Will the Real Abi Sanders Please Stand Up? Read Online Free Page A

I’m procrastinating—the last thing I want is an injury. There’s a match in a few weeks that I need to be one-hundred percent fit for if I’m going to take the trophy. Because I sure as heck don’t think I’ll be cast in Tilly’s movie.
    “I-I-I’m r-r-r-ready,” I say after a few minutes.
    “Are you okay?” He frowns and looks in my direction.
    Oh, God, didn’t Bill tell him?
    The mixture of concern and puzzlement in Danny’s eyes is far from reassuring, because it takes me back to how the teachers used to be at school, when my stammer was bad. They tried to hide it, but I could see their impatience at having to wait for me to say the words. It was mortifying.
    “U-u-u-um, y-y-yes. I th-th—.” I want to curl up behind one of the cameras and die. Why did I let Liv and Matt talk me into doing this? I should have gone with my gut and said no. I know my limits. “I th-th-think s-s-s—”
    With a glance at the cameraman, who is making a big show of adjusting his equipment, Danny walks over to me and sits down on the floor, patting the space in front of him. I gladly give up on finishing my sentence and join him. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, obviously trying not to embarrass me in front of the camera guy. “But maybe you’re not right for this. Bill said you have the technical skills, but there’s a certain”—he waves his hand in the air, trying to conjure the right word—“ confidence that Tilly has, that her stunt double also needs in order to pull it off. I don’t think it’s going to work, Abi.”
    My jaw drops. He’s handing me the chance to back out. Well, not the chance, he’s actually made the decision for me. Except I’m not sure it’s what I want. I’ve spent years trying to control my stammer and not let it control my life, and here’s one situation out of the ordinary, and I lose it. I’m suddenly possessed by the feeling that I can’t let this happen.
    “L-let me try. Please,” I say, relieved that most of the words came out on the first attempt.
    “Well—”
    I push myself to my feet, putting my weight in my toes, my hands curved into loose fists. “I won the regional kickboxing championship after my first two years at the dojo, and Bill’s already told you about me winning the WAKO Pan America youth title in my weight class. I’m here because I can fight.” Wow, I have no idea where that came from. “You did need someone ‘yesterday,’ r-r-right?”
    He stares at me for what seems like forever, then jumps up. “Okay, as long as you’re here. What’s the harm?”
    He seems like a nice guy, just doing his job, I guess. Well, I’m gonna show him what I can do. If he doesn’t want me after that, then I know it’s for the right reasons and not because I can’t talk.
    “Thanks.” The word comes out fine, and I feel my confidence return.
    “First of all, I need to see if you could pass for Tilly on screen from the different angles we’ll be shooting. Ignore the camera. I don’t have a set routine for you, I’m more concerned with how you look. So just show us some of your kickboxing moves. Include some jumps, and use as much of the floor space as possible.”
    But we don’t do jumps, apart from jumping jacks during the warm up. I bite on my bottom lip and think. My mind’s a total blank until, suddenly, I remember the sparring exhibition we did a couple months ago at the Woodrow Center. Matt and I were partners, but I could do my side of things, which involves lots of punching, kicking, and blocking.
    Yes! That should be perfect.
    I force all thoughts of Danny and the camera out of my mind and launch into the exhibition routine, and luckily it comes back to me almost instinctively as I go. Hardly surprising as we practiced it so often I could do it in my sleep. I make a couple of tiny mistakes, but hopefully it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m scoring points here. It’s hard not to notice the camera, though. It feels like I’m being stalked by