What's So Cool About High School

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What’s so Cool about High School?

by

Jennifer Gilbert

Chapter 1

“This Ain’t No Trip to Disney Land”

Today I received the most depressing news I had ever heard in my entire life. I was sitting in chemistry class on my first day of high school listening to my teacher’s ever-so-stimulating lecture on electron configurations.

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I was just about to conk out when Mr. Linderman shut his chemistry book and sat down on the edge of his desk. He miraculously stopped boring us with protons and electrons, and for some odd reason started rambling on about his old high school days. For forty-five minutes, he told us about his game winning touch downs, dates with the captain of the cheerleading squad, and zillions of other stories that probably either weren’t true or were highly embellished. Then the bomb hit. “You might as well enjoy your high school days,” he exclaimed with a faraway, reminiscent expression on his face, “because it doesn’t get any better than this.” That absolutely floored me. Here we were trapped inside a world of florescent green lights, mustard colored walls, and an indistinguishable smell pumping out from the depths of the cafeteria and he was trying to tell us that this was it?! At age fifteen we had hit our prime?! He couldn’t possibly be serious. Mr. Linderman was as bad as my parents. While I was getting ready for school this morning, they kept telling me how many new and exciting experiences high school would bring. I noticed the kid sitting next to me was making spitballs out of his syllabus, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to experience a whole lot more. Fortunately, through the grace of God, the bell rang before Mr. Linderman could give us any more depressing news or tell us any more awe-inspiring stories. I grabbed my books and made a beeline for the door. As I stepped into the hallway, away from the chaos and commotion, I wanted to jump up and shout “I’m free, I’m free!” But before I could revel in my serenity, classroom doors started to fly open left and right, and about a hundred students trampled over me like an angry buffalo stampede.

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“Hey, move it tootsie,” an angry upperclassman shouted, as he beamed me in the shoulder with his backpack. “Hey, over, here,” I heard a tiny voice cry out from the depths of the hallway. It was my best friend, Anna Thompson. She was jumping up and down like a marionette trying to get my attention. Anna and I linked arms, and the two of us ducked down and battled our way through the ferocious "senior hallway." I had heard rumors about freshmen who came down this path and were never heard from again. I used to laugh when I heard these stories, but now I was starting to have second thoughts. "Whew, we made it!" I said to Anna once we were safe in freshman territory. I leaned my head against her locker and let out the breath I'd been holding for the last five minutes. “I'm sure glad you remembered where our lockers were, because I certainly didn't." Anna shrugged. "It's no big deal. All you have to do is follow the locker numbers. All the freshman lockers start with one hundred, and the numbers get higher according to the first letter of your last name. It's really easy if you think about it.” Anna was always so cool and collected about everything. Unlike me-the world’s biggest basket case-she didn’t even seem phased about entering high school. I wondered if it was partly due to the fact that she was an only child. She didn’t have an older brother like me who had his shot put record engraved on a plaque in the principal’s office. I guess if I didn’t have such earth shattering expectations to live up to, I’d be pretty calm as well. “Oh, I almost forgot” Anna replied as she reached into her locker and pulled out a

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shiny purple package. “Happy birthday!” With all the commotion, I had completely forgotten what day it was. Since my birthday falls towards the beginning of the school year I have a tendency to block it out. “Don’t open it until later, though, when no one is around. It’s kind of personal,” she warned me. “It’s not a Miracle Bra or a thong bikini is it? Because I really don’t have much of a use for those things yet, you know.” “No, silly. It’s not underwear personal. It’s friendship personal. You’ll see. Hey, we should get going,” Anna said, glancing at her watch. “I heard the buses will only wait five minutes before they take off. And they don’t care if you’re chasing after them, either. If you’re not on time, you’re screwed.” “Got it,” I replied. We grabbed out backpacks and off we went, once again, to battle the ferocious hallway.

We were just about the last people to make the bus. Luckily, our friend Carlie Harrington was saving a seat for us. The three of us have been riding the same bus since elementary school. We’ve very close, even though we have nothing in common. Anna is really friendly and outgoing. She has natural good looks, and doesn’t even have to wear make-up. She has hazel eyes and straight, chestnut brown hair that she keeps neatly pulled back in a pony tail. Carlie, on the other hand, is spoiled and selfish. She's by far the prettiest girl in our grade, and she knows it. Her hair is naturally blonde and wavy, her boyfriend is gorgeous, and she could scarf down a whole box of Twinkies and not even gain an ounce.

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Unlike Carlie, I definitely have to work on my appearance. My hair is very curly, so I have to spend a half-hour straightening it every morning. The color is blondebut people refer to it as “dish water blonde.” I’ve only done dishes a handful of times in my life, but I know the sink does not look pretty in the end, and it’s not a compliment to have this as a hair color. According to Anna and Carlie, one thing I have going for me is my chest size. I’m not overweight, but I definitely have a curvy build, and I am very top heavy. I don’t see it as an advantage to have to buy baggy shirts and extra supportive bras, but apparently they think being well-endowed is a good quality to have. "So tell me all about your first day," Carlie squealed. "Are there any cute boys in your classes?" I shrugged. "Maybe a few.” "She was too nervous to think about good looking guys," Anna said jokingly as she nudged me in the ribs. "Speaking of hot men, here’s your birthday gift,” Carlie said placing a giftwrapped package into my hands. “And don’t forget the card,” she replied with a huge smirk on her face. Only Carlie could appreciate the card she picked out. On the outside, there was a cheesy snapshot of guys in tight spandex pants with no shirts on. Then on the inside it said: Hope all your birthday wishes come true. The present she got me was just as grotesque. It was a deck of playing cards featuring naked men in lewd, provocative poses. “I’ll be over for a game of gin rummy later,” Carlie said, giving me a wink. I

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thanked her for the gift and stuck it in the bottom of my book bag. The last thing I needed was for my parents to see it. That was one experience that they probably wouldn’t mind me skipping over. Anna and I got off at the first stop, which is our subdivision called Long Acre Estates. This has been a daily ritual since second grade, when Anna moved here from Colorado. When I first met Anna I didn’t think she would like me. She had the newest clothes and a boyfriend-something normally reserved for fifth graders and above. But she turned out to be really friendly and genuine, and not at all snobbish like I thought. Anna walked me to my front doorstep. “I feel so bad I can’t celebrate your birthday with you, Liz. Maybe I should skip practice.” “Don’t worry about it. It isn’t going to be anything special.” “Alan’s coming home from U of M, isn’t he?” “Yeah, like I said-it isn’t going to be anything special!” “Just be glad you have some to annoy you. My cocker spaniel, Mazie, is the only one around to drive me crazy!” I said good-bye to Anna, and went inside. My mother was standing in the kitchen waiting for me with a huge grin plastered on her face. "So how was it?” she prodded, putting her arm around me. "Um...it was okay. I have a chemistry test in two weeks." "Uh huh..." "And my third hour teacher seems a little senile." "Yes...and?"

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"And I almost got trampled on the way to my locker." "What else…?" "That's it." "That's it? Did you make any new friends?" "No, not really." "Join any clubs?" "No." "Oh.” My mother paused for a moment to take in my distressful news while she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Well, I'm just finishing up your cake, and I've got your presents on the table. You can open them as soon as your father gets home. Is Anna coming over?" "No, she can't make it. She has soccer practice." "Good," my brother chimed in as he made his way into the kitchen. "That means more cake for the rest of us." My brother pretends that he doesn't like Anna, but I think he secretly has a crush on her. Anyone who spends that much time teasing a person has to have some interest in them. "So did all your teachers ask you about me?" my brother inquired, dipping an index finger into my cake. "No, as a matter of fact, they didn't." "Yeah, they did," he conceded, knowing that his old teachers always asked me about him. "Okay, maybe a couple teachers briefly mentioned your name." "I knew it," he gloated. "I'm a legend." I just shook my head and went into the

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family room to watch t.v. When my father came home at 6:00, he tried to get me to talk about my first day of school, as well. But like my mom he was pretty unsuccessful. I didn't want to disappoint him by telling him it was the biggest let down of my life (even bigger than when I went to Universal Studios for the first time and the Jaws exhibit was being treated for repairs). We had dinner and cake, and then I opened my presents. I got a shirt from my brother and a jewelry box with my name engraved on it from my parents. I thanked them for the gifts and went upstairs to open Anna’s “personal gift.” I peeled off the paper and was relieved to see it wasn’t a negligee or anything that Carlie would’ve picked out. It was a photo album with snapshots of us starting from the time we met. It had pictures of our first slumber party, the Halloween we dressed as twins, and the time we raided my mother’s closet and were decked out in dresses and old wigs. Of course there were the no so pretty shots of us with braces, bad haircuts, and acne. The very last picture was a shot of us at an amusement park that was taken about two weeks ago. I am absolutely terrified of roller coasters, and it took Anna an hour just to convince me to stand in line for the ride. But finally, after a lot of coaxing, I agreed. In the picture, we are at the top of a huge hill. Anna is smiling and laughing, and I am crouched down in my seat with my hands covering my eyes. I have a classic “what in the hell have I gotten myself into?” expression on my face. I couldn’t help but think this picture captured my feelings of the day’s events perfectly. There was Anna, excited for what was lurking ahead. And there I was, scared

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out of my wits, wondering if I was going to make it out alive. I put the photo album under my bed and crawled under the covers. I knew whether I was prepared for it or not, things were about to change. Before today, I thought it might be for the better. But after my first glimpse of high school, I wasn’t quite so optimistic.

Chapter 2

“The Young and the Brestless”

As the week went on, things slowly started looking up for me. My teachers didn't give any depressing news, I didn't get trampled in the senior hallway, and my chemistry test was postponed until further notice. But the best part was we had a three-day weekend coming up for Labor Day. Anna came over to my house after her soccer practice on Friday for my belated birthday celebration. We had planned on going to a movie or playing miniature golf. But Anna seemed to think she had a better idea. "Wait until you hear what we're doing tonight!" she shrieked. “This is going to be the best night of our lives. I am so excited I can hardly stand it!" "Okay, but will you please sit down before you tell me. You're starting to make me nervous."

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"Sorry," Anna apologized as she flopped down on my bed. "Now get this! I was talking to Terri Maxfield and Jamie Walsh after soccer practice today. I mentioned how we were going out tonight to celebrate your birthday. They said they were going to this dance club that everyone goes to called "Fantasy" if we wanted to go.” I groaned. “Isn’t ‘Fantasy’ that cheesy dance bar that horny, middle-aged men hang out at?” "Normally. But tonight is teen night, and all the hot guys at school are going to be there." "All of them?" I said sarcastically. "Yes, all of them." "I don't know, Anna. I've heard you say at least fifty or sixty guys from our school were hot, and you're trying to tell me that they’re all going to be at this dance club tonight?" "Well, at least some of them will be there. Come on, Liz. I just want to do something fun for your birthday." "Okay, let's say I did want to go. How do you plan on getting there?" Now I really had Anna stumped. "Hmm… I'm not sure. I could call Jamie and Terri to see if they can get us a ride. Or maybe you could ask your brother if he'd take us.” "I'll ask him, but don't get your hopes up."

Alan was in the laundry room ironing a shirt. Evidently, he had a date tonight. Otherwise, he wouldn't spruce up like that.

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"Do you think you could do me and Anna a favor tonight?" "Not for you two geeks" "Please, Alan." "What kind of a favor?" "Just a small favor." "It doesn't involve me taking you anywhere does it?" "Actually it's the four of us. And we just want a ride to a dance club." "I don't know...how much money do you have?" "Alan!" "No, really. How much are you going to pay me?" "Five dollars." "Each?" "No, not each. Five dollars total." "That's not enough. Besides I have plans, anyway. Ask mom and dad if they'll take you." “I'm too old for that.” “And you're too young to drive.” I gave him a dirty look and mentally flipped him off. “Did you have any luck?” Anna asked when I returned upstairs. "Are you kidding? Mr. Cheapskate wanted to charge us twenty bucks for a ride." "That’s better than Terri's brother. He said it would cost us thirty.” Anna and I looked at each other. That left us with only one option.

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As our family Suburban pulled into Fantasy Nightclub, the four of us ducked down in the backseat. "Stop!" we shouted in unison as we reached the entrance. My mother slammed on the brakes. "What's the matter?! What did I do?! Is everyone okay?!" The woman was frantic. "Nothing's wrong, mom," I said innocently. "Um...we'll walk from here." "Are you sure?" she asked. "I can pull up to the front door." "No!" I shouted. "I mean, no thanks, mom. We'll see you later! Thanks for the ride," I called out as we piled out of the car before anyone saw us. Once we were inside, Terri and Jamie immediately headed for the dance floor. There were only a few other people out there dancing, so I decided to wait before I made a complete fool out of myself. "Come on Anna," Terri shouted, motioning for her to dance. Anna glanced at me, and then hesitated for a second. "You guys go on ahead. I'll be there in a minute," she said. "You don't have to hold back on my account, Anna.” She shrugged. "It's no big deal.” But I could tell she wasn't having any fun. We sat in silence for the next few minutes. I was just about ready to say the heck with it and give dancing a whirl when the two most gorgeous creatures I had ever seen in my life walked up to our table. "Hello, ladies. How are you this evening?" the blonde asked in a cool, sophisticated voice. "We're all right," Anna replied casually. All right?! I was in heaven.

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"So what are your names?" Anna asked as she leaned over the table to show off her whopping A cup cleavage. "I'm Justin," the blonde replied. "And this is my friend, John." "How's it going?" John asked in a voice so sexy it could melt the polar ice caps. I thought I was going to pass out. As we sat there gawking at them with our mouths open, they hit us with "the zinger." It was the question we were dreading, but knew it would be asked sooner or later. "How old are you girls?" Justin asked as he took a seat beside us. Anna and I looked at each other. "We're nineteen," she blurted out. Nineteen?! She was crazy if she thought we looked anywhere near nineteen. She could have at least said we were sixteen or even seventeen, but nineteen was way out of our league. "And we go to the University of Minnesota," Anna continued. Oh no. Here it comes, I thought to myself. "We normally go to Fraternity parties on the week-ends but we thought we'd come here tonight to recapture memories from our youth." "Oh really?" John replied sarcastically, as if he were really impressed. "Which frat parties do you usually go to?" "Oh, you know," Anna replied casually, "just the usually ones." "You mean like Delta Alpha?" "Yes, Delta Alpha. I believe we've been there. "And what about that one with the really long name? I think it’s Delta Alpha Chi Omega Upsilon,” John said, playing along." "Yes, I believe we've been there too," Anna said as she turned and winked at me.

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I just sat there shaking my head. Just then Jamie and Terri joined us at the table. "Hey girls," Terri replied in the most sickeningly sweet voice I have ever heard. "Who are your friends?" She stood so close to them, she was practically in their laps. "This is Justin and John,” Anna replied casually. Then she quickly glanced at her watch. "Oh look, it's almost eleven, and we haven't had time to dance yet. Let's go," she replied sternly, pulling on Terri and Jamie's sleeves. "But we're just getting acquainted," Terri replied leaning even closer. She was practically on the table at this point. "So do you girls go to the University of Minnesota, too?" John asked innocently, as if Anna hadn't already made the answer obvious. "The University of Minnesota?" Terri said in bewilderment, as if they had asked if we were from Mars. "Yeah, you know. Go Gophers, go,” Anna cheered, giving the girls knowing glances. Terri burst out laughing. "That is the funniest thing I have ever heard," she cried out, clutching her stomach. “You could have at least said you were seniors in high school, but the University of Minnesota? Who are you two losers trying to fool?" “Thanks for the encouragement,” Anna replied dryly. “Really, Anna. I’m serious. If you showed any more cleavage you’d have to declare your chest a national monument.” "At least I have something to show off.” "Yes, but we've all seen Kleenex before, Anna."

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I was just about to pass out from shame and humiliation, when an announcement came over the intercom. "Will Elizabeth Sheldon and her friends please report to the entrance of the club? Your mother is waiting for you." We all stared at each other. Now we had all officially reached loser status. "I think I'm going to go to the ladies’ room now," I said bolting up from the table. "Yeah, me, too," Anna said following suit. "You know what, that Pepsi just hit me," Jamie said. "Nature calls," Terri called out as the four of us made a beeline to the front door. I could hear the guys’ laughter following us all the way to the parking lot. My mother was standing beside the Suburban all decked out in a floor length dress, heels, and a string of pearls. "No one died did they mom?" I said half -jokingly, trying to remember the last time I had seen her that spruced up. "No, but your father is going to kill me if I don't get back soon. I completely forgot about his work party tonight. Sorry I had to cut the evening so short for you girls. Did you have a good time?" "It was okay," Anna, the eternal optimist, replied. But we all knew the evening had been far from "okay." It was bad enough we were lowly freshmen. But to make that fact know to the finest of the male species was a separate issue entirely.

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Chapter 3

“The Big Yellow Limousine”

Tuesday morning it was back to the grind. When my alarm clock went off at the God-forsaken hour of 6:00 a.m., I crawled out of bed- still half asleep- got ready, and headed off for another thrilling day of high school. When I arrived at the bus stop, Anna and Carlie were already there. Anna looked as tired as I did, but of course Carlie was perky as usual. "So how was your week-end?" she asked me, as if the sleep marks on my face didn't speak for themselves. I shrugged. "It was okay." "Oh," Carlie said, sounded disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm. "How was your week-end, Anna?" "Pretty dull. I want to a dance club, but that was about it." Carlie sighed. "I am so glad I have Roger. Those dance clubs are filled with desperate people looking for a good time." Anna and I rolled our eyes and exchanged disgusted glances. I wanted to say something back to her, but I had to admit there was some truth in what she was saying. After the bus dropped us off, Anna and I parted for our lockers. "I'll meet you in front of Mr. Peterson’s class in five minutes," Anna called out down the hallway.

