Chicken Soup for the Girl's Soul

by Jack Canfield

  I was so scared, I thought I was going to throw up. I called Becca to see if she had heard from the manager. She had taken the call and said that her mom wasn’t home. She warned me that if her mom found out, she’d beat her. That turned out to be Becca’s way of keeping us from telling her anything.

  My mom demanded that Becca and I go back to the store and try to make things right. She tried to reach Becca’s mom on the phone for about a week, but she never seemed to be home—nor did she return any calls, probably because Becca screened all the messages first.

  So Mom and I finally went over to her house. Becca met us at the door, and she didn’t look glad to see us. “Mom’s getting ready for work,” she said. “She’s in the shower.”

  We kept after her, though, and finally the moms had that talk. At first, Becca’s mom didn’t want to believe what we were telling her, but a week later, she ended up thanking us and said Becca was in counseling, and they were working through their problems. But she didn’t make Becca go back to the 7-Eleven and apologize like my mom did. Facing the manager was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, even though I knew I was innocent. The manager said she’d been trying and trying to reach Becca’s mom but could never get through.

  “I didn’t take anything—really,” I told her. “And if Becca did, I didn’t know it.”

  “But you were with her,” she said. “That makes you responsible, too. I believe you, though,” she said. “If you need to come into the store for something, it’s all right. But that other girl’s never coming back in here.”

  After that, Becca and I never hung out again, but we still say hi. I don’t want to think of how I would have felt if Becca really did kill herself. And I’m glad that my mom and I made her mom more aware of what was going on with Becca. I really cared for her, but for six months of our friendship Becca manipulated me and put way too much pressure on me as her only friend. I now know it was because she was so messed up, and I wasn’t doing either of us any favor by trying to handle it all alone. Her issues were way beyond my ability to fix. She needed help long before she met me, and I was too young and unable to give it to her. I’m just glad to know she’s still alive, maybe partly because of me.

  Marcela Dario Fuentes, 17

  The Party That Lasted a Lifetime

  I think that somehow, we learn who we really are and then live with that decision.

  Eleanor Roosevelt

  “It’s just a party,” Alicia said. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  I was both panicked and excited by my cousin’s words.

  My parents had gone to Europe on vacation for two weeks that summer, and I was thrilled at the opportunity to stay with my Aunt Sarah and my favorite cousin, Alicia. I absolutely idolized Alicia, who was everything I wanted to be—seventeen years old, athletic, a popular cheerleader and beautiful.

  “Sure, I’m cool with that,” I said. I was honored that she wanted me to go with her, even though I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me going, since I had only just turned fourteen.

  “What do we tell your mom?” I asked, hoping I sounded like I really didn’t care.

  “We’ll just tell her we are going to the movies with some of my friends.” Alicia started talking about the party and who was going to be there, as she stood in her closet and began throwing out some of her clothes for me to try on.

  “Okay, we need two outfits, one for Mom to see us leaving in—and the other to change into for the party. Pick out what you want to borrow, and I’ll help you get ready. We can do your makeup in the car,” Alicia said while we tried on a dozen different outfits. My emotions seesawed between not believing my good luck and being nervous. I wondered what a high school party would actually be like. I had been to boy/girl parties before, and I had even made out with Joey Razzone in the back of the skating rink, but that was all junior high stuff. This was a high school party. The thing I was most worried about was that everyone would think I was just a stupid little kid.

  “Alicia, everyone’s going to know I’m barely fourteen,” I whined, while trying my favorite outfit on again. It was a lime green tank top (not very well filled out) and a blue jean miniskirt Alicia had decided against wearing, with a pair of white sandals.

  “No, they won’t . . . here . . . ,” Alicia responded as she tossed me one of her strapless bras and a box of Kleenex.

  “Oh my gosh, Alicia, I can’t do that!” I said.

  “Why not?” she answered as she shoved a few tissues in her own bra. Then she crammed our party clothes, makeup, hair spray and a brush into her bag. “All right, little cousin, it’s time to go!”

  I felt a small pang of panic. I was going to my first high school party, and Alicia wouldn’t dare take me with her if she thought I would embarrass her—right?

  We parked Alicia’s Honda down the street from the house where the party was. Real butterflies had started in the pit of my stomach. Don’t you dare throw up, I scolded myself. Ugh, I thought, how did I get into this?

  “Let’s go!” Alicia said excitedly, after we had changed our outfits and completed our makeup. I followed her out of the car. Don’t forget to smile, I kept repeating to myself. I don’t really know why I felt that was so important— maybe I didn’t want anyone to notice how scared I was, but more likely it was because Alicia’s smile seemed to be cemented on her face.

  As we walked up the sidewalk toward the house, I noticed small groups of people on the front lawn. They were all laughing and talking, and most had a beer in their hand. I heard music coming from inside the house, and I looked over at Alicia, who didn’t appear to be nervous at all.

  “Cory! Hey, how’s it going?” she yelled across the lawn to a group of guys in football jerseys.

  “Hey, Alicia!” the boy shouted, as my cousin bounced across the yard.

