet. Make interesting failures, enjoy successes, but most of all, never forget that the person next to you is also strapped in on this journey through the stars. She or he is your teammate. Be kind. Forgive them their mistakes. But most of all, enjoy the ride together.’
    His speech ended in applause, swiftly converted to a standing ovation. His year were yelling the loudest, waving their hats at him. Yves felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He was surprised to feel that his outpouring of love for them was coming back to him tenfold. He hadn’t realized that he was so popular in his class.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Benedict, for those wise words,’ said Principal Dawes. ‘I couldn’t have said it better myself. I have no fears for this graduation class: you are a special year group, multi-talented but also distinguished by your thoughtfulness and sense of responsibility, all of which, I’m sure you’ll agree, are exemplified by your valedictorian. Well done.’
    Yves returned to his seat and was able to relax for the first time since he had been given the task. The rest of the ceremony passed quickly: the receiving of the diplomas, the tossing of hats and group photos outside. He was hugged and kissed by more girls than ever before in his life and found himself asked to be in pictures with people he barely knew. His closest friends, Kazu and Rohan, of course teased him for this. Yves made sure Will got a photo of the three of them. This was the last time they’d be together for some time: Kazu was off to visit family in Japan, then Harvard; Rohan had a summer job in Boston at a medical lab, then was going to Princeton; and Yves was jetting off to England on a conference he had won as part of a science prize.
    ‘I can’t bear to be pictured with him, can you?’ said Kazu to Rohan, pretending to pull away during the photo. ‘Looks, brains, charm, the undying love of the principal and all the girls in our year—he makes me want to puke.’
    ‘It’s OK, Kaz, we’ll keep him humble,’ promised Will.
    Rohan grinned. ‘Yeah, it must be tough being the runt of the Benedict litter.’
    Ouch. Though a joke, it hit hard as Yves had often thought the same. He’d spent his middle-grade years being the slight, bespectacled one in the Benedict family games, the one who always dropped the ball and missed the joke as his thoughts were elsewhere. It was only in the last few years he had caught up, reached six feet and filled out a little so that he didn’t feel a complete weed next to his sports-mad brothers. It had taken him a while to work out that even the smallest in a family of lions was still a lion to the savannah animals outside the pack.
    ‘Our mom would skin you if she heard that,’ warned Will. ‘Besides, Yves can hardly be