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Luckily we both placed high on our English placement test and were practically the only two freshmen to get into an advanced class together. When I met Anna outside our classroom, she was standing there with a horrified expression on her face. "You can't go in there," she shouted frantically, blocking the entrance. "Why what's the matter? Is Godzilla in there or something," I teased her. "Worse! Justin and John are in there- the guys who humiliated us at the club." "Are you sure? I didn't see them in there last week." "That's because we weren't looking for them last week. This class is full of upperclassmen, and I probably wouldn't have recognized any of them if we had seen them at a dance club." "Well, we can't just stand here in the hall. We have to go in sooner or later. I'll make sure they aren't looking while you run and find us some seats in the back." "Okay, but just peek in. I don't want them to see us." "All right, let's see," I said as I crouched down on the floor. “John’s talking to a girl with a really tight shirt on, and Justin looks like he's finishing his homework. I say we make a break for it." "Okay, let's do it," Anna said taking a big purple folder out of her backpack and shielded her face with it. The two of us bolted to the back of the classroom and found two seats in the corner. We managed to stay out of dodge all hour. When Mr. Peterson called roll I thought we might be in trouble, but neither of them turned around once. When the bell rang, Anna and I were the first ones to fly out the door. We ran all

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the way down the hallway, zoomed around the corner, and didn't stop until we were in freshmen territory. "Whew! That was close," Anna said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I need to get some water before I pass out!" Just as Anna bent over to use the fountain, I heard an unpleasantly familiar voice call out, "Hey, ladies. How's it going?" Anna whirled around. "Not too bad," she said trying to remain calm as she wiped away the spilled water on her shirt. "You know, I saw you two girls on the way to school this morning," John said with the same sarcastic tone he used at the club. "That's really impressive that you get to ride in a limousine to school everyday." Anna and I looked at each other, wondering what in the world this guy was getting at. "You know which limousine I’m talking about, right- that big yellow one parked out front in the school bus zone? Ring a bell?" "Don't listen to him," Justin whispered to us. "I'll give you girls a ride home if you want me to." "Why yes, Justin, that is so nice of you to offer us a ride," Anna shouted in John’s direction. "I would offer you a ride, too,” John roused, “but my Mustang may not be as much fun as a ‘banana boat’ ride." Anna clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. “This is war,” she sputtered at them. “Yeah,” I chimed in, unable to think of a more suitable comeback. “You girls are so cute when you’re angry,” Justin said, putting his arms around

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us. “For freshmen, that is,” he added, as he and turned and gave John a high-five. I looked over at Anna. Her face was beat red, and she looked like she was going to explode. I was happy they were even talking to us. They were so adorable I didn’t care what they said.

Chapter 4

“You Want to Go Driving?!”

On the way to school the next morning, all Anna could talk about was how she wasn’t going to take anything from “those two bone heads” anymore. But when we walked in our English class, there was no stopping them. First they moved their desks so they could get in maximum teasing time. Then they started a morning ritual where John would turn around and ask if they could give us a ride home. Anna would either ignore him or tell him to shut up. This, of course, encouraged him even more. "No, I mean it. I’ll give you a ride home. Oh, but I forgot! You guys already have a ride." "Yeah a ride with the big yellow limousine,” Justin would deviously chime in as they high-fived each other and cackled like hyenas for the rest of the hour. Their antics continued for another month or so, and then Anna decided it was time to take matters into our own hands. "The only way we are ever going to get them to

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stop harassing us is if we get our driver's licenses," Anna informed me one morning on the way to school. "I was talking to Terri the other day, and she told me about this place that offers a five day crash course. She said all you have to do it show up and you're automatically guaranteed your license." "I don't know. I think I might need a little more practice than just five days." Anna rolled her eyes. “Five days is plenty of time to learn how to drive. Besides, if you're that worried you can always get your parents to practice with you. In fact, let me give you the information I got from Terri. You can show it to your mom and dad tonight.”

That evening after dinner I got up the courage to bring up the topic of driver's ed. to my parents. I took a deep breath, and went into the family room where my mother was reading a book, and my father was watching a ballgame. I decided to ask my mother first, since she looked like she was paying the most attention. "Anna gave me this sheet today so I could sign up for driving lessons," I said casually, placing it on her lap. My mother looked up from her book, squinted at me, and said, "You want to go driving?" as if I had told her I wanted to get a tattoo of Dennis Rodman on my left butt cheek. "Yes,” I replied impatiently. “I want to go driving." "But you don't know how to drive," my mother insisted. I rolled my eyes. "I know- that's why I want to learn." My poor mother started to turn white. I could see tiny beads of perspiration dripping from her forehead. She

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closed her eyes. "Where do you want to go driving?" "Around the subdivision-that’s all. Don't worry. Nothing will happen to the car." "It's not the car that I'm worried about," my mother replied drying, gripping onto her armchair. "Maybe you should ask your father."

"All right! Nice hit," my father shouted, jumping out of his Lazyboy. "Hey dad, can I talk to you for a minute." "Run...get there...get there…” "Dad, I need to know if you can take me driving." "Sure, that sounds like fun. Nice play!" I decided to wait until the ballgame was finished until I brought the topic up again. "Driving?” my father said as if our conversation had been a complete blur to him. “You don't know how to drive." I rolled my eyes. This was hopeless. "I know I don't know how to drive. That's why I want you to show me." My father scratched his head for a second. "All right. I guess we could practice for a few minutes. But don't expect to learn everything your first time out. I'll just show you the basics tonight."

For my first lesson, I didn't do too badly. Once I got out of the driveway that is. On my first attempt at backing out, I hit the gas too much and turned the wheel too soon.

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I ended up sailing onto the grass, barely missing the basketball hoop, and almost smashed into my father's car. That fired dear old dad up. "When you are backing out," he informed me, with his face turning fuchsia, "you do not need to hit the gas at all. Never turn the wheel until you've reached the end of the driveway, and most importantly, look behind you! Now, let's try it again.” I started up the car, turned, looked, and began to coast down the driveway. "Okay, you're doing good. Just coast…that's it...now stop!" I slammed on the bakes and our heads went flying back on the headrests. My father took a deep breath and muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. When I finally made it out of the driveway, there was no stopping me. I leisurely cruised around our subdivision with the windows rolled down and the radio blasting. I let the wind whip through my hair as I put the pedal to the medal. I looked over at my father. He didn’t look quite as footloose and fancy free as I did. He was slumped over in his seat with a look of horror on his face. I think I took ten years off his life just by going for a spin around the block. After we returned home, my parents agreed that it would be a good idea for me to enroll in driver’s education classes.

A few evenings later, Anna and I planned to meet at Leary’s Driving School with our parents to sign up for driving classes. But when we got there, I was shocked to see Anna with Terri Maxfield and her parents instead of her own. Anna introduced my parents to Terri’s and they immediately started bonding. “This is scary, isn’t it?” I heard my father say to Mr. Maxfield. I wondered if he meant

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that it was scary that I was old enough to drive, or scary because of the number I did on the lawn. We filled out a few forms, and then we signed up for driving times. “What days should we sign up for?” I asked Anna. Anna glanced at Terri, and then at me. “I don’t know. Can’t the three of us sign up together?” “No, it says right here on the hand-out only two students can occupy a vehicle at once.” “Maybe we could take turns,” Anna suggested. “Nope. It says right here that after you sign up you cannot change your driving itinerary, instructor, or driving partner.” I wanted to tell Terri that every rule has exceptions, but something in her tone of voice told me I had better keep my mouth shut. “Do you mind?” Anna whispered to me. Of course I minded. The main reason I was signing up for classes in the first place was because I thought Anna and I were going to be partners. I didn’t want to create a scene, though, so I told Anna to go ahead and sign up with Terri. After we were finished registering, we went to find our parents. They were standing in a little huddle by the entrance, looking like a mini-support group. “This is an even better idea than I thought,” my mother said to Terri’s mom. “Finally, she’ll be able to cart herself around town.” “And guess what,” Mrs. Maxfield said, as if she were about to reveal the great mystery of life, “my husband knows an insurance agent who can get you a great rate for

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your daughter.” “I like the sound of that,” my father chimed in. “Great! Nice meeting you, Dave. We’ll be in touch,” Mr. Maxfield said, shaking my dad’s hand. “What a nice family,” my mother remarked after they left. Well, maybe Terri’s parents were friendly, but obviously that gene skipped right over her. I just hoped Anna could look past Terri’s popularity and see her for who she really was.

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Chapter 5

“He Drives Me Crazy”

After school the next day, my mom took me to Leary’s for my first driving lesson. When I walked into the classroom, there were about thirty-five kids pushing against each other, trying to read a notice that was taped on the blackboard. I spotted Anna and Terri at a table near the back of the room, so I decided I’d ask them what was going on before I fought through the crowd. “Our driving times and instructors are written on the board,” Anna informed me. “I wrote yours down for you,” she said, handing me a tiny piece of paper. “I don’t understand,” I said scanning it over. “There’s no one listed to drive with me. Does this mean I have to drive by myself?” “Looks that way, Einstein,” Terri said giving me a smug look. “I’m sorry, Liz,” Anna said placing her hand on my shoulder. “And why is Mr. Lear listed as my instructor?” I asked, scanning down the information Anna had written down. “He teaches some of the classes,” Anna informed me.

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“I heard he’s a real-.” Just then an older man with a cold, mean face and fierce black eyes stepped into the classroom, and I knew immediately what adjective Terri was about to use. As he stood before us, he talked in a low, deep voice that echoed throughout the classroom. “Each year thousands of teenagers die in car accidents,” he announced. “Car accidents are the leading cause of teenage deaths. Approximately one third of you will be involved in a car accident this year.” The room fell silent except for a few gasps and several “no way dude’s.” Suddenly, I wasn’t so excited about getting my license. After he gave his little boost of encouragement, we watched a few films, and then he dismissed us to go home. I was just about to walk out the door when I heard Mr. Leary’s booming voice call out, “Miss Sheldon, I need to talk to you.” “Good luck,” Terri said, with an annoying smirk on her face. “Yes, Mr. Lear?” I called out quietly. “Since you don’t have a partner, I thought we could go out for our first drive tonight.” “Tonight?” “Is there a problem?” My knees were wobbling, my entire body was trembling, and my head was starting to spin. “Nope, that sound perfectly fine,” I said, hoping I could make it out there without having a nervous breakdown.

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As I nervously stepped into the driver’s ed. car, Mr. Lear asked if I had ever been driving before. I thought about how I nearly killed the grass, the sidewalk, and my father and I. I also thought about the pained look on my father’s face. “Oh sure, I’ve been driving a few times,” I replied with an air of confidence in my voice. “Well, then we won’t waste any time. I’ll have you back out, turn left, and head onto the expressway.” Expressway?! Wait a minute, I thought to myself. Sure I had been driving before, but it was only around the block. I hadn’t even gone past twenty miles an hour yet. I fastened my seatbelt. We were in for quite a ride. “Now, I want you to put one hand at the three o’clock position on the wheel and the other hand at the nine o’clock position on the wheel,” he instructed me as I put the key in the ignition. “Make sure your seat is up high enough, and check the mirrors to make sure they are properly adjusted.” He paused for a minute while I prepared myself. After a few minutes he let out a sigh and impatiently huffed, “That was three minutes and twenty-eight seconds, Miss Sheldon. That’s not good.” He was enough to make a grown man cry, let me tell you. “Now, I want you to put the car in reverse, put one hand on the headrest, turn your body, and pull out of the parking lot.” I did as I was told as he muttered “one minute, fifteen seconds,” under his breath. After I backed out of the parking lot, Mr. Leary had me make a left hand turn onto a road filled with a sea of traffic. I could feel the cars staring at me as I drove. They had

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one hand placed on the horn, ready to blast a “code blue, stupid driver” alert. And they had the other hand curled up into a fist, prepared to extend their middle finger at any given moment. As I approached a yellow light, Mr. Leary hit the brake that was oh-soconveniently located on his side of the vehicle. “What are you doing?!” he shouted as he made a low growling noise. That was the first of many times he asked me that ridiculous question and made that treacherous noise. I wanted to tell him, if I knew what I was doing, I wouldn’t need to take classes. But I guess that concept was too much for him to grasp. “Now, release the gas,” he continued. “Go ahead- release. What are you doing? I said RELEASE!” When he said it that time I released everything that I knew how to release. I lot go of the wheel and sprawled my entire body against the seat. He started gasping for breath. “What are you doing?!” he shouted. “Grab the wheel. Grab it now!” I gripped the wheel with all my might. “Now, cover the break.” I pressed down on the break pedal, like I thought Mr. Leary had asked me to do. “I said cover the break, not slam on the break! We just about got rear ended! Now, turn here and we’ll head onto the ramp to the expressway. That’s it…make a right…now punch it!” I watched in terror as I accelerated to thirty…forty…fifty miles per hour. My heart raced as I reached sixty…seventy miles per hour. When I hit seventy-five, I didn’t want to look. My palms were dripping with sweat as I desperately tried to maintain my “three

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and nine o’clock position. Needless to say, when we finally returned back to Lear’s, I was a nervous wreck. I never knew driving could be so tiring. Had I known that, I would’ve skipped my step aerobic workout that morning. When my mom picked me up she immediately asked how everything went. I didn’t want to tell her that I had been ditched by my best friend and unmercifully ridiculed by my ill-tempered driving instructor. So I simply said it “went okay,” and thanked the lord I was still in one piece. That evening, Anna called to tell me about her driving lesson. She went on and on about how much fun she and Terri had and how easygoing and fun loving her instructor was. When she asked how my lesson had gone, I told her the gist of the story, although I left out most of the gory details. “Liz, I’m so sorry we couldn’t be partners,” she apologized. “I guess Terri assumed I would drive with her. Thanks for being so understanding.” I wanted to tell her that I hadn’t understood much of anything that was happening lately. I especially couldn’t understand what Mr. Linderman could have possibly meant when they said these were the best years of my life. Was it because he had thinning hair and a poor pension plan, or was it actually true? I hoped not, because if these were the best years, I didn’t want to witness the worst years.

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Chapter 7

“A,B,C,D… All Of This Looks Greek To Me”

I had a few more driving lessons, and then it was test time. I planned on cramming all weekend for my driver’s ed. exam. I got together all of my training manuals and pamphlets and spread them out on my bedroom floor. Just when I started to dig in, my father knocked on the door. “Hey, honey. Are you ready?” he asked me. He was wearing a sports jacket and had a small carry on piece of luggage in his hands. I couldn’t believe it. My parents had finally taken notice of all the hard work I had done for my driving test and were surprising me with a trip to Bermuda! “It’s family week-end at U of M. You better pack quickly. We have a reception to attend in exactly an hour and a half,” he replied, glancing at his watch. Reception?! Were they crazy?! I had the biggest test of my life to study for and they expected me to venture off for a weekend of banquets and boredom so Alan could con my parents into thinking he was actually studying up at college? They were out of their minds. “What, you’re not packed yet?” my mother asked as she flew into my room. She started rummaging through my drawers shoving things left and right into suitcases and overnight bags. So off I went, leaving my studies behind, praying for a miracle that I

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would pass on my natural abilities. I was doomed.

When I returned Sunday night, I was exhausted. I had been to more meetings and dinners then I could handle. I had seen more football, pre-season basketball, and sports that I didn’t even know existed. And if I had to taste one more indigestible dorm food item I was going to throw up. Needless to say, I had experienced enough college life to last through both Alan’s and my lifetime. I brought by driver’s ed. books to school with me on Monday morning to cram in some studying. I managed to get in a few minutes here and there. In fact, I actually started feeling a little better about the test, until I arrived at Leary’s and spotted Anna and Terri at a table by themselves. They had flash cards, highlighters, notebooks-the whole nine yards. “I heard this test is a real nightmare. I studied all weekend for it. Did you study much?” Anna asked. My stomach slowly started tightening into a knot. “Yeah, I studied a little. Do you really think it will be that hard?” “I don’t know,” Anna replied skeptically. “My cousin Sarah is a straight- A student, and she had to take the test three times.” I started to nervously leaf through the pages of our manuals, but at that point it was “do or die” (which didn’t seem like such a bad option at that point). In a few minutes, Mr. Leary walked into the classroom with his usual scowl on his face. “Let’s get down to business. You’ll have forty-five minutes to finish your test. If you’re caught cheating, you’ll be asked to leave. Any questions?”