  “Leigh! Over here!” Alicia called. I walked over to where my cousin was standing with the group of older-looking boys—men almost. I couldn’t believe this is what the boys at my school were going to grow into. Alicia introduced me to Cory and the others, and although they really didn’t include me in their conversation, thankfully, they didn’t laugh at me either. Maybe this won’t be so bad, I thought.

  After a while in the front yard, we made our way into the house. It was packed with people. The sound system was on full volume. There were groups of teenagers everywhere—most drinking, some kissing and quite a few doing both. I was amazed. This was not like any boy/girl party I had been to before.

  Everywhere I went, I was offered a beer that I didn’t want, and when I refused it, whoever I was talking to would just shrug, turn around and walk off. No matter how hard I tried to fit in, I kept finding myself alone, and after a few hours, I was very ready to go home. Finally, I walked up to Alicia, who was talking to a boy, and said quietly, “Alicia, I’m ready to go.” I didn’t really want to be a pain in the you-know-what, but I was tired and not enjoying myself at all.

  “Who’s this?” Cory asked, nodding his head in my general direction.

  “It’s my cousin, Leigh. You met her earlier,” Alicia answered, never taking her eyes off Cory.

  “Well, make her go away,” he snapped, as he started kissing Alicia right in front of me.

  Devastated, I didn’t even wait for Alicia’s response. I just turned and quickly walked away. I felt tears welling up in my eyes and didn’t want anyone at the party to see me cry—especially Alicia. I felt so alone and stupid. I was embarrassed about coming to the party in the first place, much less letting those idiots get to me. I walked as fast as I could to the bathroom, then closed and locked the door.

  The first thing I did was look in the mirror. I was so disgusted with myself for the way I looked. As my tears fell, the mascara Alicia had caked on my eyelashes was now thick, black streaks on my face. My hair was a huge blob of hairspray, and—thanks to the tissues—my breasts were two times larger than they should have been. I didn’t look like a seventeen-year-old—I just looked like a clown. I stood
there, staring at my awful reflection and cried for what seemed a really long time. Then I started scrubbing. I washed all the makeup off my face and found a brush in the medicine cabinet to brush out my hair. I took the wads of tissues out of my bra, threw them in the toilet and triumphantly flushed. I regretted the tank top and miniskirt now too, and I wanted to go get my other clothes in the car, but I didn’t want to have to interrupt Alicia again to ask for the keys.

  When I finally felt presentable—and more like me—I left the bathroom. My face was a little puffy from the tears, but that was okay. I knew I couldn’t look any worse than I had looked all night long. I found a comfy spot on the couch and sat down to wait. Alicia had disappeared somewhere with Cory, and I didn’t know where she was. I sat there for a long time, hoping I was really as invisible as I felt.

  “Hey, are you okay?” came out of nowhere. I looked up, and there was a boy standing in front of me. His blue eyes seemed to plead with me to ask him to sit down.

  “Yeah, fine, . . . you?” I managed nervously. I was shocked that someone was actually talking to me, and truthfully I was slightly disappointed that my invisibility had worn off.

  “Can I please sit down?” he asked, while fidgeting with his hands in his pockets. He looks harmless, I thought.

  “Sure.” This was really not going well. Conversation seemed so easy for Alicia, why couldn’t I squeak out more than one word at a time?

  “So, what’s your name and how do you know Brian?”

  The boy was staring straight into my eyes now. Does he know I’ve been crying? Is this some sort of pity chat?

  “Who’s Brian?” I asked, trying to sound as cool as I could.

  “The guy who lives in this house, dummy!” he began to chuckle. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “I’m here with my cousin, Alicia, who has left me alone for the millionth time tonight. I don’t know anyone here, and for your information, I’m not a dummy,” I said defiantly, now somewhat angry at him for laughing at me.

  “I didn’t mean that! I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I was just trying to lighten you up, girl. My name is Anthony; it’s nice to meet you,” he said, and as he sat down, he flashed a brilliant smile and stuck his hand out toward mine. Wow, he’s kind of cute, I thought.

  I reluctantly put my hand into his. When I could, I finally spoke, “My name is Leigh . . . nice to meet you, too.” My face was blazing red now, and my heart was pounding so loud I was afraid he could hear it.

  “Leigh, that’s a really pretty name,” he said as he gently squeezed my hand before letting it go.

  Anthony and I sat and talked on the couch for a while. I was starting to feel a little more comfortable. I was happy to be talking to Anthony. He was fifteen, a freshman at my cousin’s school and played drums in the high school band. His older brother was Brian, so this was his house, too. He hardly knew anyone either—these were all Brian’s friends—and he was pretty upset that his brother was having this party while their parents were out of town.

  “I’m going to the kitchen. Want a beer?” Anthony asked.

  “No, thanks, I don’t drink,” I mumbled, praying this wouldn’t be the wrong answer.

  “That’s cool . . . me neither! How about a Coke?” he asked, as he got up from the couch. Miraculously, he was back in just a few minutes with two cans of soda pop. I had truly expected him to take advantage of this perfect escape.

