Libby (0:00)

Foreign hello friends, and welcome to Sleept Stories. Libby cannot believe that she has to do this silly presentation today. She has practiced, but it is just not the same when she is at school. After her mom comes into her room to see why she is so slow getting up, Libby finally explains, Margarita is Libby's best assistant. Libby's alarm had been going off for 10 minutes, but she refused to acknowledge it. She pulled her comforter up over her head, shielding herself from the loud noise coming from her phone, because if she didn't move, maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be morning yet. She wasn't even tired. She'd slept okay, except for the dream where she stood in front of her class, opened her mouth to speak, and nothing came out. She tried again, but her voice was completely gone. Her classmates started leaning forward, squinting at her. Speak up, Libby, someone called. We can't hear you. Another voice echoed, and then total silence except for the growing sound of snickers and whispers. Her mother knocked on her door. Hey Libby, it's time to get up, sleepyhead. You don't want to be late for school, do you? Her mom called. Oh yes I do, Libby thought. I'd prefer to miss the entire morning. Just then, Margarita crawled under the covers, wedging herself next to Libby's stomach with a soft meh. Libby peeked at her under the blankets. Good morning, Margarita, she mumbled, reaching to scratch behind her ears. I know my alarm is annoying, but I just don't want to get up today. I have to practice my speech in front of the whole class and I don't know why I'm so nervous. Margarita purred, but in true cat fashion stood up to stretch, shoving her paws right into Libby's face and forcing the blanket down just enough for the morning light to glare into her eyes. Libby groaned. Is this your way of getting me to turn off the alarm? Before she could move, her mom walked in just as the alarm started up again. Libby, you okay? You don't usually have trouble getting up, she said, watching Libby sluggishly reach for her phone and tap the stop button. I'm fine, libby mumbled. I just don't want to go to class today because I have to practice my English presentation in front of everyone. Her mother raised an eyebrow. I thought you liked performing. You do great in plays and really well showing your art, too. Yeah, but this is different, libby said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. It's English. I love reading and books and usually do well. But I don't know. This is just me standing there talking. No script, no costumes, just standing There while everyone stares at me. Her mom gave her a reassuring smile. That makes sense. But you've practiced and your classmates want to see you do well. Everyone gets nervous. It's normal. Take a deep breath and I know you'll be great. Now quickly get ready. I put your breakfast on the table and it's best eaten when warm. Libby wasn't convinced, but she got dressed, ate her breakfast without tasting it, and after a few comforting headbutts from Margarita, set off for school, still wishing she could stay under her blankets forever. Libby's feet dragged against the pavement as she walked to school. Each step felt like trudging toward her doom. Or at the very least, toward complete and total embarrassment. Maybe it won't be so bad, she tried to tell herself. Maybe the school doors will jam shut, trapping everyone outside. Or maybe the fire alarm will go off just in time. Or maybe the entire power grid will mysteriously fail right as I open my mouth. None of those things happened. Instead, she reached the front doors of the school right on time. No disasters in sight. She sighed. Guess I have no choice, huh? Margarita, who had been riding along in Libby's imagination as her emotional support cat, would have surely responded with an unimpressed meh. Speaking of which, she couldn't help but wonder what Margarita was up to. Probably sprawled across the couch like a queen, or taking over Libby's bed for her mid morning nap. Or both. Must be nice to be a cat. She made her way to her locker, trying to ignore the butterflies flapping around in her stomach. Her friends were chatting nearby, but she was too anxious to join in. Instead, she mentally ran through her speech as she pulled out her English binder. It had been fine when she practiced in front of Margarita the night before. Sure, her orange tabby hadn't exactly been an engaged audience. Half the time she'd been too busy grooming her tail to even pretend to listen. But at least she hadn't interrupted, stared, or expected Libby to make eye contact. Unfortunately, humans were not like Margarita. Libby swallowed hard as the warning bell rang. This is going to be a disaster. Despite the encouragement of her friends, who could clearly see how nervous she was, Libby felt herself sweating through her sweater, and the room was cold. Her teacher smiled warmly at her and a few classmates gave her gentle nods of encouragement. But it didn't help. Her hands were clammy, her stomach twisted into a thousand knots. And then. Disaster. She forgot an entire section. She stumbled on a sentence she had said perfectly the night before. Her knee shook so much she was sure the whole class could See it? When she finally sat down, her friends assured her it wasn't that bad, but to Libby, it felt like the worst thing that had ever happened in the history of school. After class, Libby's teacher called her over. I thought the content of your presentation was excellent, Libby, she said kindly. You just need to believe in yourself a little more. Libby sighed, staring down at her shoes. I know. I. I just got really nervous, and I don't know why. I mean, I don't mind doing plays and I'm fine showing my paintings, but this. I just froze. Her teacher nodded. That happens to a lot of people. Even adults. You know, confidence doesn't mean you never feel nervous. It means you don't let the nerves stop you. And one of the best ways to help with that? More practice. Libby winced. More practice? That wasn't what she wanted to hear. I was hoping, libby muttered, you'd just let me skip this one. Her teacher chuckled. Nice try, but I have a better idea. Why don't you practice again at home? The more you go over it, the more comfortable you'll feel. It's like muscle memory when the nerves hit. Your preparation will carry you through. Libby sighed dramatically. Homework on top of actual homework. Fine, she mumbled. I'll practice. She shuffled out of the classroom, still feeling like a failure. Sure, she'd seen other kids get nervous, too, but that didn't make her feel any better. Would she ever get over this? Libby dragged her feet as she reached the front steps of her house, sighing loudly enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. I guess there's no use delaying practice anymore, she