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two files: my forbidden football speech and the brochure announcing the academic decathlon. I glanced at Austin.
    Austin mouthed, “Don’t you dare.”
    I clicked the cursor over my only other choice, the flyer. Pictures of the six decathlon participants appeared on screen and beamed out at the crowd. I swallowed against my dry throat and leaned toward the microphone, my gaze on the image. “My presentation today is on human genetics and inherited traits.”
    The audience slumped in their chairs, and the people along the sides took seats on the steps. I was losing them. I had to lead with a personal anecdote to pull them in. “On the event flyer, I bet you noticed a fun fact in our bios. My competitors and I were all born in June, on different days, but all during the week of hurricane Doris.”
    The auditorium’s speakers reverberated with a metallic whine until I backed off the mic. I unclipped the handheld from its stand, grabbed the laser pointer, and paced over to Prince Callum. I’d use our famous guest to draw in the audience.
    “Our births made the news, because we were born during the hurricane and because visiting royalty gave us the first prince born on American soil.” The audience clapped, sucking up. I appreciated it, as those claps were likely the only applause I’d receive.
    “Of course that isn’t how my mom remembers the day. She doesn’t talk about the royal birth. She talks about the power going out and the lack of an epidural.” The audience laughed, and my nerves eased.
    I clicked the pointer over my own picture and dug in. “Inherited traits. Few things can be said for certain, but some traits are genetically-linked and dominant.” I stuck my finger into my cheek. “I have dimples. Dimples are dominant. That means one of my parents most likely has dimples.” Even though I couldn’t see him, I waved at the audience. “Thanks, Dad.” The move got another chuckle. “Mom doesn’t have dimples. Now, if neither of my parents had dimples, there would be almost no chance for me to have dimples.”
    I surveyed the prince. “Prince Callum’s dominant traits are dark curly hair and a widow’s peak.”
    Prince Callum glared at me.
    Frown away, handsome, you know I just scored a point for our side . Next, I tugged on my straight brunette hair. “Now, you may think that because I have dark hair and green eyes, that my parents do too. They don’t. Hair color and eye color are complicated. They are polygenic traits affected by many factors. So, despite the teasing from my blond parents, they didn’t bring home the wrong baby.” The audience chuckled again.
    I gestured to Prince Callum. “We’ve all seen pictures of the fair-haired royal family. But again, hair color is a polygenic trait, so the royal family didn’t bring home the wrong baby either.”
    More laughter sounded, but some of it was uneasy.
    I moved behind Prince Callum and thought to end with a little drama. “Though between the hurricane and the out-of-sync coloring, it is possible.” My hand hovered over his shoulder. No one touches His Highness. My hand dropped down and my fingers closed over the navy fabric covering his shoulder. No shoulder pads. My fingertips curved in. His muscles tensed, and I moved to his side so he could see me. “What do you think? Did your parents take home the wrong baby? Are you ready to give up the throne to Princess Hayley?”
    He wore a fake smile, and his eyes glared back at me, stormy blue.
    The audience snickered. “Kidding, I don’t have the right coloring either.” I tugged on my hair. “Straight. Brunette.” I walked behind the tables and paused to take a drink of my water. The cold liquid eased my throat, but my real purpose was to burn time. This speech was so lame I was boring myself.
    I took a final drink, replaced the glass, raised my hand, and gave a thumbs up. “Will everyone in the audience give me a thumbs up?” The audience shifted in their seats, but most complied.