  “Where’s your cousin, anyway?” he asked as he took a big gulp of his soda. I just stared at him—he really was cute.

  I suddenly realized I didn’t care at all where Alicia was. I was finally having a good time in my own element and, most important, acting my own age—not hers. I had spent so much time trying hard to walk in her footsteps (and fill her bra) that it had been hard for me to even think about walking in my own. In that one night, my wise and gentle friend Anthony taught me a lesson that some people need a lifetime to learn: Just being yourself is the best you can ever hope to be.

  Leigh Hughes

  Peanuts. © 1990. United Feature Syndicate, Inc.

  Suffocating

  I am suffocating

  And I just need to breathe

  I’m smothered under pressure

  I must be relieved.

  Nothing I do is right,

  Nothing they say is fair

  I cry and scream and throw a fit,

  But no one seems to care.

  Nobody will listen,

  To what I have to say.

  My life is not important,

  Yet I’m living every day.

  I can’t do what I want

  I cannot stay out late

  Here I sit and write this poem

  To release my pain and hate.

  I’m confused and I’m alone

  I’m lost inside my mind.

  No one will search beyond my looks

  To see what they might find.

  So many thoughts confuse me,

  Feelings I can’t perceive,

  In this time of adolescence

  And I just need to leave.

  None of it makes sense

  None of this seems real.

  And noone understands

  The emotions that I feel.

  I’m still suffocating

  And I still need to breathe.

  I’m smothered under feelings

  Let me be relieved.

  Marion Distante, 13

  To Have a Boyfriend—or Not?

  The best protection any woman can have . . . is courage.

  Elizabeth Cady Stanton

  All of a sudden it seemed like all my friends were starting to have boyfriends. Last year in eighth grade, when we talked on the phone, we had talked about all kinds of stuff; like horses, our ’rents, homework and boys, but it wasn’t all about boys. Now every conversation was all, “My boyfriend this, my boyfriend that,” and I had nothing to contribute. The last straw was when one of my best friends told me about her upcoming birthday party.

  “Since my birthday is so close to Valentine’s Day, my mom said I can have a couples-only party, Patty. Isn’t that cool?”

  Huh? Cool? Definitely NOT, I thought. I am the only one without a member of the opposite sex in my life, and I sure won’t have one by next weekend. “Yeah, that’s cool, Heather,” I managed to stammer out, and I hung up the phone. Great. Just great.

  The very next day that all changed when I ran into Tyrone Raymond—literally. I was late to one of my classes (as usual), and as I was barreling around the corner of the building, I ran right into Ty, scattering my books and homework everywhere. He bent down to help me pick up my papers, and as he stacked up what he could reach, he looked up at me and grinned. Not bad, I realized with a shock. Not too bad at all. In fact, kinda cute.

  Ty Raymond was in our class, but he was a year younger than the rest of us because he had skipped a year of school somewhere along the way to ninth grade. We all figured he must be really smart to have done that. I had heard that his parents had gotten a divorce over the summer and that it had been really hard on Ty and his three little brothers. Other than that, I didn’t know much about him; except that now, looking at him, I realized that he was much better looking than I had remembered. His deep brown eyes were dark and sparkling under long eyelashes as he gazed up at me, and his black hair wasn’t just a careless buzz cut anymore—it had actually grown into kind of a neat style.

  “Patty . . .”

  I snapped back into reality as I realized he was trying to hand me my papers.

  “Huh?”

  “I’ve got to get to class. Here’s your stuff. . . .”

  “Oh . . . thanks. Ummm . . . hey, Ty, would you like to go to a party with me on Friday?” Ohmigod. I can’t believe I just said that.

  “Ahhhh . . . sure,” he answered.

  What?????? I was astounded.

  He continued, “Give me your number, and I’ll call you after school. Sounds like fun.” I scribbled my phone number on one of the pi
eces of paper and gave it to him. Then he turned and walked away, leaving me with my jaw hanging open. That was the beginning.

  Ty did call me that night. And every night after that. And he called me in the morning before school every morning to tell me where we would meet so that we could walk to school together. As we walked together, Ty would do one of three things to show the rest of the world that I was HIS—he would have his arm around my back with his hand in the back pocket of my jeans, or wrap his arm around my waist, or grab the back of my neck with his hand as we tried to maneuver though the busy school halls like some cojoined weird set of Siamese twins.

  That first couple of days, I was in heaven. Ty obviously liked me a lot. No boy had ever shown me this kind of attention before, and I felt proud of his possessive attitude and that he was always by my side.

  On Friday night, my dad drove me over to Ty’s house to pick him up for the party. His mom seemed like a nice person but kind of frazzled. It looked like she depended on Ty to help her take care of his three wild little brothers, and she asked us more than once what time the party would be over and when he would be coming back home. Before we left, she asked if I could come over for a family dinner on Sunday, and when I looked to my dad for the answer, he nodded yes, so I accepted. More than ever, I was convinced that this was my first real relationship.