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The room fell silent, except for a few last -minute flipping of flashcards. “Good. Now let’s get started.” I took a deep breath and tried to think about everything I had learned during driver’s ed. But somehow I didn’t think the phrases “Look where you’re going” and “What are you doing?” were going to appear on there anywhere. I slowly opened my test, poised my pencil, and prepared for battle. The first few questions were pretty easy. They were general questions that I knew just from driving around with my parents. But of course, like all tests, the questions got progressively worse as I went along. Question number seven, for instance, was a real toughie. It asked, “What is the percentage of drunk- driving accidents per year?” Then it gave the choices of 25%, 50%, or 75%. It could be any one of those, I thought to myself. It could be twenty-five percent, because I had just read an article that said drunk-driving accidents are declining this year. But then Mr. Leary also told us that drunk driving is the leading cause of teenage deaths, so it could be seventy-five percent. That left fifty-percent, but that seemed too exact of a figure to be correct. The rest of the test proceeded in this same fashion, with a lot of questions involving statistics, scenarios, and cars “A,” “B,” “C,” and “D.” I was about halfway through when the class started clearing out. When Anna and Terri finished, they gave a round a high-fives. Evidently they hadn’t spent as much time determining the four steps of proper cable jumping as I had. “I’ll wait for you,” Anna whispered to me as she handed her test to Mr. Leary. I

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hoped she had brought her sleeping bag, because there was no way I was leaving, and certainly not high-fiving, anyone anytime soon. I bent my head down and started to concentrate on my test when I heard a big, booming, “Congratulations, ladies! You passed. These are some of the highest marks I’ve seen yet.” What was this-a compliment?! It was a complete and utter rarity from the generally bitter and lifeless Mr. Leary. They must have done well. About fifteen minutes later the room really started to clear out. “You have five minutes left,” Mr. Leary snarled. He even wrote a big “five” on the blackboard, as if we were too stupid to know what the word meant. “Okay, five minutes are up,” Mr. Leary announced. “Hand your tests in.” I took a look around me. Besides me, there was only one other person left. I let him take his test up first. “Wrong…nope. Wrong, wrong. You failed,” he said, not sugar coating the situation in the least. “Show up tomorrow for a retest. Better study this time if you plan on driving in this lifetime,” he warned him. I couldn’t even look while he graded my test. “Hmm,” Mr. Lear muttered as he flipped through the pages of my test. “This is wrong. Nope, that’s not right. This is okay…that one is okay. Okay…okay. Good. You passed,” he said, with about as much enthusiasm as if he were revealing his love for tuna noodle casserole.

I couldn’t believe it! I was elated as I ran out of the classroom to tell everyone the news. “So, how did it go?” Anna inquired anxiously.

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“Well… I did it!” “Oh, thank goodness!” my mother shouted, raising her hands in the air in triumph. “Whew! I guess I won’t have to shell out another two hundred for a retest-way to go, honey!” my dad shouted. “We knew you could do it,” they said, giving me a suffocating bear hug. “Okay, I didn’t solve world peace. I just passed a driver’s education exam.” “Never-the-less, let’s go out to dinner to celebrate,” my dad suggested. The three of us headed out the door, and quickly decided a meal in would be a better choice. The wind was so strong, that it just about blew me over. The parking lot was a complete sheet of ice, and with the snow accumulation, we could barely see as we made our way to our car. “Let’s pray for a school cancellation!” I called out to Anna, as she made a mad dash for the Maxfields’ car. “I’ve got my fingers crossed. Good job on your test!” she shouted back, giving me the thumbs up sign. I knew in my heart, Anna was the one person who truly believed in me. Even though she has been a little distant, I knew she would always be there for me, no matter what.

“The Snowstorm”

When evening came, the snow still hadn’t stopped. I sat glued to the t.v. hoping school would be closed. Unfortunately, though, the newscasters called off the names of every other school district in Minnesota but ours.

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The next morning on the bus, Carlie came equipped with an oversized, fur-lined hood that made her look like an Eskimo and a big thermos of hot chocolate for Anna and I to sip on. I was glad one of us had come prepared. Our bus driver drove so slowly it seemed as if we were barely moving. “If we hit one more patch of ice, I’m turning this bad boy around,” she threatened. But everyone was driving bumper to bumper, and it didn’t seem like there was anywhere to turn the bus around if she wanted to. When we finally arrived at school, Anna and I sat by the heater in our first hour class so we could unthaw. John came in a few minutes later with a big scowl on his face. He started complaining about his Mustang’s faulty “road control.” “Maybe you should ride the bus,” Anna said smugly. John shot her the look of the devil and snapped, “Maybe you should shut the-.” Before he could finish his loving remark, the morning announcements came blaring over the intercom. It was like nails on a chalkboard. I wondered if they purposely did that to wake us up. The secretary rambled on about our school play, girls’ volleyball game, band concert, and a zillion other events that no one seemed to care about. Then she said something that really got everyone’s attention. “Sign up sheets for the ski club are available in the office. Stop by this afternoon to reserve your spot.” Everyone started cheering. Usually the ski club didn’t start until after Christmas. With the early snowfall, however, they evidently decided to start early. John turned around in his seat. “Are you two ladies joining?” he slyly inquired. “Yes, as a matter of fact we are,” Anna said smugly.

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“We?” I mouthed to Anna. “Of course, we. It’ll be fun,” Anna whispered back. Maybe for Anna it was going to be fun. But I was like a hog on ice when it came to winter sports. “No thanks,” I replied. “I like my body in one piece.” “What’s the matter? Are you too chicken?” Justin chimed in. “No, she’s not chicken. She just hasn’t tried it yet. But this year she will,” Anna insisted, shooting me a “go along with this or I’ll kick your butt” glare. So that afternoon Anna and I mauled our way through the mob of angry skiers to sign up for the ski club. “Don’t forget this, girls,” the secretary called after us. “You need to have your parents sign this permission slip and return it to the office by Friday.” “This Friday?” I whispered sternly to Anna. “Yeah, so?” “That’s not enough time!” “Time for what?” Anna demanded to know. “I don’t know…time to back out.” “You are not going to back out. Besides, do you know how much more John and Justin will tease you if you don’t go through with this?” I shrugged. “The semester will be over soon.” Anna rolled her eyes. “Come on, Liz. Don’t you want to show those two nitwits that we’re not just some geeky freshmen?” “Okay, I’ll go. But if I break both my legs, you’ll have to wheel me around to all my classes.”

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Anna smiled. “It’s a deal.”

The whole week I prayed we would have a freak heat wave and all the snow would melt. But of course, as my luck would have it, we had a record snowfall on the day of the ski trip. I tried to remain calm and optimistic throughout the day. But then the stories began. Anna and I were sitting at the lunch table when I casually mentioned that this would be my first time skiing. Everyone stared at me. “What, you’ve never been skiing before?!” “I broke my leg the first time I went skiing.” “Remember when Katie got stuck in that fence her first time out?” Suddenly the nice, fun-filled ski outing didn’t seem like fun and games anymore. In fact, by the end of the day, my feelings of anxiety progressed into feelings of sheer doom. As Anna and I were putting our ski gear on in the bathroom, she tried to assure me learning to ski wasn’t going to be ‘that bad.’ “What do you mean by ‘that bad’?” I demanded to know. “Do you mean it won’t be ‘that bad’ as in I won’t get devoured by a gigantic avalanche? Or do you mean things won’t be ‘that bad’ as in they could be a whole lot better if I had any knowledge what-soever about the sport of skiing?” Anna gave me a blank stare. “I don’t know-maybe a combination of both.” We finished getting dressed, and we waddled out to the bus, in our multiple layers

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of thermal underwear. The ride to the ski resort took forever. Anna tried to make small talk, but upon the hour of my death I didn’t feel like being much of a conversationalist. When the bus finally pulled into the ski lodge, Anna immediately began to rattle off instructions. “Okay, see that hill over there?” she asked as she pointed out the window. “That’s the bunny hill.” “Where? I don’t see it,” I informed her, searching all around for something that looked remotely dainty and “bunny like.” “Right there,” she said, tapping on the window. “It’s the hill right in front of you.” I gasped. Right before my very eyes, standing in its majestic glory was a fullfledged mountain. “That’s the bunny hill?!” “Yeah, what’s wrong?” “What’s wrong? The bunny hill is the smallest hill, right?” “Yeah, so?” “So, that hill looks like Mount Everest- not some dainty mound of dirt.” “You’ll be fine,” Anna tried to assure me. But when we got off the bus, the situation looked even bleaker. There was a huge sign that read “We are not responsible for any accidents or injuries. Ski at your own risk.” “That does it. I’m leaving!” I shouted. “Elizabeth, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t leave. There’s no where to go.”

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Okay, keep calm, I said to myself. Anna’s right. I’m stuck here, so I might as well try the bunny hill. So we rented our skis and began what could be considered the biggest disaster ever known to mankind.

Ironically, I discovered going down the bunny hill was actually a lot easier then going up the hill. For one reason, Anna hadn’t warned me about “the rope.” She didn’t tell me about the fine art of lining my skis up in perfect parallel position, squatting without falling backwards, and grabbing onto a rope that goes zooming by at ninety miles per hour. Had she warned me about that, I definitely would have stayed home. Or at least I would have gotten a good helmet and a good lawyer. The other thing Anna hadn’t warned me about was the need for “grip gloves.” There I was with these cute, fuzzy mittens that were about as durable as Crisco. So every time I tried to get a hold of the rope, I would slide right down to the end, fall off, and put the “domino effect” into motion. Then inevitable, a precocious kid would zoom by me saying “in your face, slow poke!” Finally, after several unsuccessful tries, Anna decided it was time for us to retire from the bunny hill and move on to something a little less complicated. “This hill is easy,” Anna assured me as we reached the top of an intermediate hill. “You just have to wait for the lift, and then plop your butt down on the seat. Think you can handle that?” “Are you kidding? After these burn-marks on my hands, a soft, cushy landing sounds pretty nice.” “Okay. Get ready, then. Here it comes!” The seat scooped us up, and we were

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on our way. As we climbed higher and higher, my palms became sweatier and sweatier. I looked above me. The thin cable that was holding us up didn’t look too sturdy. I looked below us. On the other hand, the thick forest of pine trees didn’t look too comfy to land on. I decided to look straight ahead. When we finally reached the top of the hill, Anna told me to listen very carefully to her instructions. “Now, I want you to scoot your bottom all the way to the front of the chair. That’s it…perfect. Now, get ready to jump!” I whipped my head around so fast I looked like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. “I’m sorry. Did you just say I had to jump?” Anna looked at me as if I was the dumbest person in the world. “How else were you planning on getting off the lift?” “I don’t know. I thought maybe it would stop for a minute and give everyone a chance to get off-like a ride at Disney World.” “Well I hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t the ‘It’s a Small World Ride.’ Now get ready…scoot…there you go. Okay, jump!” I grabbed a hold of my ski poles, leaned forward, and with all my might I took a flying leap off the lift and landed face first in the snow. My body was lying in one direction and my skis were lying in another. If Guinness were there I could have set the world’s record for the most awkward, uncomfortable position anyone had ever gotten themselves into. “Okay Anna, you can help me up anytime now,” I sputtered, wondering how long she was going to make me lye in that God-awful position. All I could hear were fits of

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giggles. “I’m sorry, Liz, but this is the funniest thing I have ever seen. You look like a wounded duck.” “Just help me up, okay?” “Okay, okay. Boy, I wish I had a camera right now. We could win a fortune off from ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos.’” “Do I have to remind you that I can no longer feel anything below my earlobes right now?” “Sorry,” Anna apologized. “I forgot. Here, let’s untangle your skis.” Anna helped me swing my legs around, remove my face from the snowdrift, and get back on my feet without injuring any vital organs. It was a real process, let me tell you. When I was finally in my original position, Anna started to coach me again. “Now I’m going to show you how to snow plow,” she informed me. “Just turn your skis in like this. That’s it. Now start to move just a little bit…not too fast…uh oh…Liz…Elizabeth!” All of a sudden I took off flying. I could have been Hollywood’s next Super Girl I was going so fast. I zoomed past the other skiers at speeds that have never been reached by man. I dodged a zillion pine trees, weaved between the people waiting for the lift, and for my big finale, I ran straight into a snow bank, wiped out, and landed flat on my back. I laid there for a second thinking (and halfway hoping) I might be dead. “Are you okay?” Anna asked me, hovering over my mangled body. “I can’t move a bone in my body, but other than that I’m great.” “I’m going to get you help,” Anna informed me. The next thing I knew I was being carried onto a snow mobile and whisked away to the ski lodge. I spent the

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remainder of my trip sipping on hot chocolate and trying to explain my near fatal disaster to everyone. “Hey speedy, you really bit it on that hill. Are you gonna show up on Monday in a body cast?” John asked me. “She did okay for her first time out,” Justin said in my defense. “She doesn’t look okay,” Terri chimed in. “What happened? Didn’t you snow plow?” “Oh, she snow plowed all right,” John chuckled, all the way down the hill! Maybe you should try moving next time.” Under normal circumstances I probably would have broken down and cried after such cruel remarks. At that point, however, I was too sore to cry or even move. When I got home my mom had a fit when she saw how banged up I was. “Next time you should take a ski lesson to learn how to fall correctly,” she said. “First of all, if I plan on living, there isn’t going to be a next time,” I informed her. “And secondly, when you are going down a hill at warp speed there is no ‘correct way’ to fall.” She took one look at my bruises and I think she understood. Sunday night Anna called to see how I was holding up. I told her I was improving-I could at least breathe without feeling agonizing pain. She laughed when I said that. She didn’t know I was being serious. “Well, just think,” she said optimistically. “The next ski trip can only get better.” “I’m not taking any chances,” I said to her. “At this rate I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up paralyzed.” “You mean you’re quitting?”

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“Yes, I’m quitting. How many lives do you think I have?” “You can’t quit. You haven’t even given this a chance.” “Anna, I wiped out going up the bunny hill. I did a nose dive while departing from the chair lift. And need I remind you of my disastrous fall from what appeared to be the top of the Himalaya Mountains? I don’t think quitting is such a ludicrous thought.” “Honestly, Elizabeth. You might as well lock yourself up in your house all day with that attitude.” Deep down, I knew Anna was right. I had to learn to be open to new things. But providing comedic relief for the entire school wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. We agreed to a private ski outing for an upcoming week-end. But I could tell, Anna wasn’t about to clear her schedule. I didn’t want to lose her as a friend, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to make the leap into the abyss of school sports and social circles. I knew adults always gave the lame, clichéd advice to “be yourself and everything will be fine.” There was one big problem-I had absolutely who I was at that time. I knew for certain who I wasn’t. But who was I at fifteen? I was afraid I wouldn’t find out for a really long time.

Chapter 10

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“Get a Load of Those Bahoogies”

As I had anticipated, I didn’t see much of Anna for the remainder of the school year. She spent her week-ends fraternizing with her ski buddies and going to junior varsity basketball games. We used to at least see each other in English class. In January, though, the semester was over, and I was lucky if I passed her in the hallway. We went to a couple of movies together, but it was often hard (and embarrassing) to find a designated chauffeur. So we mainly laid low, renting movies and flipping through issues of Seventeen magazine. When summer came, Anna was off to camp for six weeks. She called it a “fine arts camp” which I assumed meant it’s for talented people. “I’m only going because my parents are making me,” Anna contended. They think I’m going to be an artist like my mom was at my age. Don’t worry, as soon as I’m back, I’m headed to your place!” While Anna was gone, I spent most of the summer lounging by my pool with Carlie. We had a record-breaking drought that summer, and it was hotter than blazes. Hanging out with Carlie wasn’t nearly as fun as hanging out with Anna. Even though Anna and I had been drifting apart a little, we could still find plenty to talk about. Carlie, on the other hand, only had a one-track mind. “Roger has the sexiest smile I have ever seen.” “Roger has eyes the color of a light brown M’M.” “Roger is going to be the starting quarterback this season.” What Carlie failed to mention about her endearing boyfriend, though, is that he got caught with marijuana in his locker, and he may not be able to play football at all this season. But

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since Roger was so perfect in every other sense, she decided to conceal this little tidbit of information. One day we were basking in the sun when Roger showed up with one of his friends from school. I felt so self-conscious. If I had known they were going to drop in, I would have worn my one piece. But there I was, letting it all hang out, in my limecolored bikini that was about two sizes too small. “Do you mind if we take a dip?” Roger asked, peeling off his T-shirt. “Not at all,” Carlie replied as if this were her swimming pool. “Okay, then you better watch out,” Roger called out as he did a cannonball off the diving board. “Roger, we’re soaked,” Carlie shrieked as she daintily swatted water at him in revenge. “This is a swimming pool,” he reminded her. “You’re supposed to get wet. Hey Steve, why don’t you cannonball this one,” he said motioning towards me. “Sure man,” Steve replied as he followed suit and splashed us all over again. “That was a pretty impressive jump, wouldn’t you say?” Roger asked me. “Yes, very impressive,” I said sarcastically, as I wiped the water from my eyes. “Why don’t you join us, Liz?” Roger started in again. “Or is your butt stuck to that floating chair?” “I think your friend got me wet enough, thanks!” “Hey, there’s no need to get testy,” Steve chimed in. “You looked like you could use some cooling off, that’s all. Lighten up ‘hot stuff,’ he said, winking at me. Just as my face was turning a zillion shades of red, my mother walked out onto

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the patio carrying a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade. “Would anyone care for some refreshments?” she asked. “Certainly,” Roger replied, giving his best Wally Cleaver impersonation. My mother smiled at me and gave me one of those “motherly looks.” I knew what she was thinking- I had finally discovered boys. Roger, Steve, and Carlie sipped their lemonades while I stayed in the pool hoping they wouldn’t notice. “Hey, do we smell?” Steve asked. “Is that why you’re not getting into the pool? Wait a minute,” he said, with his eyes lighting up. “It’s the ‘bahoogies,’” he announced as he rounded his hands motioning for “boobs.” “You’re right, man. She’s sitting there in case someone needs a flotation device,” Roger mused. Fortunately, they had to leave for practice a few minutes later. Otherwise, I think I would have knocked him over the head with my “bahoogies.” After they were gone, I immediately turned toward Carlie. “Okay, was this some kind of cruel joke?” I demanded to know. “No,” Carlie replied innocently. “I just thought you might enjoy a summer fling.” “Fling?!” “I know you’re inexperienced with guys so I thought I would help you out.” “You could have helped me out by telling your boyfriend and his perverted friend not to point out my over flowing ‘bahoggies’ every five minutes!” “Someday when you meet your knight in shining armor, you’ll be glad you have those things!”

