“What?” I asked, curious.
“You can call me,” he answered, and I was speechless.
“Call me around three o’clock.”
“Okay,” I said, my lips and heart quivering.
With trembling hands, I picked up the phone. It was three o’clock, just like he said. I heard the phone ring, then another.
“Hello?” Jason answered.
“Hi,” I said, hoping that he’d know it was me. He did. After the first few minutes, I began to relax, and he did too. We talked on the phone for more than an hour! I was dreaming, I was flying, my head was in the clouds! And to top it off, the first dance of the year was coming up that Friday, and I began to hope that Jason might ask me to the dance with him! Was my dream on the verge of coming true?
The next day I wanted to run to fourth-period class, but I didn’t. I walked slowly, fighting the butterflies that were flying around my stomach.
I went and sat in my usual spot next to Jason. He looked at me and smiled. Right away, the teacher started talking, and try as I might, I couldn’t pay attention. My heart was pounding in my chest as I sat next to the boy of my dreams, the boy I’d talked to on the phone for more than an hour the day before!
To my total surprise, he slipped a note on my desk. With trembling hands, I took the folded slip of paper. My face became hot, and I hoped it didn’t look as red as it felt.
What could this be? I thought. Is he telling me that he likes me? Is he going to ask me to the dance? Is my dream coming true? I carefully and quietly opened the piece of paper and saw one sentence written there. I looked closely and read the words, “Will you ask Shelly if she likes me? Thanks, Jason.”
Fighting tears, I quickly folded it back up and put it in my book. I looked over at Jason and quickly nodded “yes” to him. The teacher rambled on, but I was in a brokenhearted world of my own.
I did Jason’s asking for him, and I found out that Shelly didn’t like him, but it didn’t matter. For the first time ever, I’d experienced a broken heart, and I’d had enough. I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to spend another second of my life hanging onto a dream that was never going to come true. After much crying, I gave up on Jason.
Jason and I never got together, but I watched him with this girlfriend or that one. And he watched me, as I found new boyfriends who captured my heart.
He never knew that a blond-haired girl with green eyes and freckles loved him from afar. In fact, no one ever knew. He was my secret love for many years—until now.
Karin A. Lovold
The Truth
You can’t be brave if you’ve only had wonderful things happen to you.
Mary Tyler Moore
Guys. Not a subject I have much experience with since I’ve only had one real boyfriend.
Seth—he was the popular one, while I was not popular. I had a crush on him, big time, and I finally had a chance to go out with him. I was on cloud nine! Two days later, I got a phone call from him saying he didn’t want to go out anymore. I found out later from mutual friends that it had just been a dare. It hurt a lot, but I slowly got over it.
It took me four years to get a boyfriend because all I thought about when I met a new guy was, Is this just another dare?
Then David came along, and I knew that I wanted to go out with him. The first time I met him, I could actually talk to him. Around David I felt like I could be myself; say what I wanted or be silly—and I never felt ashamed. He would call me just to say hi, and we would talk for hours about nothing in particular.
And then things changed. It went from talking all the time, to five-minute phone calls—or none at all. Then I found out from one of my friends that David had told her that he couldn’t be with me anymore. I told her that he needed to tell me himself, because he needed to deal with his problems on his own.
He called that night, and he acted really confused on the phone. I asked him if he needed to tell me anything, and he said no. That totally sucked. Here it was, two days before the prom, the most important night of my junior year, and he wasn’t even going to bother to tell me that he wasn’t going to go with me. I asked him straight up if he wanted to be with me or not. All I really wanted at that point was the truth. I was brave enough to deal with that.
“I dunno, . . . “ was all he could say after a long pause. And then the famous line came: “I think we should just be friends.”
“There you go,” I said. “That’s all you had to say. If you just want to be friends, then we’ll just be friends.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I just got straight to the point. Oh, I cried later on, but I also smiled because I knew that I had been through this sort of thing before and I had survived. If I could live without him before, then I could live without him again.
I hear things now, rumors about him denying that he knows me, and that’s fine. I see him with his new girlfriend, and I say hi. There’s no, “Eww . . . she’s ugly,” or “He’s such a loser,” just a genuine hello and a smile.
Through all of this I have realized that relationships don’t always last a lifetime, but the memories and the lessons that we learn from them can last forever.
Anna Bittner, 16
Learning How to Move On
I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it without knowing what’s going to happen next.
Gilda Radner
I’ve never had much luck with guys. Oh, it’s not because I’m not pretty or that I’m really mean or anything like that—it’s just that things never really seem to work out. I don’t have much confidence, and I’ve always admired those special girls who can turn the head of any guy and charm them all with just a smile.
When I was fourteen, I met this older guy who I really liked, and I got my hopes up only to get dumped after three or four days. Looking back now, it seems pretty insignificant, but at the time it was a big deal. I decided to just give up dating. I couldn’t see the point in hurting myself like that again until I was ready for something serious. It worked quite well . . . for a while.