muttered, forcing herself to open the door before she even had her shoes off. Margarita was already waiting for her. That was unusual. Hi, Margarita. You don't normally meet me at the door, libby said, raising an eyebrow. You usually wait until I take off my jacket and sneakers first. Then you demand pets and stuff. Margarita meowed and rubbed against Libby's leg, her tail flicking with determination. Libby sighed, hanging up her jacket with the weight of someone carrying a great burden. Today was a disaster. She groaned. I was so nervous that even my leg was shaking and I forgot a whole section of my speech. I don't know what's wrong with me. She flopped onto the couch, and Margarita immediately jumped up beside her, settling in as if preparing for an important conversation. The teacher says I still have to try again tomorrow, libby mumbled. She thinks more practice will help, But I don't know. What if I mess up again? Margarita tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing as if she were deep in thought. Libby sighed. I don't suppose you have any brilliant advice. Margarita responded by giving her leg one dramatic headbutt before plopping onto her back, exposing her fluffy belly. Libby snorted. That's not exactly helpful. With another sigh, she sat up straight, stretching her arms. All right, you want to help me practice? You can be my audience. Margarita blinked slowly, as if accepting this great responsibility. Libby cleared her throat and stood up. She clutched an imaginary piece of paper and straightened her shoulders. All right, class, today I'm going to tell you about as soon as she started speaking, Margarita leapt off the couch directly onto her backpack. Margarita. Libby exclaimed. That's not part of the presentation. Margarita ignored her completely, choosing instead to wrestle the zipper with great enthusiasm. Libby sighed but kept going anyway. As I was saying, my topic is Margarita, tackle the pencil. Libby paused. Margarita, are you even listening? Margarita looked up, eyes wide with innocent confusion, then immediately flopped onto her side, stretching dramatically, Libby huffed, Some assistant you are. She took a deep breath and tried again, and this time something clicked. Maybe it was the fact that Margarita wasn't judging her. Maybe it was the silliness of giving a speech to a cat who clearly had other priorities. Maybe it was just repetition finally working its magic. But by the time Libby finished, she realized she hadn't stumbled once. She stared at Margarita, who had fallen asleep halfway through, curled up beside her backpack. Wow. Libby muttered, sitting down beside her. Maybe the teacher was right after all. She let out a small smile, giving Margarita one last pet before washing up for dinner. The next morning, Libby woke up feeling not so confident. Her stomach felt like it was hosting a butterfly convention. All that progress from last night? Gone. What if I mess up again? She whispered, poking her head under the covers where Margarita was snuggled up like a furry heating pad. Margarita opened one eye and gave her the slowest blink in history. Libby groaned, flopping back against her pillow. Ugh. Must be nice to be a cat. Margarita curled up in a ball at the foot of her bed and let out a long, contented sigh. The sound of someone with no obligations for the day. Lucky, libby muttered, pulling the blanket over her face. But before she could even entertain the idea of accidentally falling back asleep, her mother's voice floated down the hall. Time to get ready, sleepyhead. Libby let out an exaggerated sigh. She would have preferred to stay in bed forever, but unfortunately, education was apparently non negotiable. Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled through her morning routine, barely tasting her breakfast as she ate it. Before she knew it, she was trudging off to school to face her impending doom. As she approached the school doors. She held onto a tiny shred of hope. Maybe the power would go out. Maybe the doors would mysteriously refuse to open. Maybe the principal would announce a surprise school wide movie marathon. But no. The lights were on, the doors worked perfectly, and there was no sign of an emergency movie day. With a final resigned sigh, Libby stopped at her locker, grabbing some of her books. And then, far too soon, she was heading toward her first class of the day. English. The moment of truth was coming, and she had no idea that she had a secret weapon hiding in her backpack. Libby sat at her desk, gripping her English binder so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Any second now, the teacher was going to call her up. Her stomach twisted itself into knots. Why did this feel so much worse than acting in a play or showing her art? Because, she thought, this is just me. No costumes, no paintings. Just me standing up there with nothing to hide behind. She barely noticed the moment her teacher smiled and said, libby, you're up. As she stood, her legs felt like they belonged to someone else, and her hands were clammy as she grabbed her papers. She took a deep breath and walked to the front of her classroom, her heart pounding in her ears. I can do this. I practiced. I and then, just as she turned to face the class, a fuzzy orange head popped out of her backpack. Libby froze. The class froze. Margarita, blinking in the sudden light, let out a loud, unimpressed meh. The room exploded with laughter. Libby stared in horror. Her cat had sneaked into her backpack. Her actual real life cat was currently sitting in her school bag, like this was completely normal behavior. Even the teacher was laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. Libby, I think someone is here to help you with your presentation. Libby looked down at Margarita, who had now fully climbed out of the bag, stretching as if she'd just woken up from a nap. And suddenly Libby laughed too. It was so ridiculous, so unexpected, that all of her nerves melted away. She shook her head, grinning at Margarita. Well, since you're here, you might as well stay. The class giggled. Even her teacher still laughed. And just like that, Libby launched into her presentation. She spoke confidently, remembering all of her points without stumbling. She even enjoyed herself making eye contact with her classmates and not once worrying about what anyone might think. Margarita, meanwhile, sat perfectly still on the desk behind her, looking as though this had been the plan all along. When she finished, the class clapped loudly. That, her teacher said, still chuckling, might be the most memorable presentation we've had all year. Well done, Libby. And you too, Margarita. Libby gave her cat a scratch behind the ears. You really are my best assistant. Margarita purred, as if she had known it all along. And that is the end of our story. Good night. Sleep tight.