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“Honestly, Carlie. Do you think you could embarrass me a little more?” “I could, but I think you’ve suffered enough humiliation for one day!”

When I took the empty lemonade glasses inside later that afternoon, my mom was standing in the kitchen with the same cheesy grin on her face. “So, what was his name?” she asked. “Who, Roger?” “No, the other boy.” “I think his name is Steve. But I’m not interested in him, so don’t go out and make any wedding arrangements yet.” My mother paused for a minute then she said, “You know, you really shouldn’t be so hard on people, Liz.” “What do you mean?” I demanded to know. She took a deep breath. I could tell she was trying to choose her words carefully. “Well, I know you hang out with Anna and Carlie a lot, but that’s about it. And even these days you and Anna have different interests. Maybe you should make some new friends.” “I’ll put that on my ‘to do list’ for the afternoon,” I replied sarcastically. I knew my mother was only trying to be helpful. I just don’t think she understood how difficult it was for someone my age to make new friends. When you’re forty-five it’s different- you join a bridge club or a bowling league. But at fifteen, some people are born to be popular and some aren’t. And unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do

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to change that.

Later that afternoon I got a post card from Anna. It said she was having a miserable time and couldn’t wait to come home. She sent a second one about a week later that said she met a guy who is “ruggedly handsome” and “pretty nice.” The third one she sent the following week said she was having the time of her life, and she decided to stay for the next six-week session. This was just great, I thought to myself. This meant six more weeks of Carlie, Roger, Steve, and that stupid lime green bikini. I was counting the days until summer was over, Anna was back from la la land, and I could get my license and get the heck out of there.

Chapter 11

“You Shouldn’t Have…You Really Shouldn’t Have!”

I spent the rest of the summer practicing driving with my parents. After months

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of agonizing anticipation, the big day finally arrived. I had envisioned what this glorious day would be like at least a thousand times. I would wake up on a crisp, fall morning at the start of my sophomore year, with the wind gently caressing my face. I would gallantly walk downstairs greeted by my loving family who would shower me with gifts and tell me how I’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. “And now, for the piece de résistance,” my father would say, as he winked proudly at my mother. Then he would open the door, and there before my very eyes would be a bright, shiny Corvette with a big bow around it and a banner that said “happy sixteenth birthday!” In my real life experience of my sixteenth birthday, however, there were a few slight discrepancies. First of all, my “crisp fall morning” turned into the biggest downpour we had seen all summer. I guess you could say our drought had officially ended. Secondly, the “piece de résistance” turned out to be a piece of you-know-what. As my father took me outside to reveal my “special gift,” I stood there shivering in my terry cloth robe, while I squinted to see what that big, black ugly thing was in the middle of our driveway. “Is that what I think it is?” I asked, hoping maybe the rain had distorted my vision. “Yep. It’s your new car!” my father exclaimed, beaming proudly. “Don’t you love it?” my mother asked, getting a little misty eyed. I wanted to tell them I would love it even more if I could return it for a couple of CD’s and a pair of jeans, but they seemed pretty fond of their “special gift” so I decided to refrain. “Wait until the rain lets up a little, then we’ll look at it up close,” my father said.

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“Can’t wait!” I said, crossing my fingers it would look nicer in the daylight. We went inside, and my mom cooked breakfast for us. When we were finished the rain had subsided, so mom and dad took me out to see my present. The closer we walked to it the older and uglier it looked. And with the sunlight breaking through, every dent, bump, and scrape was shining in all its glory. “Here, let me show you the inside,” my father said opening the passenger door. “Hop in.” The interior was even worse than the exterior. It was a velvety red texture that smelled like a wet cat. “Here honey,” my father said, handing me the keys. “It’s all yours!” I smiled sheepishly and told him he “shouldn’t have,” fully meaning that comment with all my heart.

On the way to school I decided to nick name my car “Black Beauty”- not because it was beautiful, but because it kept stalling on me every five seconds and I had to call it something. At the first stop sign I came to, I stopped two feet short, as I was instructed to do in driver’s ed. I gently applied the gas, and…nothing. Black Beauty made a low growling noise, and then she shut right down. “Come on, Black Beauty,” I coaxed. “Just a few more miles.” But she wouldn’t budge. Cars started honking at me, so I went on a mad search for the emergency flashers. I looked all over the car, but I couldn’t find them. The car was so old, they probably hadn’t been invented when it was made. I kept turning the engine on and off while I applied the gas, in hopes that it would

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miraculously come to life. I tried this technique several times, but nothing seemed to work. I didn’t know what to do. I was going to be late for school if I waited much longer, but I wasn’t close to a gas station and I didn’t want to ask a stranger for help. Finally, I got so frustrated that I stared cursing at the heap of junk under my breath. I took my fist and pounded the dash board with all my might as I shouted, “Take that you good for nothing-.” Before I could finish my terms of endearment for my precious car, I heard a faint humming noise that suggested she might still have some life in her after all. “Come on, Black Beauty, you can do it,” I said. “Just one more purr for mama.” Suddenly, the kitty started to roar, and we were off. I flew through the stop sign, cranked up the music, and put the pedal to the metal. “This is more like it,” I said to myself. I rounded the corner singing along to the radio, and suddenly I realized I was singing acappella. “Oh no, not again.” I straightened the car back up… and behold! The music returned. After awhile I discovered this was a normal routine for Black Beauty, and it was nothing to worry about. I also discovered that flat tires and leaky pipes were also “normal” occurrences. But it was better than riding the “yellow limousine” every morning, so I couldn’t complain. Friday night Anna and I decided to take Black Beauty out on the town. There was just one problem, though. We couldn’t think of any place to go. The movies seemed too boring and the mall seemed too “junior high-ish.” Then one morning when I was standing at my locker, Anna rushed up to me and claimed she had a brilliant idea. “It doesn’t involve male strippers, pornography, or anything else that could get us

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arrested, does it?” I asked, thinking how Anna sometimes got carried away with her “brilliant ideas.” “No, but it does involve men. This morning I was talking to a junior named Sheila Lang. We both pretended to “forget” our gym clothes, so we got to sit and talk all hour,” she explained. I nodded. “Yes, and?” “And Sheila was telling me about this place called ‘the block’ where you can drive around and yell at cars. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Where’s this place at?” “I’m not exactly sure. I’ll get the directions from Sheila tomorrow. Just make sure you keep your Friday night free.” “I don’t know,” I replied sarcastically. “Tom Cruise might get mad when I tell him I have to cancel.” Anna laughed. “Don’t worry. Where we’re going the men are gonna blow Tom Cruise away!”

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Chapter 12

“Studs and Duds”

Friday night around eight o’clock we hopped in Black Beauty and we headed for the block. “Okay, first you have to get on the highway,” Anna informed me as she read the directions out loud. “And then you have to make a left onto M-13.” That part was easy. There was only one highway heading out of Maple Grove, and the side roads were pretty well labeled. “Okay co-pilot, what’s the next step?” “We need to make a right onto Handover Dr., and then a right onto Covington Ave.” “Okay, I’ll make a left onto Handover…and now I’ll turn onto Covington. Okay, now what?” “That’s it.” “That’s it?” “Yes, we should be on the block.” “Really? Are you sure? I don’t see a whole lot of action anywhere.” “Maybe, it’ll get better. Let’s drive around again,” Anna suggested. So we took off once again for a cruise around the infamous block, but it still didn’t appear to be too lively. “Okay, now what?” I asked. Anna shrugged. “Drive again?”

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“Sure.” We worked into a nice little routine where we would cruise down the highway, passing a movie theater and discount record store. Then we passed the ice cream parlor at Handover, and the bridal shop at Covington. We drove around and around, waiting for something big to happen. After about an hour I realized we were wasting a whole lot of time, as well as a whole lot of gas. “I’ll pump,” I said, zooming into a gas station before the needle inched past “E.” It was sad to say, but that was the most excitement we saw from “the block” that night.

On Monday, Anna and I saw Sheila in the parking lot before school. “Hey guys, how did it go?” she asked, shutting the door of her Ford Escape. Anna and I glanced at each other. “It was…” I wanted to tell her it was the most pathetic experience of my entire life, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. “It was an eye opener,” I blurted out. “An eye opener? That’s what my dad said when he saw animal plasma through a microscope at my cousin’s science fair last month,” Anna retorted. “What exactly did you guys do at the block?” Sheila was curious to know. Anna shrugged. “We just drove,” she replied casually. “You just drove?!” “And we got gas,” I chimed in. Sheila hit her forehead with the palm of her hand and tossed her book bag

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on the ground. She looked like she was going to pass out. “Now let me tell you something about the block, girls,” she said to us. “If you just stay in your car and watch people, you won’t have any fun. You’ve got to do something-yell out your window, make a scene if you have to. “But be selective,” she warned us. Don’t just throw yourself at the first dork you see. Think of the block as an amusement park. Don’t settle for a spin on the tea cups when a thrill ride on Space Mountain is available.” Anna looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “This is going to be interesting.”

Friday night, Anna and I returned to the block to give it another try. “Okay, no screwing around this time,” Anna insisted. “Sheila said we need to yell, so we’re gonna yell.” “What do you think we should yell?” “I don’t know. Just yell something.” I cleared my throat. “Hello!” I shouted. “Hello?! You sound like my grandmother. Every time she comes to visit she barges through the door and shouts out ‘hello, grandma’s here-time for a big kiss.’ Then she starts chasing us around the house. You’re going to scare everyone away if you say that.” “Okay, then you yells something.” “To the right!” Anna shouted. “To the right? What’s that mean? What’s to the right?” We were stopped

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at a light, so I took the time to glance “to the right” as I was instructed to. There was a gorgeous guy with dark brown hair and bulging muscles bending over to look into my infatuated eyes as he shouted, “to the right!” I covered my face and sank down in my seat. Oh, so that was “to the right” of me. A green Ford pick-up pulled up beside us at the next light. Anna rolled down her window and shouted “Hey!” The driver rolled down his window and also shouted “Hey.” There, we had finally done it. We had successfully initiated conversation. It was a break through for us. I guess “hello” was too formal and turn-offish, but “hey” was the operative word. Anna was on fire now. She changed her “hey” to a “whoop,” to an occasional “yes!” It was so dark out I don’t think she could see who she was “hey-whoop-yes-ing” to. She looked like she was having so much fun, though, that I guess it really didn’t matter. Anna and I decided that this was definitely an improvement, and to make it a Friday night ritual to cruise the block.

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Chapter 13

“The Citation”

On our next return, we decided we would have better luck meeting guys if we got out of the car. We parked our car in a parking garage and began walking down Handover. “So, are you ready?” Anna asked me. “Ready for what?” “Ready to yell?” “Okay, we’ll yell at the next car that passes us. Deal?” “Deal.” A few seconds later a silver Toyota zoomed past us. Anna smiled and I gave a slight wave. “Hi,” I muttered softly under my breath. “Okay, this isn’t working,” Anna stated impatiently. “Maybe we should take a minute to re-think our game plan.” “Good idea.” We stopped at the ice cream parlor on Handover for some refreshments and plopped down on the bench outside so we could contemplate the error of our ways. “Maybe we’re not being picky enough,” Anna said, licking the melting edges of her ice cream cone. “Remember, Sheila said we shouldn’t settle for a dork. That guy in the car back there was definitely dorky. I’m glad we didn’t talk to him.”

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“Really, you thought he was dorky? He was driving past us so fast, how could you tell?” “I could tell. He had scruffy hair. Here,” Anna said taking out a pen from her purse, “let’s make a list of essential qualities that our dream guys must possess. I’ll write them on my napkin.” “Okay. Well, let’s see. You said that last guy was scruffy, so maybe you should put ‘must be clean cut’ on the list.” Anna hesitated for a second. “Well, he doesn’t necessarily have to be clean cut, but I would like him to have a decent hair cut.” “Okay, so write ‘decent hair cut’ on the list. “Got it. Okay, what’s next?” “Hmm. What about money?” I suggested. “Good one. Yes, money is important. I’ll add that to the list.” “No, wait. That one isn’t fair. Some guys our age might not be old enough to even get a job. “Good point. Let’s put they should at least have as much money as we do. I think that sounds fair.” “Sounds good to me. What’s next?” “Hmm. I’m not sure. Let me think for a minute.” We sat for a few minutes in deep contemplation. Then all of a sudden Anna jabbed me in ribs and yelled, “Get a load of that!” A shiny red Corvette convertible was slowly approaching us. “Look, there are two of them,” Anna shouted, “and you know they have money driving that kind of

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car.” The driver of the car rolled down his window. Anna and I held our breath. This was it. We were finally going to meet our dream guys, and our lives would be perfect from this day forward. The driver leaned his head slightly out of the car, gave us a big smile, and spit on the pavement. Anna and I looked at each other in horror. “I’ll add ‘no spit’ to the list,” Anna said, rushing to retrieve a pen from her purse. The next car to drive by was a blue Chevy Malibu. The guy in the passenger seat stared longingly as they slowly passed us. He looked like a crazed prisoner watching a warden twirling the key to his cell around his finger. His eyes were that longing…that intense…that criminal. We sat and watched this sorry parade of cars for awhile, but unfortunately we couldn’t find anyone who lived up to our list of qualifications. Either they were cute but devious looking, rich but arrogant, or they were desperate losers with no redeeming qualities what-so-ever. Needless to say, most fell into the ladder of the categories. We decided to call it quits, for good this time, and we headed for the parking garage. Just as we were about to get into the car, a skinny guy wearing a leather jacket came strutting towards us. “Who’s that loser trying to impress?” I whispered to Anna. “He looks like Pee Wee Herman in biker gear.” Anna shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he’s kind of cute. Let’s see what he wants.”

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“You can go see what he wants, but I’m getting in the car. I’ve seen enough weirdoes for one night.” “Suit yourself.” I got in the car and started the ignition. Okay, I’ll give her a minute to talk to this guy, if that’s what she really wants, I thought to myself. But when one minute turned into two minutes, then ten minutes, then an entire half-hour, I was staring to get upset. What in the world did she think she was doing? If she thought she was going to leave me by myself in a dimly lit parking lot while she talked to “Slick Rick” she had another think coming. If she thought for one minute-. Before I could think of anything else I wasn’t going to let her get away with, I saw her stick a helmet on her head, plop her butt down on the seat of his motorcycle, and with a rip roaring bang she was off like a prom dress. I sat in my car for a few minutes, taking deep breaths, and trying desperately to rationalize the situation. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed, I thought to myself. Maybe there was a logical explanation for Anna venturing off with a strange motorcycle man. Maybe any minute now she would come to her senses and return to the car. I turned on the radio to pass some time. Okay, by the time this song is over, she’ll be back, I tried to convince myself. But as the “evening melodies” song segment turned into the “late night love songs” segment on the light rock station, I knew Anna was not going to be back for awhile. I got out of the car and started to pace. “I can’t believe this!” I sputtered under my breath. “Wait until she gets back. I’m gonna have a few choice words with her!” And then, just as my anger was at full force and I was hotter than a molten

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volcano, in the distance I saw the mad motorist’s wispy blonde hair flying in the breeze and Anna’s bony arms hanging on for dear life. “Well it’s about time!” I huffed as I ran to the block to meet them. They zoomed around the corner and cut across two lanes without even looking. I watched in fear as they went flying over the curb and came to a screeching halt beside me on the sidewalk. Motorcycle man looked as if this were the best night of his life. Anna, on the other hand, didn’t look so well. When she took her helmet off, her hair was standing on end and she had a crazed look on her face. I didn’t feel sorry for her, though. It was her decision to ride off into the sunset while I waited for her in a parking lot full of perverted weirdoes. “And where have you been for the past seventy-three minutes?” I huffed, holding my watch up to her face. “I’ve been worried sick.” “You sound like my mother,” Anna retorted, rolling her eyes. “Well, someone has to look out for you. You could have been killed, for goodness sake.” “Now listen, little lady,” motorcycle man said, holding up a hand to silence me. “This ride was strictly business. Your friend Anna said she was bored, so I offered to spice up her evening.” “Oh you were bored, were you?” I said glaring into Anna’s eyes. “Well it wasn’t too thrilling for me to sit in my car for the past hour and thirteen minutes wondering where in the world you were.” “You weren’t wondering where I was,” Anna sputtered, taking a step forward.

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For a minute I thought she was going to punch me. “You were feeling sorry for yourself because no one asked you to go for a ride.” “That’s because I chose not to wear a T-shirt that’s five sizes too small and a pair of shorts that bring new meaning to the phrase “sweet cheeks.” Silence fell among us when I made that remark. All I could hear was a car driving by and motorcycle man adjusting his chin strap on his helmet. I knew instantly that this was going to get ugly. “You know what your problem is?” Anna said in a soft, but deadly whisper. “You’re so jealous of me you can’t stand it.” “Jealous?” I said, as if I was repeating a dirty curse word. “Jealous of what?” I demanded to know. “Jealous of my friends… jealous I’m more popular than you are… jealous I’m willing to try new things, and you’re the most unadventurous person on the planet. Want me to go on?” I didn’t know what to say. It was as if Anna had held a mirror up to my face, and I was staring at some viscous stranger with all these miserable qualities. It was an ugly image that I didn’t want flashed before me ever again. “I think I should be going now,” motorcycle man said quietly, as he started to turn his bike around. “No, I think you should stay,” Anna said, flashing me a look that was disturbingly unfamiliar to me. “Actually let me do the honor,” I sputtered as I grabbed my keys from my purse. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my own ride home,” Anna called after me.

