That earns him a smile and the quiver of unease--but no, Myer isn't the telepath in their own version of the Brady Bunch--and Adam mollifies a little. "It's like scaling a wall; don't think, just do." This isn't Adam's answer, not really. He saw the quote on a poster in Ms Cross' office and it's haunted him ever since.
He wonders if seeing a picture of a man suspended by his fingernails above a chasm is enough to imitate.
The mention of Maryann brings him back to the present. "I know where she is, so I haven't lost her." He's just not trying very hard to stick close to her right at the minute. Maybe the punch will help.
One sip and Adam's face twists into a grimace. He coughs, but the deed is done. "Okay. Point taken." Forget about the wall and its brave, inspirational climber. "Pretty amazing that Coach hasn't emptied it yet. There must be at least eleven kinds of spirits in there." None of which go together in any remotely pleasing combination.
Adam's cup is set aside surreptitiously. The cheerleading committee, in charge of organizing the whole affair, doesn't have a very thick skin and he doesn't want to break any hearts. It's why he agrees the party is awesome when Chastity Lang--David Lang's sister and Delilah's closest friend--drifts by with a group of sycophants. Delilah isn't among them. His face falls just a little.