If you could have one talent that you do not normally have, what would it be?

My fingers ache from holding onto the podium's edge. But it is my anchor. An anchor I can't live without.
The microphone makes a funny sound as I accidently get too close and spit air into it.
A couple people startle, glancing up to make sure I'm okay, then return their gazes to their laps. I've lost them. All of them. Well, maybe not all of them, but most of them. They'd rather be playing on their phones, or drawing pictures in their notebooks than listening to me. I can feel it.
A roaring fills my ears as I continue. I'm in a daze, not quite hearing what I'm say, but my mouth keeps on moving. It must know what to say, even though my brain doesn't. Auto pilot isn't good for where I stand.
My right knee bounces forward and back. I keep it moving so I know I'm alive. My body is still functioning. But my left leg is stuck in position, trying to keep me upright as my world tilts to the side.
This can't be happening. I've listened to several other speakers today. All of them held my attention. How can I be the one failure among a sea of winners.
I continue with my speech, adding emphasis, and really digging deep to mix up my voice tone with my stories. I pry my hands away from the stand and start using the hand gestures I'd practiced while in front of my mirror at home.
Sweat is gathering at my temples, between my finger tips, and across my back. The stage lights feel much too hot. My cheeks flush with warmth as I take a breath and swallow.
I thought I'd chosen my lecture well. My stories dynamic. My topic interesting, inspiring, even. How did I go so wrong?
I scan the crowd and search for an upturned face. There is one. Clear in the back. But he looks like he's contemplating another universe, too deep in thought to consider what I'm saying.
As my talk wraps to a close, I summarize my points. A few heads pop up, like they're glad I'm coming to a close. A few others shuffle pages. 
Clapping is discouraged until the very end of this class, so my footsteps sound like a herd of wild zebras as I exit the stage. I concentrate on the wooden stairs as I clamber down them. Falling would be the highlight of my talk, but I refuse to give the audience another reason to mark me as a failure.
The rest of the presentations go by like squeezing honey through a too small hole. I can't stop thinking about all the things I could've improved upon. I should've said this word instead of that one. I should've raised this hand and made this gesture instead of the one I did. I should've chosen a more relatable topic. I should've done this or that or this or that, until there are no more pieces of my talk that I can rehash.
When the instructor gets back on stage, a deep sigh settles over the audience.
The instructor gives us praise, allowing us to finally clap. The sudden burst of sound surprises me. Everyone else must be as happy as I am that this is over.
As the class settles, the instructor tells us grades and comments will be posted by seven pm tonight.
By the time seven rolls around, I feel like I've been walking in manure up to me knees, just waiting to get my results.
The page pulls up on my computer and I'm amazed to see such a high score. In fact, it's one of the highest scores I've gotten all year. Maybe this class is paying off, really helping me to develop my non-existent talent of public speaking.
I smile to myself as I close my laptop. Today wasn't such a bad day after all.