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“Who said I was going to give you a ride?” I shouted back. I walked back to my car so fast that my legs were numb by the time I reached the parking lot. My hand trembled as I unlocked the door. I started the ignition and flew out of the parking lot. I hit the gas and peeled down the street, not bothering to look back. As I drove a million thoughts filled my mind. How could she leave me in the parking lot by myself? How could she turn the whole situation around and make me look like the bad guy? How could she say I was jealous? That was a joke. Who did she think she was, anyway? And that’s when it happened. In my moment of rage, with all my feelings of hatred and despise, I hadn’t realized what I had gotten myself into. I looked to my left and saw a car aiming at my side of the car. In the few brief seconds that followed I thought back to my driver’s ed. days. Now, what was it Mr. Leary told me to do in this situation? A: release the break, immediately put the car in reverse, and floor it with all your might B: honk your horn as loudly as you possibly can C: gently apply the break while keeping your three and nine o’clock position of the wheel I opted for “D” which was close your eyes, panic, and pray. There wasn’t much else I could have done. Both cars were going too fast, and we inevitably crashed into each other. Fortunately, no one was hurt. But at the time, that was not my concern. My initial thought was “This idiot just smashed into my car.” And of course I didn’t stop to

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think for one moment that the accident could have been my fault. I jumped out of my car, ran over to the man who had hit me, pointed a threatening finger in his face and shouted, “What the !#*@ are you doing?!” “What the !#*@ am I doing?! What the !#*@ are you doing?! You just ran a red light!” That’s when my heart stopped beating, my breath dwindled away, and all existence came to a halt, as my body became plagued with an overdose of humiliation and mortification. I slowly lifted my eyes upward, and sure enough, hanging right above my short-tempered little head was a flashing red light. It was laughing at me saying, “You really messed up this time!” I didn’t have long to bask in my stupidity, however. The guy gave me the look of the devil, and I high tailed it to my car. I ran inside and locked the door-what was left of it-and sat there thinking the injuries in the accident were nothing compared to the torture I was going to endure from this vicious monster. I sat in fear for a few minutes wondering if there was any way I could make a quick get away. Then I saw a woman running towards my car from across the street. She told me she had witnesses the whole mess and she would stay with me until the cops came. Until the cops came?! I had completely forgotten about the police. I wondered what they would do to me. I could just see myself showing up on one of those t.v. shows where resistant criminals are caught on tape. The evening had already been bad enough, but I could tell it was going to get down right ugly by the time the night was through. When the police showed up they had me tell them the details of the accident, then

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asked if I had ever had a citation before. “No, sir, just a Cutlass Supreme,” I replied naively. One of the officers chuckled and said, “I was talking about a ticket, not the car.” I could feel my face turning red. I had just brought “humility” and “stupidity” to all new levels. “No, sir, I’ve never had a ticket before.” “Well, since you ran a red light to cause the accident we have to issue you a ticket. The payment information is on the back. Do you think you’ll be okay to drive home?” I obviously wasn’t okay to drive in the first place or the accident wouldn’t have happened, but at that point I just wanted to get out of there. I thanked the officers for their cooperation and told them I was fine to drive. I barely touched the gas pedal the entire drive home. It was normally a twentyfive minute drive home from the block, but that night it took me forty-five. It was partly due to fear, and partly due to the fact that I didn’t know what my parents were going to say when they saw my car. I did know one thing for sure, though. The damage that had been done to Black Beauty that night far exceeded the damage that had been done to my friendship with Anna.

Chapter 14

“Where’s Cupid When You Need Him?”

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When I got home that evening, I immediately told my parents about the accident. To my relief they didn’t say too much, except that they were glad I was in one piece. Black Beauty, on the other hand, was in sad shape. It was completely totaled. I was devastated to see my first car go so quickly. But without my best friend, I wasn’t planning on going out too much anytime soon. I spent the rest of the winter baby-sitting to pay off the car. Fortunately for me, it wasn’t a Ferrari. Need-less-to-say I only had to work a handful to week-end before the expenses were paid off. Anna stopped riding the bus to school, and got a ride from Terri. We switched classes after winter break, so I no longer had her in English class. Carlie kept pressing me for the details of the fight. I was careful not to say too much. I didn’t want Carlie, the school gossip columnist, to spread rumors that I was even more unpopular than ever. One Saturday morning at the start of my junior year, she gave me an early morning wake- up call. I thought for sure she was still after the dish. But to my surprise, Carlie’s reason for calling had nothing to do with Anna. “How would you like to double date with Roger and I sometime?” she asked. “Do you have a particular week-end in mind?” I inquired, hoping I could conveniently have plans that day. “Well, I was thinking about homecoming week-end, the twenty-first of September.” “I don’t know, Carlie,” I said. “I’m not sure I want to go.”

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“If you’re worried about getting a date, I could set you up with someone.” Oh no. Here it comes, I thought to myself. Carlie had tried setting me up before, and it never worked out. I don’t know where she found these guys, but for some reason they always seemed to resemble a crazed, psychotic drug dealer who was fresh off the set of Jerry Springer. And the worst part was, every time I told her what a loser I thought the guy was she would say, “I don’t understand why you don’t like him. He’s definitely your type.” This didn’t exactly do wonders for my self-esteem, let me tell you. “Maybe you and Roger should go by yourselves,” I suggested. “But we want you go come with us. Besides, if you don’t go you’ll end up watching re-runs with your parents and feeling sorry for yourself.” She had me on that one. “All right, I’ll consider it. But no Jerry Springer candidates this time- got it? And no body piercings, and no one who calls me “babe,” “tootsie,” or “woman.” “Don’t worry,” Carlie assured me. “I’m going to let you help me pick him out this time. I’ll be over in five minutes with my yearbook and we’ll select the candidates.” “Okay, I’ll do it,” I said reluctantly. “But I’m not promising anything.” “Oh, I’m so excited!” she squealed. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

When Carlie showed up at my door, she had a yearbook in one hand and a notebook and highlighter in the other. “All right, let’s get to work,” she said as she sprawled her equipment onto the kitchen counter. “Let’s start with the guys in our grade first.” Carlie and I flipped through her yearbook and looked for potential dates. “Look,

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he’s cute,” Carlie said pointing to Thomas Bentley. “Isn’t he dating someone from the cross county team?” “Well, she thinks they’re dating, but I saw him with Mykella Brenner at Stacy Montgomery’s party last week. So I’d say he’s exploring his options.” “Hmm. He’s cute, but I’d rather go to the prom with someone who’s a little more committed.” “Okay. What about him?” Carlie asked, pointing to Charles McGregor. “He’s nice, but I heard from Darcy Thompson that he got some girl pregnant who lives in Hawaii.” “Okay, we’ll count him out then,” Carlie said, writing “no Charles McGregor” in huge letters in her notebook. Just then we heard my brother’s loud cackle from the depths of the living room. He was home from college for the week-end and apparently had nothing better to do than torment me. “What’s so funny?” I demanded to know. “Oh nothing,” he replied casually, taking a seat next to us at the kitchen table. “I’m trying to picture you on a date and it seems humorous to me, that’s all.” “Thanks a lot!” “Don’t worry. I’ll help you girls out,” he said as he turned and smiled at Carlie. He’s only helpful when she’s around because she wears a C cup. “Now, you girls don’t want a junior,” he said, flipping to the back of the yearbook. “Here, let’s look at the senior prospects.” “Hmm…he’s kind of cute,” Carlie said, pointing to Jonathan Miller.

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“Cute?! He looks like he cut his hair with a lawn mower,” Alan retorted. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Carlie said. We spent the next hour and a half searching for “Mr. Right,” but couldn’t settle on anyone. I told Carlie I appreciated her help, but she and Roger would have to go to homecoming without me. She seemed disappointed, but after we had virtually eliminated every guy at Maple Grove High School, I think she could see how bleak the situation had become. Carlie gathered her yearbook and highlighter and headed for the door. She was just about to walk out when my parents plopped an armful of groceries on the front porch. "Hi Carlie,” my mother said, popping her head between two grocery bags. “What are you girls up to today?” “Oh nothing,” Carlie replied. “We were just trying to find Jessica a date for homecoming.” I was going to kill her. She could have at least said we were playing Monopoly. Why did she have to drag them into this? “Oh really?” my mother said with a huge grin on her face. “Did you hear that Gene? Elizabeth’s going to homecoming this year.” “You are?” he marveled, as if I were going to the Academy Awards. “That’s great.” “What Carlie meant to say is that I was thinking about going to homecoming, but this afternoon I decided not to go.” My parents looked at me at if I had told them I was moving to Alaska to become

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an Eskimo. “You’re not going to homecoming?” they said in unison. “No,” I replied flatly. “I’m not going.” “But you have to,” my mother insisted. “You can’t miss homecoming. It’s your first formal dance.” “That’s what I keep telling her,” Carlie chimed in. “The whole school is going to be there.” “And that’s why I don’t want to go.” Everyone got quiet. “Okay, if you find me someone decent, maybe I’ll consider going.” “You won’t be disappointed,” Carlie assured me, beaming. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know who’s taking you to homecoming!”

As promised, Carlie called that evening after supper. I just about fainted when she told me who she had chosen. “Steve said he would be honored to escort you to the dance.” “I don’t know, Carlie. He seems a little…frisky.” “That’s what homecoming is for-to get a little frisky!” “I thought it was for dancing, punch, and Polaroid’s.” “How old are you-sixty?” “Okay, I’ll go. But he has to get me a corsage, and I’m bringing my camera for incriminating evidence.” “Oh, I’m so excited,” Carlie squealed. I promise-this will be one night you’ll never forget!”

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As promised, homecoming was anything but forgettable. Steve and Roger showed up at my house around six to pick me and Carlie up for the big event. Both men were on their best behavior. They had ditched their dirty football uniforms for crisp tuxedos. Their hair was neatly manicured. They had shaved recently, and they each had corsages to match the color of our dresses. It was seemingly off to a good start. “Here, let me pin that on for you,” Steve said, taking the light pink carnation from my hand. I leaned over, just as Steve attempted to pin the corsage onto my strapless gown. “Do you need some help?” my mom offered. “No, I think I’ve got it.” “Great, we’re rolling!” my dad shouted out as he zoomed in with his video camera. Just as my dad went to hit the “record” button, Steve pulled the pin through the flimsy chiffon material, continuing through my lacy bra, and stuck it straight into the center of my left breast. “Ow!” I shouted. “Watch what you’re doing!” “I’m sorry,” Steve said, gaping at my wounded cleavage. “I got a little distracted.”

Steve’s “distraction” lasted throughout the evening. While Carlie and Roger were kissing and cuddling in the backseat, Steve kept “accidentally” letting his hand slip from the gear shift onto my thigh. He must have said a thousand times how much he liked my

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dress. I gathered he was much more interested in what was inside the dress. His hormones continued to get the best of him at the dance. At any given point, he had at least one extremity wrapped around me. I had to tell him several times to “boost ‘em up” as he lowered his hands onto my butt checks during the slow dances. Most couples left early to go to parties. But Steve and Roger had another idea. “Let’s go for a drive,” Roger suggested. We cruised around for awhile, kicked back, and cranked up the radio. Things were going fairly smoothly until Steve slammed on his brakes, put the car in reverse, and did a U-turn into a Motel 6. “What’s going on?” I demanded to know. “Okay, here’s your key man. We’ll see in the morning for breakfast,” Roger said, tossing Steve a room key. “Am I missing something?” I said to Carlie. Her lipstick was smeared, her hair was standing on end, and her dress was practically around her ankles. “Just go along with it, Liz,” she said. “That’s it-I want you to take me home now,” I said to Steve. The next thing I knew he whipped out his cell phone and began dialing. “Who are you calling?” I asked him. “Autumn O’Reily- she’s my back-up. I told her if I didn’t close the deal my eleven, she could meet me here.” “Close the deal?!” “Yeah, don’t worry, though. I get the hint. I couldn’t get in your dress with a crowbar!”

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When I returned home, my parents immediately asked how homecoming was. I told them Steve had been anything but a gentleman, and we ended up at a hotel where he expected me to “close the deal.” I thought for sure my parents would be outraged that some horn-ball teenager had violated their trust and abused their precious little girl. Instead, they scooted closer on the couch and wrapped their arms around each other. “Remember our first homecoming?” my dad lovingly asked my mom. “Oh, Gene, how could I forget something like that?!” I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach. Maybe their homecoming had ended in some romantic interlude that obviously led to a life-long commitment. But I didn’t think Steve was much of a “one woman type of guy.” Instead of lasting memories, all I was left with was a crushed corsage, a damaged bosom, and a grotesque visual of my parents getting “lovey-dovey” with each other. It was safe to say, the so-called social event of my lifetime, had forever scarred me-emotionally and physically.

Chapter 15

“A Test of Fate”

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Since my social life was in complete shambles, I decided to concentrate on my academic career. College was right around the corner, and I needed to get a good score on my ACT so I could get into The University of Minnesota. So every evening I read over my ACT practice guide, in hopes that I would ace the test. Just by glancing at it, however, I knew I was in big trouble. First of all, the directions alone were enough to knock me out. They used so many big, flowery words that I would have had a better chance of understanding them had they been written in Chinese. The part of the practice test I really got a kick out of, though, was their advice for the big test day. It stated that one should relax and “think about pleasant things,” as if we were on a sandy beach in the Bahamas.

On test day, I drove across town to the testing center and checked in. “Go down the hallway, turn left, and go into room 210,” the lady at the door instructed me. I thought room 210 would be a regular classroom, but there were about two hundred impatient teens crammed into a huge auditorium. I had to crawl over practically every person in there to find the one lone seat in the back. In a few minutes, the tests were passed out, and a lady with a whiny voice read off the directions. “Keep your eyes on your own test. Do not get caught cheating,” she emphasized over and over again. “Use a number two pencil-not a number one pencil-a number two pencil. Okay, you may open your booklet to page one and begin,” she finally said. I turned the page and began to work on the first problem.

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I read the question over and over, but for some reason I couldn’t concentrate. I had all these thoughts racing through my mind. What if I failed the test? What if I couldn’t get into college? What if I had to work at a fast food restaurant and wear a visor the rest of my life? Okay, I’m supposed to think positively, I said to myself. So I instantly got this silly song stuck in my head. “If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life-” I bit my lip. Now stop that, I said to myself. “Never make a pretty woman your wife-” I bit harder. “So for my personal point of view-” I bit harder, yet. “Ow!” I shouted out. I must have bitten a little too hard, because all two hundred kids turned around in their seats to see who had just screamed. Meanwhile, the woman with the whiny voice shot dirty looks at suspicious looking individuals. I bent my head down and immediately went to work on the first problem. When the test was through, I was tired, hungry, and my head hurt. That was without a doubt the worst four hours of my entire life. I went home and sprawled out on my bed. I thought for sure my brain was going to explode.

The test results were sent to our counseling center a few days before school let out for the year. I nervously started to leaf through the alphabetized stack of papers. Sampson…Sanders…Sawyer…Sheldon-there it was. I glanced at the top and saw a big “20” typed in black letters next to my name. I wasn’t quite sure what to think. I knew twenty was an average score, so I

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wasn’t overly excited. But on the other hand, I had done much better than I had expected. I took my results and decided I was pleased with my score.

Alan was home for the week-end, so my mom was making a fancy Italian dinner for everyone. I decided it was the perfect time to share my big news. “I got my ACT results today,” I said between bits of vegetable lasagna. Everyone set down their forks. “So what did you get?” my mom asked, anxiously. “Probably a twenty,” Alan joked. “Actually,” I said hesitantly, “that’s what I got-a twenty.” The room fell silent. “Well, I think that’s a fine score,” my dad said. “It’s probably enough to get into The University of Minnesota, isn’t it, Alan?” “Maybe. If not, you can always take it again.” Alan was right. I could take the test as many times as I wanted. I had a strange feeling, though, I was always going to be an average twenty in life. I wasn’t naturally smart and gifted like Alan. I didn’t have popularity to fall back on like Anna. I wasn’t a knock-out like Carlie, who could be a supermodel if she wanted to. You would think being “average” would provide some sort of comfort that I was like everyone else. But I felt very alone and scared for what my future held. As much as I disliked high school, I was always confident there would be something better for me when I graduated. And even if I went to college like I anticipated, I wasn’t sure exactly what was in store for me there.

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Everyone expects teen-agers to make these life-altering decisions when we’re not even legal adults. I couldn’t believe how little I knew about life, yet I was supposed to have it all figured out. Maybe someday, I would know exactly where I was headed. But for now, it was hard to stay on course, when I really wasn’t sure where I was going or how I planned on getting there.

Chapter 16

“Move Over Venus Williams…Before I hit you with this Tennis Ball!”

When summer came, I went with Carlie to get our senior pictures taken. The weather was clear and sunny, so we got some shots together in the park-like setting outside the studio. I felt a little melancholy for not having Anna included in the photos. When we were in elementary school, I had always envisioned the three of us graduation together and being friends for the rest of our lives. But then my mind flashed to our fight, and the countless times she ditched me for Terri McManus, and my reminiscent feelings quickly vanished. After our session was over, we went back to my house for a dip in the pool. Fortunately, Roger and Steve didn’t make any surprise appearances. Although, I wore my one-piece and terry cloth cove-up just in case. By mid-summer, I was getting restless. The days were getting longer, and I

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actually found myself looking forward to starting school. My lazy summer days quickly came to and end, however, when I ran into an old acquaintance in the grocery store. As I was rounding the cookie aisle, I spotted Connie Pierson, a girl I had gone to school with her since elementary school, but hadn’t been in touch with. I remembered she had a really competitive edge, when it came to sports. When we were in the fifth grade, she knocked the wind out of Jimmy Thomas by socking him in the stomach with a soccer ball. Jimmy started crying, and he called Connie a bully. She called him a mama’s boy, and she decked him again. She was one tough cookie. “I shouldn’t be eating these, but I’ll burn them off on the courts today,” she said to me, shaking a box of blueberry Pop Tarts. “Oh, you play tennis?” I inquired, trying to make polite conversation. “Are you kidding? I live for tennis. It’s all I’ve been doing this summer. It gets me so pumped up to hit the ball and say, ‘Take that! Eat fuzz, baby’! You should go with me. It’s a great sport.” Her tough, self-assured attitude inspired me. Besides, I knew if I didn’t do something productive, I would end up going home, flipping on the t.v., and stuffing myself with cookies all day. “Maybe I will go,” I said. “Great! Well, I’ve got lessons right now, so why don’t you meet me at the high school at 3:00.” “I’ll be there!”

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When I returned from the grocery store I immediately began searching for my mother’s tennis racket. I knew it was somewhere in the garage, but I wasn’t sure exactly where. I hadn’t used it since the days when my mother and I would go out into the street to hit the ball back and forth, so it wasn’t like it was resting on a hook for the next U.S. Open tournament. After an hour of digging through gardening tools, deflated footballs, and worn out jump ropes, I found my mother’s old wooden racket. It had duct tape around the handle to hold it in place, and the strings were ready to break loose at any given second. It wasn’t what Steffi Graf would have used, but it would be good enough for my level of play. When I arrived at the courts at 3:00, I spotted Connie hitting against the backboard. She had a bright green headband on that was flopping in her face. She was sporting pink tennis shorts that were a little too snug and a tee shirt dripping with sweat. She had a forceful, determined glare in her eyes. She studied the ball as she swung. She carefully brought back her racket, stuck out her tongue, powerfully hit the ball, and completed the stroke by letting out a grunt that could’ve raised the dead. She was giving me a workout just watching her. I was afraid to interrupt her, so I stood there for a few minutes and just watched. Finally, after about a half-hour of intense slamming, swinging, and grunting, she stopped to take a break. “Hey, you’re really good,” I said to her.

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“Yeah, I guess I am,” she conceded. Modesty was definitely not one of her finer qualities. “Well, we had better get you started for next Monday,” Connie said, getting back on her feet. “Monday? What’s next Monday?” “Try-outs for the tennis team.” “Try-outs? Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” “It’s no big deal,” Connie said. “If you don’t make the Varsity team you can still play for the Junior Varsity team. That way no one gets cut.” “That’s good, because I don’t think I’ll make the top of the line-up. I’ve never even played before,” I reminded her. “Don’t worry. There are lots of newcomers every year. Oh my gosh,” Connie shrieked. What is that?!” I shrieked too and jumped about ten feet in the air, thinking she had seen a snake or a poisonous spider. It turned out she was referring to my tennis racket. “Where did you get that thing?” Connie asked, trying not the laugh. “It’s my mom’s racket,” I said. “It’s kind of old.” “Yes, I see that,” she said, staring at the strings popping out at her. “Okay, we’ll start our lesson with ‘the toss.’” First you must place the ball into the palm of your hand. Extend your left arm, and carefully throw the ball in the air. It should be directly above your left eye. Now, watch me.” Connie tossed the ball in the air as she perfectly extended her arm, released the ball, and batted it over the net.

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It didn’t look too difficult, I thought to myself, taking a spot next to her on the base line. I threw the ball into the air and watched in terror as it zoomed towards me like a bullet and beamed me on top of the head. The next several balls I threw landed behind me when I tossed them into the air. On my final attempt, I tossed the ball right over the fence and onto the baseball diamond for a line drive down the middle. “I think we had better move on,” Connie suggested. Next we practiced “the stroke.” “It’s very important that you get your body in the correct position,” Connie said to me. “Now, stand at an angle, like this,” she instructed me, as she twisted by body so I was facing sideways. “Now, bend your knees, and bring your racket back. Keep it level, don’t forget. That’s it…good. Now follow through by bringing your racket across your body. Good! I think you’ve got it. You did that like a natural, Liz. Here, try it on your own,” she said as she shoved the ball into my hands. Suddenly, I felt a boost of confidence. I could just see it now. I’d be the star of the tennis team. The other girls would be jealous because the coach would always use me as an example. “Look at the way Elizabeth extends, tosses, and swings. Look at Elizabeth. She has talent…she has grace…she has-. I bounced the ball on the court, awkwardly bent my knees, stuck out my butt, swung my racket back, and took an overwhelming whiff. I was going to have a long road ahead of me until next Monday.

Connie finally got me to the point where I could hit the ball at least fifty percent of the time. She said that was an improvement; however, we needed to work on my accuracy. When I did make contact with the ball it either went into the net, lobbed too high in the air, or it landed like an atomic bomb on the court three over from mine.

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Connie told me I probably wouldn’t make the top of the line-up due to these inconsistencies. I said it was probably for the best. By Friday, Connie suggested that we stop hitting around and play some actual games. It was now or never, I thought to myself as I slowly took my position on the other side of the net. I could tell Connie was out for blood by the way she glared into my eyes. She had her lucky headband on, and she was prepared to hit, slam, score, and knock me down in the process with a mere flick of her wrist. I awkwardly threw the ball in the air and prayed that I would at least make contact. I raised my racket, weakly tapped the ball, and watched in shame as it plopped over the net. I saw the terror in her eyes. She took off like a bullet, extended her racket, and slammed the ball at my feet. “Yeah! Woo, baby,” she cheered as she smashed the ball at my feet. She did a little dance, shoved her fist in the air, and hollered, “I’m gonna kill them all this year!” I hoped she didn’t mean that literally.

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Chapter 17

“Crazy Lady McDevitt”

On the first day of try-outs, I found myself amongst Terri McManus and some of the other popular girls. They stood in a huddle, talking and giggling. All of them sported neatly ironed tennis skirts and what appeared to be thousand dollar tennis rackets. I felt a little out of place with my ratty cut off sweats and my wooden racket. I remained glued to Connie’s side while she practiced swinging her racket in the air with one hand, while she diligently straightened her headband with the other. In a few minutes an old, rusty green pickup plowed through the field behind our school, went thundering down a hill, and docked right beside the tennis courts. A short, squatty woman with a wrinkled up face and a white, floppy beach hat burst out of the truck. She was a bit on the masculine side, I must say. She had a stocky build, she wore no make-up, and by the way her shirt hung, you could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. “For those of you who don’t know, I am Gwen McDevitt, your coach,” she announced in a low, raspy voice. I glanced over at Connie. She hadn’t mentioned our coach was as friendly as a Rotweiller. Despite the fact coach McDevitt was at least sixty years old, she kept up with us quite well. When we ran, she ran. When we stretched, she stretched. It was as if this were a fitness challenge for her. She didn’t seem to care if we ran the full five laps, if we stopped and rested, or if we all passed out on the courts. She just kept her head high at all

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times, wrinkled her nose, and gave it all she got. After her shirt was dripping with sweat, her hat was crooked on her head, and she was good and tired, she finally stopped. “We’re gonna do some drills now, girls,” she announced as she took a stopwatch out of her pocket. “I want you to line up in squads of eight. Let’s go!” No one budged. “I said MOVE,” she shouted, raising an angry fist into the air. That got everyone’s attention. We immediately scrambled to get ourselves into squads. “For our first exercise, I want you to move those ‘happy feet’ she instructed. “I want you to bounce up and down for thirty seconds, run forward for ten, and more happy feet for thirty seconds. I’ll do it with you. Ready? Go!” We began to half heartily bounce on our toes, without much enthusiasm. “I want happy feet,” she shouted. “Bounce, girls, bounce! Now, let’s see those happy feet move forward. That’s it. Now I want happy feet sideways for ten…nine…. Wait a minute. Everyone stop! “You,” she shouted, pointing to a little red headed freshman named Veronica Townsley. “In order to properly do this exercise, your feet must leave the ground. Now, let’s see those happy feet!” The poor girl was so tiny and fragile looking that I didn’t think her feet could get much more bouncy and happy. “Go forward,” McDevitt screamed. “Higher now, higher!” The more our coach persisted the redder the little girl became, until finally her pale freckled face blended in with her bright red hair. “Practice!” McDevitt growled at her, rolling her eyes. “What have I gotten myself into?” she muttered under her breath.

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For out next drill, each squad had to line up at the base line. One by one, we had to bounce the ball on our racket, run forward, touch the net, shuffle sideways, run backwards, and place the ball on our teammate’s racket. I made a beeline to the end of the line. There was no way I was going to be the first one to try this. Connie, on the other hand, nominated herself to be our squad leader so she could go first. As soon as the whistle blew she was off bouncing the ball as fast as she could. She went at a quick, even pace, without dropping the ball once. Each girl ahead of me did the same, as well. They looked so graceful and talented. It was like walking and chewing gum for them. Then it was my turn. I nervously placed the ball on my racket and held my breath as I slowly took off towards the net. I watched in awe as the ball bounced gently up and down on my racket. I watched in utter disbelief as I managed to keep the ball steady as I touched the net, shuffled sideways, and jogged backwards towards the baseline. I had done it, just as perfectly and as gracefully as the other girls had done. “What’s you name?” McDevitt shouted. I took a quick glance around me to make sure it was me she was talking to. “It’s Elizabeth,” I replied. “Good work, Elizabeth,” she said, giving me an approving nod. “Now, for our final exercise of the day I’ll have my assistant, Kevin, demonstrate for you. Where is he? Hey, Kevin! Get your butt over here, now,” she shouted to a gangly guy with bird legs, who was busy picking up tennis balls. He looked over at us and accidentally dropped all of them. “What a nincompoop,” McDevitt remarked, shaking her head. “Okay, I’m going to divide you into groups of three,” Coach informed us. “I want

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the beginners on the first court with Kevin, the Junior Varsity players on court two, and the seniors on this court by me.” I grabbed my racket and headed off towards Kevin. “Where are you going?” Connie demanded to know. “You’re a senior, silly, not a freshman. You’re over here with me.” “What’s the matter?” McDevitt interrupted. “Aren’t you feeling well?” “No, I’m fine,” I stammered. “Then grab some balls and let’s practice serving!” Before I could say anything back, she shoved two tennis balls on my racket and planted me square on the baseline. I picked up a ball, threw it into the air, and sunk it right into the net. “Not like that,” McDevitt said, shaking her head. “You’re swatting at that ball like an old woman with a frying pan. And good Lord, what is that?” she said, pointing to my racket. I heard a few of the “skirts” snicker at the sight of it. “Here, try this,” she said, pulling out a brand new Prince racket from her truck. “You can use this one for the rest of the season. Now, let’s go over to an empty court and work on that serve of yours!” I took off with her for a private lesson. I felt like such a fool over there by myself. The skirts looked pretty bored now that they were by themselves. The intermediate girls were playing amongst themselves, and the beginners were getting instructions from Kevin. They were all laughing and having a good time. I didn’t care if they were freshman or not. I wished I were over there instead of with crazy lady Molasses. “Here, stand like this,” she said as she grabbed a hold of my waist and twisted me

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to the side. “That’s better. Now, let me see your grip. No, no,” she shouted. “You’re holding that much too stiffly. Be loose like spaghetti. Think like a noodle,” she said as she shook my arm until it lost feeling. Just then, Veronica walked up to McDevitt. “Excuse me, Coach? Kevin said I should be over here. He said I’m far too advanced for the beginning group,” she gloated. She’d evidently come a long way since the “happy feet” incident. “Okay, I want you girls to play one set. The winner will move to my team and play Varsity. The loser will play with Kevin on the J.V. team.” Veronica beamed. I could tell this was the opportunity of a lifetime for her. McDevitt handed me two tennis balls, lowered her voice, and whispered in my ear, “Win this one.” I was a little taken back by her comment, but I figured I shouldn’t have too much trouble beating a freshman. I picked up my racket and tennis bag and we headed off to an empty court. Before we started to play, Veronica spun her racket to see who served first. She won the call and handed me the balls. I served the first ball using my “frying pan” grip, and watched as it weakly plopped over the net. Veronica showed no mercy as she belted it right back to me. I wasn’t prepared for that. I ran to the ball, got a piece of it, and barely managed to tap it over the net. Veronica made a mad dash to the net and slammed it at my feet. Okay, I’ll let her have one point, but this game is mine, I thought to myself. “Love- fifteen,” I called out, serving the ball again. Before I knew it, she zipped over to the ball and placed it perfectly down the line. “Okay, now it’s time to play seriously,” I said aloud, peeling off my sweatshirt.

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“Love-thirty,” I called out, as I served the next one a little bit harder. She still returned it without any problem. I managed to hit it back, but unfortunately, I hit it right to her. She darted to the ball, and all I could see was her skinny legs flying. She stroked the ball with all of her might, and luckily, I ducked just in time. It went zooming past me at ninety miles an hour, and just about took my head off. Needless to say, I ended up losing that game, as well as the following game, love-forty. Before we started our third game I saw Connie standing behind me on the other side of the fence. “You can do this, Jess,” she whispered. Her little boost of encouragement must have worked. I came back to win the next two games. Our third game lasted forever. We went into deuce a million times, but I managed to pull through and win. Veronica started playing more intensely. Her serves were more forceful, and her shots were harder and better planned. She took the next game, forty-fifteen. I won the next two games, and she won the one after that. The score was now five-four. I only needed one more game to win the set. Veronica wasn’t going to let that happen for anything. She held on right down to the wire. We entered deuce and went back and forth for what seemed like forever. She kept getting “ad in,” but then she would double fault. I needed to get the advantage. Finally I was able to drill a shot at her backhand, which she put right into the net. This was my chance. Victoria hit me a lob. I ran over to the baseline, even though I was positive it would be out. As I stood there and waited for it to come down, all I could think about was how great it would be to make the Varsity team. This was my chance to prove myself to McDevitt and show the skirts I was just as good as they were.

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When the ball finally dropped, though, I suddenly realized I hadn’t won. The shot that I was so convinced would be out, wasn’t out at all. In fact, it wasn’t even on the line or a close call. The ball was clearly in the court by a good two feet. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to win so badly, but I didn’t wasn’t to lie, either. I decided I would let Veronica make the call. If she walked off the court, then I would say I won. But if she stayed, we would continue playing. Veronica, however, evidently hadn’t seen the ball land either, because she lifted a hand to shield the sun and shouted “Was that in or out?” There was no way out of this. I had to call it. For a split second I glanced over at “the skirts.” I knew I wanted to be over there so badly. It was a whole new world for them. It wasn’t just tapping a ball over a net-it was serious playing. Before I could think about what I was doing, I shouted back, “It was out!” Veronica walked over to the net to shake my hand. I couldn’t look her in her eye. I was afraid she would see the guilty look I had on my face. I walked back to the senior court to gather the rest of my tennis gear. As I was bending over to put my racket away, McDevitt approached me. “Finally,” she said, throwing her arms up in the air. “I thought you were going to let her beat you,” as if I could control how well my freshman opponent played. At that point, though, I didn’t really care what she had to say. This wasn’t a fair competition no matter who won. Maybe today she wanted me to win, but tomorrow it would probably be someone else. I knew one way or another McDevitt would have us all losing in the end.

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Chapter 18

“One Strange Fellow”

A few weeks later, I began my senior year in high school. This was the time in my life when I was supposed to be learning about things like Newton’s theories of motion and gravitation and “train A and train B” scenarios. But when I entered Mr. Idoni’s sociology class, I was presented with “the box.” I had seen Mr. Idoni in the hallway many times and heard stories about him. He was a small, peculiar looking man who looked like he should be a nuclear physicist instead of a high school teacher. I had heard rumors that the man was nice, but slightly off his rocker. But when he pulled out an empty Crayola crayon box and asked us to describe it, it was official-the man was completely nuts. I needed another social studies class to graduate, though, so I figured I might as well give the assignment a try. I sat there for the next fifteen minutes desperately trying to find something to say about an empty crayon box. “Okay,” Mr. Idoni called out after a few minutes. “Let’s see what your impression was. Why don’t we go around the room. You start first,” he said, pointing to Kathleen Henton, a studious girl from our debate team. “I don’t know if this is right,” she said, “but I wrote it’s small.” Mr. Idoni didn’t say anything. “And I also wrote it contained something at one point,” she continued.

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He liked that idea. “Ah, it contained something,” he cried out. “That’s good. That’s really good. Now what about this waste paper basket? Can this contain something?” There was no response. “Oh, come on. It contains paper, right?” “Yes, but it’s not a box,” Kathleen insisted. “Why not? If a box is something that has the ability to contain something, then why isn’t the waste paper basket a box?” “I don’t know. It just isn’t,” Kathleen huffed, folding her arms and pouting. “All right, then. What about your book? That contains something. Your textbook is a box, too.” “Look, that’s not a box either!” Kathleen was really getting fired up. “I don’t know why it isn’t. But it’s a book-not a box-and that’s all there is to it!” She sat back in her chair and scowled at Mr. Idoni. This was going to be a long year, I thought to myself as I buried my head in my sociology book. When the bell rang, I gathered my books and headed out to the courts. The beginning of practice started out like it normally did. We stretched, ran, and did our “happy feet” exercises. Just as I had convinced myself that this was going to be a typical practice and my match with the little red headed freshman was a faded memory, Molasses blew her whistle, told us to “shut up,” and informed us she had an announcement to make. “On Saturday, October 12, there will be a tournament at Kensington High School. All the varsity players from last year will be going, as well as Linda Reid, Carry Witherspoon, Tracy Watson, and Elizabeth Sheldon.” I just about passed out. Had she

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just called off my name? Connie smiled at me and gave me the thumbs up sign. I just stood there, wondering, and fearing, what in the world I had gotten myself into.

In sociology class the next day we had a sub. She looked very prim and proper with her dress suit, wire rimmed glasses, and short whitish blonde hair. I thought it was pretty pointless for the school to pay someone to sit with us for an hour, considering we never did anything in class. They should have sent us home. Watching MTV would have been more of an academic challenge than this class. I laid my head down on my desk and prepared for another unproductive hour of sociology class. Most of the other kids did the same, except for Sean Baxter. He was one person who couldn’t sit still to save his life. Sean was always wandering around the classroom, talking to people and sharpening his pencil every five minutes. He wasn’t a troublemaker- he just had a real knack for getting into things. So naturally when he saw we had a sub, Sean dropped his books and began to migrate around the classroom. I think our lack of productivity really overwhelmed our sub. She just stood at the front of the classroom muttering, “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?” Kathleen kept insisting that we never did anything and to “just get some coffee or something.” But our sub wouldn’t listen. “I just know there had to be something you should be doing,” she insisted. “Now, let’s take a look at your textbooks.” “We don’t have textbooks, Miss…um,” Kathleen started to say. “It’s Rueben. Ms. Rueben,” she replied, writing her name on the chalkboard. Meanwhile, Sean had made a little discovery in the back of the classroom. “Help

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me move this bookcase!” he shouted out. “I found a trapped door!” This news sure got everyone’s attention. We all got up from out resting positions and crowded around the bookcase. “Let me give you a hand, Sean,” Jerry Spencer bellowed out, flying out of his seat. Jerry was a nice guy, but he had the I.Q. of potato salad. He was in my psychology class my sophomore year, and he was always asking the teacher some stupid question. “Mrs. Walter, do you think it’s wrong for a wife to kill her husband because he snores too loud?” “Mrs. Walters, why is it wrong for a man to beat his wife but not his dog?” “Mrs. Walters, is it illegal to pee in a public swimming pool?” I never knew if he was really that stupid of if he just liked it when people noticed his stupidity. I think it was a combination of both. So when good ol’ Jerry saw the opportunity to get attention by showing everyone once again what a fool he was, he immediately jumped out of his seat to help Sean. As soon as the bookcase was moved, a tiny little door on the floor was revealed. Sean immediately removed its latch and proceeded to climb down into the hole, with his sidekick next to me. This really shook Ms. Rueben up. “Now, boys! I don’t think this is such a good idea. Stop it boys, right this instant!” She squatted down, grabbed Sean by the hair, got right in his face and shouted, “Do you do things like this all the time in here?” “Are you kidding? Idoni doesn’t care what we do,” he replied as he disappeared into the mysterious hole. Twenty minutes went by, and Sean still remained below ground. Ms.Rueben began pacing the floor. I could tell her entire teaching career was flashing before her

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eyes. “Ms. Rueben, since Sean’s not back yet, I’m going to look for him,” Jerry announced, running toward the trapped door. Rueben chased after him. “No! You stay put,” she shouted. “We already have one student missing, and the last thing I need is for.” But it was too late. Jerry had already climbed down to try and save the day. We could hear his voice echo, “Don’t worry, everyone. I’ll find him-I promise!” Rueben just stood there with a look on her face like she was pregnant and her water just broke. Finally, Sean popped up, completely out of breath, with his face flushed. “It’s so cool down there,” he said, huffing and puffing. “There’s a tunnel that goes from this classroom all the way to the music room. I was running all around down there. It’s just so cool. I think I lost Jerry, though.” “I’m right-Ow!” We heard a bang from down under. Jerry must have whacked his head on something. Evidently he was all right, though, because a second later he popped up holding two big garbage bags. “Boys! Now I told you not to go down there! You scared me half to death. What on Earth were you doing down there?” Rueben demanded to know.” “You guys have to look inside these bags. They’re full of model airplanes. Some of them are really old,” Jerry replied, gloating. He was going to eat this one up, I could tell. “Why would Idoni have model airplanes? Katy Johnson inquired. “Or better yet, why does he keep them down there,” Gretchen Lewis, inquired. “I think he’s in the Mafia,” Marty Randall chimed in. “And I bet he’s got Jimmy Hoffa stashed away under there.”

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“Well, I definitely think we should ask him,” Kathleen stated. “No, we can’t just come right out with it,” Sean said. “I don’t know, maybe we could get him to start talking about it by slipping it into his sub-conscience or something. That’s right up his ally. Maybe we could say something like, ‘So where were you yesterday-model airplanes- Mr. Idoni. We really- model airplanes- missed you.’” Everyone got a big kick out of that. “Or how about, ‘I love your tie- model airplanes-,”Jerry chimed in. “Wheremodel airplanes- did you get it?” Somehow it wasn’t as funny when Jerry said it, but we agreed that this was something we would definitely do the next day in class. For the rest of the hour there was muffled talk about what our sociology teacher was up to. I wasn’t sure if I agreed with some of my classmates’ suggestions, but I thought he was definitely the most peculiar man I had ever met. There were no other teachers who let us sit around all hour to discover mysterious holes in the floor with model airplanes stashed away in them. This guy was definitely one strange fellow, if I ever saw one.

After fifth period, I normally had U.S. History class. Our teacher, Mr. Wilson, however, was in charge of the student council. Every last Friday of the month, we had an “independent” study time in the library, so he could conduct his meeting with the students. Normally, I sat by myself so I could get some studying in. Today, however, Carlie and Roger were there, so I sat with them. “Don’t you guys normally have gym class?” I asked.

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“Yes, but we decided to crack down this year,” Carlie informed me. “We need to get our grades up for college. “I thought you were going to cosmetology school and Roger has a scholarship.” “Beauty school might not pay the bills, and Roger’s scholarship is pending-at least until the charges are dropped.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said to him. “That’s okay. I heard you have to quit smoking to play football.” “Maybe you should consider getting a nicotine patch.” Roger looked at me as if to say “Why in the world would I do that?” We buried our noses in our books and got right down to work. Then the student council meeting began, and all I could hear was Terri’s loud mouth talking about the upcoming school fundraiser. “Last year, we raised five hundred dollars doing a car wash. This year, our goal is seven hundred-any ideas?” “What about a silent auction?” Anna suggested. “We did that last year.” “Maybe we could do a five- K run for donations,” Anna said, trying her hardest to get her ideas heard. “Listen, Anna. I’ve been President for two years now, and this is your first year on council. We’ve already tried these events so think of something new!” Anna opened her mouth to say something, but quickly hesitated. For a second, I completely forgot about our fight and was rooting for her to sock it to Terri. But she remained quiet, and the subject was changed to the Senior All Night Party budget.

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I knew Anna was right when she said I was jealous of her. There was no question I wanted to in fit in more. But as much as I struggled with my identity, I knew I didn’t want to be someone I wasn’t, all for the sake of being popular. Seeing Anna back down to Terri made we wonder if she wasn’t a little jealous of me at times. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time Anna had to surrender to Terri, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

Chapter 19

“The Wrath of Molasses”

On October 12, Connie arrived at my house at seven a.m. to pick me up for the tennis tournament. I was half asleep as I listened to her rattle on about her problems. My father was a morning person, and he always said that morning was the best time of the day because nothing had happened to you yet. I had always believed this to be true, until I met Connie. Before the God- awful hour of seven o’clock her car had broken down, she got into a fight with her mother, and she lost her tennis bloomers. “…And all I’ve got to say is my opponent had better watch out, because I’m

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gonna smash her face into the court today!” This girl was truly amazing. In one breath she had gone from talking about her car to rearranging her opponent. Once we arrived at the courts I I was completely relaxed watching Connie play until after the first set. That’s when I heard, “Hi, honey. We’re here!” I whirled around, and there was my parents and Alan, all set for the tournament with their lawn chairs, video recorder, and cooler. “Are you nervous, honey?” my mother asked. “I’m just here to check out the babes,” he said, eyeing Terri. “So don’t let the fact I’m here, interfere with your game.” “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on it!” Connie ended up winning her match in straight sets. As soon as she was off the court she ran over to us. “Hi, Sheldons!” she called out. “Did you see my match? I really gave it to her good. There was no way I was gonna let anyone mess with me today!” Of course my parents had to say something encouraging back to her, like “We knew you could do it,” and “You always manage to pull through,” even though I really don’t think they had any idea as to who she was. A few minutes later my name was called to play. “Good luck, honey. We’ll be cheering for you,” my parents called out. “Break a leg,” Alex said. “Wait I shouldn’t said that. With the way you play, you actually might.” Just by warming up with my opponent, I could tell she had the advantage. Her shots were strong and consistent, and she never missed a serve. I only got two games in the first set. She had great cross-court shot and was able

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to put some fierce top-spin on the ball. I played the second set a little better, with stronger returns and more volleying. I was able to take three games from her, which was a triumph for me. But she was clearly the better player and inevitably won the match. My next opponent was very athletic. She was quick to return the ball, but her accuracy was way off. I easily won the match in straight sets. My third opponent and I were pretty evenly matched. I won the first set, and she took the second. I got off to a shaky start with the third, letting her ace me three times. Meanwhile, I double faulted twice and had countless unforced errors. To make matters worse, Molasses was waiting for us outside the gate with an expression that would have made Dirty Harry flinch. “What happened out there?” she demanded to know, talking so close to my face I could count the number of veins she had popping out on her forehead. “I don’t know,” I muttered. “Well, then I’ll tell you what happened since you ‘don’t know,’” she hissed. “You’re already down one match and now you’re losing to a very inexperienced player. My freshman girls could beat this player. In fact, maybe that’s a good idea,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe I’ll prove that theory to you!” On the car ride home I didn’t say too much when Connie asked me how I did. I wanted to tell her the whole humiliating story, starting with that insane call I made, but I didn’t feel like talking. I was too busy worrying about Monday and what Molasses would say (or do) to me. I couldn’t imagine what exactly it was that she had in store for me; all I knew is that it wasn’t going to be pretty.

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Chapter 20

“Queen of the Court”

In sociology class the next day, we snickered and exchanged glances as Mr. Idoni entered the room. He started talking about some conference he went to, and how it was very frustrating and one sided. He also mentioned something about reforming our school system, which struck me as funny since he never did anything for anyone to reform. The anticipation was killing us. Who was going to say something first? Everyone began to whisper, “You do it.” Of course, the inevitable response was “No, you do it.” Finally Sean got up the courage to say, “That sounds pretty cool, Mr. Idoni. Not as cool as model airplanes, though.” This went right over Idoni’s head. Either that or he was ignoring him, because he went right on talking. This was not working out as we had planned. Kathleen decided to step in next by saying, “Mr. Idoni, your ideas sound very interesting. What other things are you interested in?” He must have thought she was talking about things pertaining to the school system, because once again he ignored the comment and went right on talking. Finally, he paused for a minute. “By the way, what did you guys do yesterday?”

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The classroom was silent. We had him right where we wanted him. Someone else had to say something. Kathleen turned towards me and gave me the “you do it” look. I turned towards Sean and gave him the “you do it look.” Sean turned to the girl sitting next to him and gave her “the look.” The signal went around the entire classroom, until Jerry decided to blurt out, “So, how long have you been collecting model airplanes?” Mr. Idoni’s face hardened. He sat up straight in his seat and took a deep breath. This was the first time I had seen him look upset. “You know, I’ve sat here for a while now just watching you guys,” he said with a distinct edge to his voice, “and I’m amazed at your lack of motivation. I thought that possibly, after a while, you would get bored of sitting around and may actually get the urge to learn something without me having to force you. But obviously, I was wrong about that.” Who did this guy think he was? I thought to myself. He had some nerve telling us that we were unmotivated when he was the one who was supposed to be teaching the class. After all, it was his responsibility to assign homework and lead class discussions, not ours. I needed this class to graduate, and there was no way I was going to let him fail me because he thought I was unmotivated. Normally I wasn’t one to speak up in class, but this time I was really getting angry. “So what exactly are we going to do for grades in here?” I demanded to know. Mr. Idoni paused for a moment, and then asked, “What grade do you think you deserve, Miss Sheldon?” “Well, I don’t know…”

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“Would you like an A?” “Of course I’d like an A, but-.” “Okay, then I’ll give you an A.” “Hey, can I have an A, too?” Sean shouted out. “Sure, I’ll give you all A’s-if that’s what you think you deserve.” “But you can’t just give us all A’s. We have to do something,” Kathleen pointed out. “Do something? Is that what you think ought to be happening in here? You think we should do something?” “Well, yes-since we need grades.” “Okay, then. What should we do?” “I don’t know. You’re the teacher.” “I know, but I’m asking you. What do you think we should do?” “We could get the textbook out and read,” Kathleen suggested. “Read! Ah yes, we can do that. Now, do you want to read aloud or to yourselves?” “Ourselves,” the majority of the class shouted out. “Okay, do you all have textbooks? Raise your hand if you don’t have one.” About two thirds of the class raised their hand. “Hmm, this is a problem, isn’t it? Now, what should we do? Are we still going to read?” “Of course. We’ll just share our textbooks,” Kathleen replied. I moved over and shared with Judy Hodge, the girl sitting next to me. I got to the third page when I

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realized that none of it was making any sense to me. “Do you understand this?” I asked Judy. “Are you kidding?!” she replied. “Hey, when’s our first test?” Sean asked, getting down to the main issue. “Do you want to have a test?” Idoni asked. “Heck, no!” “Okay, then we won’t have one.” This guy was too much. Were our tax dollars really going toward this guy’s salary? I wondered.

After school, practice proceeded as usual. We worked on forehands and backhands with Kevin while the skirts practiced with crazy lady Molasses. About halfway through practice, I spotted Connie sitting by herself on the hill outside the courts. She had her head between her knees, and she was trembling all over. I sat my racket down and ran over to her. “Connie? Hey, what’s the matter,” I asked, putting my arm around her. She didn’t say anything. She just started to cry even harder. “Come on, Connie. Tell me what happened.” “I got moved down,” she said between sobs. “Moved down? Why, what happened?” “I lost to Heather Jackson, so Coach decided to move me down to the Junior Varsity team. I guess I’m not good enough for her. I’m a failure!”

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“Connie, that’s ridiculous! If you don’t think that you’re good enough, then I must really stink! And think of all the other girls who are ranked below you. Do you think they stink, too?” “No, but you guys just started. I’ve been playing a lot longer. Besides, you guys don’t have anything to prove to anyone. If you lose, Junior Varsity matches don’t count for anything. But me…I have to prove myself. And I’ve just proved to coach McDevitt that I’m a failure!” I started to put everything into perspective. The “skirts” were the cool, lucky ones who everyone wanted to be like. The Junior Varsity players were the anxious, average girls who were waiting for their big chance in the limelight. Meanwhile, the freshmen players were so far out there that no one really cared about them. And to top it all off, we had a coach who didn’t wear a bra and got her kicks off of making innocent girls cry. This wasn’t a team. This was a bad made-for- t.v. movie. I sat with Connie for a few minutes longer until I heard Molasses’s bellow out, “Elizabeth-get over her now!” Oh no, I thought to myself. Here it comes. I ran over to Molasses, who was standing on an empty court next to Veronica. “I want you girls to play a challenge set. The winner will play in the next tournament, and the loser will move down to the J.V. team.” She looked over at me with her beady little eyes, and I felt a chill from the tips of my toes to the end of my ponytail. As expected, she watched me like a hawk. And even when she occasionally glanced away for a moment, her wicked presence loomed over me. “Punch it, Veronica! Good girl,” she cheered. “You can beat her! One more point, and the game is yours!” These comments infuriated me, but I knew that’s what she

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wanted. The only way I was going to win this set was if I remained calm and didn’t reduce myself to her level. I started to play even harder, and came back to make the score six-five. Only one more game, and I would put Molasses in her place. “What’s the score?” Molasses shouted out. “It’s six-five,” Allison shouted, meaning to say five-six. I didn’t think anything about it, though, until she won the next game. This should have sent us into a tiebreaker; however, Molasses assumed Veronica had won. “That was the set!” she shouted out. “It was just as I suspected.” I couldn’t believe the nerve of her. “But coach, that wasn’t the end of the set,” I insisted. “Yes it was! I stood here the whole time and watched. Veronica, you’ll be playing in the next tournament.” And with that, she glared at me and walked away. I was beside myself in anger. I grabbed my racket and water bottle and stormed off the court. What kind of a coach was she, anyway? She didn’t care who won as long as she called the shots. Besides, if Veronica hadn’t said the score incorrectly, I would have won the match outright. But before I could get too upset, I suddenly had a flashback from our previous match, when I made that terrible call. I hadn’t exactly won too fairly that time, myself. I turned my gaze towards the Junior Varsity team. There were a lot of missed serves and shots sunk into the net, but they looked like they were having the time of their lives. They were laughing and goofing around like they had known each other forever. “I’m sorry, Liz,” Veronica said. “Let me talk to Coach-I’ll straighten everything

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out.” “Don’t worry about it. The best player won,” I assured her. I grabbed my racket, and ran over to Kevin. "Could you use another player?” “I sure could. And guess what? I have a partner for you, too.” He motioned over to Connie, who was leading the girls in a game called “Queen of the Court.” She caught my gaze and she smiled at me. “Ready to kick some serious butt?!” I called out to her. “Definitely,” she said, drilling a backhand shot at her opponent.

Chapter 21

“The Sociological Perspective”

As the school year got underway, my sociology class began to dwindle down. We started with approximately twenty students, and by mid-October it was down to only seven. Mr. Idoni didn’t seem to mind this decline of students in the least. Actually, I think he seemed rather excited about it. “Why don’t the seven of you move closer so we can all talk,” he suggested.

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“Can we move our desks?” Sean asked. “Sure you can move your desks!” The seven of us got up and pushed our desks into the center of the classroom. Mr. Idoni even decided to join us by pushing his desk together, as well. I felt like we were a club, rather than a class. “Okay, now what do you want to do?” Mr. Idoni asked. This was the first time I heard a teacher ask the students what they wanted to do. “I think we should get to know each other by introducing ourselves,” Kathleen suggested. “I think that sounds like a great idea!” he exclaimed. So the seven of us went around in a circle and told about our families, likes, dislikes, and whatever else we wanted to share. This was the beginning of a very special friendship among us. In time, the class that I had once dreaded going to soon became the class that I looked forward to every day. Sometimes we would go through the textbook and read, but most of the time we engaged in some very interesting conversations. I found it incredible that none of us knew each other very well, yet we could discuss any topic, no matter how controversial, as mature young adults. And even though we didn’t hang out with each other in the halls or sit by each other at lunch, for one hour a day we were the best of friends. As time went on, the class grew closer with Mr. Idoni, as well. His teaching methods were no longer such a mystery to us. “Remember the box I showed you at the beginning of the year?” he asked. I wanted to show how difficult, yet important, it is to look beyond what you are used to

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seeing. Hopefully, this class has taught you to look at aspects of your daily life in an entirely different light. And that,” he said, taking off his glasses, “is what the sociological perspective is all about.”

One November afternoon, I got a first-hand experience of the sociological perspective. I grabbed the mail and breezed through the contents. Junk mail…magazine subscription…bills. Then I came to an oversized envelope that was sitting so patiently at the end of the pile, and I froze. It was from U of M. This was the letter I had been waiting for. I stared at the envelope. It was kind of bulky, but not too big. It didn’t look like it contained lots of campus brochures, but it also looked like it contained more than a rejection letter. I had no choice. I had to face my fate sooner or later. I held my breath as I slowly peeled the top portion of the envelope. I closed my eyes as I unfolded the letter, and was overjoyed when I opened it and saw “Congratulations, you’ve been chosen amongst an outstanding group of students to join the freshman class at The University of Minnesota.” I literally almost fainted. My knees went wobbly and I started gasping for breath. Had I read the letter correctly?! Was I really going to have a future after all?! After jumping up and down for what seemed like hours, I ran inside and showed the letter to my mother. She had tears in her eyes as she unfolded it and read the news. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you,” she said giving me a big hug. “I’ll call your father and

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tell him to come home early. This is reason to celebrate,” she said, beaming at the letter. While my mom went into the kitchen to call my dad, I went upstairs to Alan’s bedroom. I had been forewarned that if anything was out of place while he was away at college there were going to be hell to pay; however, there was something I needed to do. I dug through his closet and pulled out one of his U of M sweatshirts. He wouldn’t miss just this one, I thought to myself, pulling it over my head. As I looked in his full-length mirror, I smiled proudly at the image before me. A few month ago, my ACT results had shaken my self-confidence. But now I was on my way to college, and my future was looking brighter than ever. When my father came home from work, he poured three glasses of champagne for us to toast my acceptance. “Here’s to Jessica’s bright future at U of M,” he said as we lifted our glasses in the air. I took a small sip and felt a slight tingle as it gently slipped down my throat. I wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or my excitement. Before I went to bed that night, I neatly folded my acceptance letter in half and tucked in under my pillow. I was going to savor every minute of this glorious day. This was definitely the best news I’d received in a long time. In fact, I was still floating on cloud nine the next day when I walked into sociology class. Mr. Idnoi asked me why I looked so “sparkly” that day. “Miss Sheldon, you look like you’ve just won a million dollars. Is there something we should know about?” “Yeah, because I’d be happy to help you spend it,” Sean blurted out. “I got an acceptance letter from U of M,” I informed the class. “I was worried because I only got a twenty on my ACT, and I didn’t think that was a high enough score

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to get in.” “Congratulations, Miss Sheldon,” Mr. Idoni said, extending his hand for me to shake. “That’s wonderful news. But I have to ask you something. What if you hadn’t gotten into U of M? Would you feel rejected? Embarrassed? Disappointed?” “Yes, probably.” “And is that how you feel now?” “No, of course not.” “Let me ask you another question, Miss Sheldon. Do you feel any smarter today than you did when you received your test results?” I shrugged. “Maybe a little.” “So in other words, had you not been accepted to U of M, a twenty would have implied that you are an inferior student. Am I correct?” “Yeah, I guess so.” “But now that you’ve been accepted to U of M, a twenty apparently means you’re a capable student. And what do think, Miss Sheldon? That’s what I would like to see show on your face. A smile that says ‘I think I’m a capable student.’” For the rest of the hour, I thought about what Mr. Idnoi said. I decided that he might be right. Maybe it was best to look at things in a different light-my light. Maybe I had relied too much on other people’s interpretations and not enough on my own. It was nice that I had gotten accepted to a good school, but it didn’t make me any smarter than I was the day before. As I left the classroom, I had a new-found appreciation for the “sociological perspective,” and for Mr. Idoni, as well.

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Chapter 22

“Reunited and it Feels So Good”

On Thursday, Connie and I had our last Junior Varsity home match. We won in straight sets. I think it was partially because we were a little more experienced, but mainly because we were playing for ourselves this time. I didn’t care if we impressed our coaches, our parents, or our teammates. This win was a victory for Connie and I, and no one else. At the end of the match we shook hands with our opponents, and then I went to greet my parents who had came to see me play for the last time. They congratulated me, and then offered to take me and Connie out for pizza to celebrate our victory. “Sure, just let me grab my racket.” Just as I started to walk away, I heard a familiar voice say, “Great match, Liz.” I whirled around and just about fainted when I found myself face-to-face with Anna. “Thanks,” I said, finding myself completely dumbfounded. “You’re really good this year.” “Yeah, Terri’s undefeated, so our record is pretty decent.” “I meant you’re really good. I didn’t know you played tennis.”

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“I didn’t until this year. Connie Pierson got me into it,” I said, waving to my double’s partner. “I can let you go if you have plans. I just wanted to congratulate you on your win.” “We should talk again soon.” “Sure, any time.” “How about Saturday night? I heard there’s this really cool place where you can drive around and yell out your window.” Anna smiled. “You haven’t changed a bit.” I thought that statement couldn’t have been further from the truth. But I had a feeling Anna wasn’t the same person I had left at the block some time ago.

Chapter 23

“The Return to the Block”

I picked Anna up at seven o’clock on the dot Saturday night. We talked about catching a movie, but nothing was playing that we really wanted to see. We sat around for awhile and tried to think of something else we to do, but nothing came to mind. “We should visit ‘the block’ tonight,” she suggested with a hint of hesitation in

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her voice. I wasn’t sure if that was such a great idea, considering what had happened last time. But I decided it would be nice to pick up where we left off. So Anna and I headed down our old familiar path, making the “highway, Sturgis, Handover, Covington” jog. The block hadn’t changed much since we had been there last. In fact, I recognized some of the same cars parading around. But something was definitely different this time around. Maybe we were getting older, or maybe the crowd was getting rowdier. But I think it was the fact that we weren’t looking for anything this time. We were there to have fun and rekindle a friendship, which was far more important than meeting guys and yelling at cars for a few cheap thrills. “Hey, Liz. Listen to this song,” Anna said cranking up the radio. It was Olivia Newton John singing “Let’s Get Physical.” “When this song first came out, I had no idea she was talking about sex,” Anna confessed. “I thought she was talking about jumping rope,” I told her. “You didn’t!” “How was I supposed to know? We didn’t have cable until last spring.” Anna and I started cracking up. “I’m going to miss this,” Anna said when she was finally able to clam down enough to speak. “Me, too. Maybe we could still get together and go out once in a while.” Anna paused for a minute. “That would be great, expect for the expensive plane fare.”

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“Plane fare? What are you talking about?” “I’m moving,” Anna said quietly, turning the radio down. “My dad’s selling his business in Maple Grove and opening another one in Colorado. I guess after all these years they decided they miss it there.” I didn’t know what to say. Even though Anna and I hadn’t talked in over a year, in some odd way I found comfort in knowing she was still around. So many times I thought about the awful things she had done and said to me; yet, knowing her Spanish class was across from my English class made me feel secure. “When are you moving? Is it going to be soon?” “When the school year is over.” “What about college?” Anna turned in her seat so she was directly facing me. “I’m not going to college. Not right away, anyway.” I almost drove off the road when she said that. “What do you mean you’re not going to college?” “My dad’s getting ready to retire in a few years and they want me to take over the family business.” “You’re going to own an aluminum siding company?” “Not own it. I’m just going to help with the administrative affairs.” “Are you even interested in aluminum siding?” Anna shrugged. “I don’t think anyone is really interested in aluminum siding.” “Than why are you doing this? Why don’t you pursue a career that interests you?”

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“It’s not that simple. I’ll tell you, though Elizabeth, you don’t know how lucky you are to have Alan. I’ll bet you’re going to U of M in the fall, right?” “Yeah, how did you know?” Anna smiled. “Just a lucky guess. And I’ll bet you’ll stay in the same dorm as Alan and take the same electives as Alan and even get football tickets in the same section as Alan. Am I right?” “Maybe. What’s your point?” “My point is, even though Alan gets on your nerves, you’re pretty lucky to have someone paving the road for you. You want to know the real reason I’m moving back to Colorado? It’s because the only footsteps I get to follow in are the ones of two people who still think polyester and disco music are in style.” “You mean they’re not?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I forgot. You just got cable.” Anna and I drove around for a little while longer, and then decided to call it quits for the night. We stopped on the way home to get gas, and then went back to her house for a little while. We spent the rest of the evening raiding the fridge and talking about the “good old days,” when we were too naïve to understand boys, popularity, and the meaning of the word “cool” in general. Around midnight, I decided I had better head home before my parents started to worry. “I’m really glad we could get together,” Anna said, handing me my coat. “And,” she added hesitantly, “I know I said some terrible things, and I’m sorry. I tried so hard to be popular that I lost one of the best friends I will ever have.” “Don’t be sorry. A lot of it was my fault.”

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“Why don’t we start over? Let’s promise to keep in touch, no matter what.” Anna gave me a tiny piece of paper with her new address, and I slipped it into my purse. I couldn’t help but wonder how often we would see if other considering the distance and our soon to be busy schedules. I felt confident, though, that our new understanding of each other would keep us together for a lifetime. When I got home, all the lights were shut off. I quietly tiptoed into the house and slumped down on the living room sofa. I spent a few minutes thinking about what Anna and I talked about that evening and tried to make sense out of it. Then I got off the couch, went to the phone, and dialed the number of a person I hadn’t talked to in a long time. Maybe I had lost sight of what was important, just as Anna had. But through Anna’s help that evening, I realized I was the lucky one who could still do something about it. When Alan answered the phone I don’t even think he knew who I was at first. “Were you expecting some hot babe to call?” I joked with him. “Yeah, so I was surprised when I found out it was you calling,” he retorted back. “Ha, ha. Very funny.” “So what do you want, anyway? I’m not helping you with your homework tonight, it’s too late.” “Actually I don’t need help with my homework. I just wanted to say ‘hi’ if that’s okay with you.” For the next forty-five minutes Alan and I talked about college life, what was happening at home, and basically anything and everything that had happened to us over the past few years. I felt like I was catching up with a long lost friend rather than my own brother.

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Before we hung up with each other, I told Alan my wonderful news. “So I’m going to have to put up with you on a regular basis again, huh?” “That’s right.” “Well, since you’re coming here next fall, maybe you can stifle this guy on my floor. His name’s Justin Matthews, and he drives me crazy. He said he and his friend used to tease you and Anna back in high school. He won’t stop talking about you. I told him if he got a whiff of your morning breath, he might think otherwise!” I thought back to when I first saw Justin’s sexy smile at the dance club, and I realized college was going to be even better than I thought.

Chapter 24

“My Senior Scrapbook”

The rest of my senior year was filled with typical graduation events. We had to get measured for our caps and gowns, order our class rings, and pick out our senior class song. Many of my classmates wanted to have songs such as “The End of the Road” as our theme song. But I thought songs like this suggested we were going to be wiped out after graduation. Besides, our road wasn’t ending. It was merging onto the expressway of life.

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With all the activity, the reminder of the year flew by, until May rolled around. That’s when the students and teachers started getting restless. My English teacher was so tired of trying to hold our attention that she did away with the final exam and gave us an independent final project to work on during class. The assignment was to make a “senior scrapbook” of the most significant events of our senior year. Most of my classmates filled their scrapbooks with prom photos and memoirs of the senior class trip. But mine was filled with more personal memories that didn’t necessarily begin with my senior year. I included pictures of Black Beauty, before and after the accident, a few strings of my deadly tennis racket, and of course a photo of my sociology class. I wrote briefly about the significance of each event and told how they shaped the person that I am today. At the end, I enclosed a copy of my acceptance letter to U of M and wrote about my hope for the future. As for Mr. Idoni’s final, the class had absolutely no idea what to expect on exam week. All he said was we were in for the biggest test of our lives. So I spent my evenings cracking my sociology textbook and trying to memorize big vocabulary words. But when I got to the “final” I realized Mr. Idoni was talking about a different kind of “test.” When my classmates and I arrived at the classroom, the door was locked. There was a note taped to the door saying: “This is your assignment: Define the sociological perspective in detail; define the meaning of “a box” at length and discuss the definition with your peers; have a long meaningful discussion on the most influential moments of your lives, and take notes on the answers your peers present. Due date: infinite.” My classmates and I exchanged bewildered glances. “What does ‘infinitive’

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mean?” Jerry asked. “I think it means we can ditch class and go to Burger King,” Sean replied. “I think it means we have our entire lives to ponder these questions and there isn’t going to be a formal final,” Kathleen informed us. Since we couldn’t agree on the interpretation, we decided to compromise. We gathered our book bags and did what Sean suggested, and then we headed across the street to Burger King. Only, thanks to Kathleen’s analysis, this ended up being our best class session ever. Over burgers and fries we discussed the topics that Mr. Idoni presented to us. We laughed, we argued, and some even got a little teary on sensitive topics, but it was definitely the most fun and enlightening class period ever. When we were finished, we decided that we weren’t going to ever forget Mr. Idoni’s, his crazy class, and most importantly each other. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers and agreed to meet in five years for our “final exam.” Usually when friends promised to keep in touch it never lasts long, but I knew the seven of us would find a way to be together again. Maybe we didn’t hang out together on weed-ends or play on the same basketball team, but we had a special understanding of life that we would share forever.

On June 17, 1990, it was finally time to officially say good-bye to my high school years. Connie arrived at my house around noon to get some pictures taken with me. We had signed up to be walking partners for the commencement ceremony, so we thought it would be nice if we went to graduation together. I thought about asking Anna to walk with me, but I assumed she already had a

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partner. When we lined up for the ceremony, though, I noticed she was by herself. I wasn’t sure if this was intentional or not. I had a suspicion, though, that being “popular” didn’t necessarily mean you had any more friends than anyone else. We parked our car, then we marched over to the football stadium where our principal tried desperately to usher us into line. Some kids were really rowdy, not caring what the principal was babbling about. Meanwhile, others were walking around frantically asking everyone where they were supposed to be. In about an hour, everyone was in order and it was time to begin the ceremony. Our class president gave a welcome speech, followed by a few inspiring words by our valedictorian. Then it was time. Connie and I were one of the unfortunate ones who had to go last. So we sat through name after name, anxiously awaiting our turn. As it got towards the end the crowd got rowdier and rowdier. I don’t think they were particularly cheering for one specific individual at that point; I think everyone just wanted to get the heck out of there. Finally it was time for Connie and I to take our places. “Jeremy Weber…Lisa Frantz… Connie Pierson…Elizabeth Sheldon.” I held my breath as I marched across the stage and graciously accepted my diploma. My mind briefly flashed to the ups and downs I had with Anna, the zany times I had with Carlie, and the enlightening experiences I had with my sociology class. It had been a jammed- packed four years, and in a matter of seconds it was suddenly over. After all the names were called, we took a few minutes to take pictures with our friends and say teary good-bys. Then everyone quickly filed away to see their families.

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“We’re so proud of you,” my parents said, giving me a hug. “Yeah, me, too,” Alan said. I realized how lucky I was to have such a supportive family. As I stepped further and further away from the field, the mass of hunter green graduation gowns grew fainter in the distance. But ironically, as soon as I left the school grounds that afternoon, I immediately found the memories growing stronger. I hadn’t had the typical high school experiences. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out who I was. I discovered through my sociology class that most students don’t know who they are. It was this revelation that allowed me to find common ground with my peers, and actually find a way of “fitting in” through not “fitting in.” I still wasn’t sure if I agreed with Mr. Linderman’s contention that these were the best years of our lives. High school was one small fraction of my life’s experiences. But I knew the memories I had from high school, for better or worse, would dictate the direction of my life for years to come. And that was one thing, I had to admit, that was pretty cool about high school.