A few months later, I was at church one Wednesday night when my youth group announced that they were going caroling. A couple of my friends decided to stay at church, and I chose to stay with them. A little while later, this guy I’d seen once or twice at church events showed up. I didn’t know his name or anything about him, but as soon as we started talking, I was immediately interested. He told me his name was Andy, and we proceeded to play our own warped version of dodge ball with my friend Melissa. We had a blast that night, and when it was time to go, I walked outside with him and told him he should come back soon. He gave me a hug when he left.
The next day, while I was hanging out around the house, my phone started ringing. I picked it up, and guess who it was? Andy. It turns out that he had gotten my number from one of my friends. Now, I have to admit, I’m a total sucker for a guy who makes the first move because I’m too terrified to do it myself. I thought it was an incredibly sweet thing to do, and we ended up staying on the phone for hours. For the next two weeks, he pursued me relentlessly, but I kept telling him no when he’d ask me out because I didn’t want to get into another relationship that meant nothing and wouldn’t last a month. In the end, though, he wore me down and I finally said yes.
We became inseparable. We saw each other every day, and I was always at his house or doing something with his family. He became my best friend, and I confided to him things that I’d never shared with anyone before. Not only could I tell him anything, but he shared things with me in return. I was the one he came running to when he got his first speeding ticket, and he was my shoulder to cry on when I found out my mom was dying. I thought nothing could come between us and that we would be together forever.
For Andy and me, forever was five months and one day. I cal
led him one night because I felt as if he had been avoiding me, and I needed to know what was going on. He finally told me that he just wanted to be friends and that he didn’t love me the same way that he used to— somewhere along the road it had changed. I cried during the entire conversation . . . and for about two months after.
It was incredibly hard for me to face life without him because I had made my life revolve around him. All of a sudden I was alone. There was no one for me to talk to for hours on the phone, and since I had always been doing something with him and his family, I hadn’t just lost him—I felt as if my second home had been taken away too.
It’s been a long road since our breakup, and I’ve had a lot of heartache since then. But even though I thought I’d never be able to get over him, I’ve slowly begun to heal. I know I’m going to be okay without him. Yes, I still miss being with him and having someone to joke around with; someone who will just hold me when I need him to and who turns to me when he’s feeling down. But I know that eventually the right guy will come along, and I’ll be happier than I could have ever imagined.
I will always be grateful to Andy for what he gave me— my first real kiss, my first serious relationship and a wonderful experience. Even if things didn’t work out between us, I still learned so many things, like how to open yourself up to someone and, most important, how to move on after it is over. These are lessons and memories that I will carry with me for the rest of my life, and for that, Andy, I thank you.
Elizabeth White, 15
Nineteen
Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.
Zora Neale Hurston
There he was, standing out in the crowd at the mixer that the student council puts on every year at the beginning of school. He had grown well over six feet, gotten contacts, developed a tanned and chiseled face, and let his dark brown hair grow enough to curl adorably. It was the first time in two years that I’d seen him—Michael, my ex-boyfriend from back in middle school. He was the first boy I’d ever gone out with.
To get a better look at him, I gathered up the courage to ask him to dance, and he didn’t run away screaming. We slow danced.
After the mixer, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I realized that the old crush I had had on him was reviving itself, and I wanted to see him again. Considering our history, I should have beaten my head with a board until I fell unconscious. Two years before, we had dated for a month and then he told me that he loved me. I dumped him because of it. A week later, when I told him what happened, we got back together. His friends took it upon themselves to disapprove. They kept telling me that I wasn’t good enough for him, that I was going to break his heart. They told him the same thing. I guess they got the best of him, because he dumped me a few weeks later over the phone.
None of that mattered to me anymore. I wanted to get to know this ex-boyfriend again—this intriguing stranger.
I decided to take a walk and “just happened to pass by” Michael’s house, which was a mile down the road from mine. I walked by it . . . passed it . . . turned around to pass it again . . . and again. I wanted so badly to go up and knock on the door, but I was scared. What if he thought I was a freak or a stalker?
I gathered some courage, headed up the walkway and banged on the door. I could hear his dogs going crazy inside the house, and soon Michael was standing at the front door, staring at me like I was some sort of mutant.
“Hey,” his deep voice boomed.
“Hey,” I managed to squeak. “I was just taking a walk and . . . ummm . . . I know this is weird . . . but do you want to . . . ummm . . . come for a walk with me?” I was so articulate and intelligent sounding—NOT!
“Uh . . . sure.” To my amazement, he went to get his shoes, and before I realized that the sky hadn’t fallen, we were on our way, in the direction of my house.
We walked along and talked about what had happened in our lives while we were apart. Michael used to be unbearably shy, but he didn’t seem afraid to talk to me anymore. We chatted on about ice hockey, school, my year at private school and everything else that we could manage. We wound up in a park near my house. I stopped and turned to face him when I reached the jungle gym. I curled one hand over the cool metal, leaning on it.
“You know, I still have all the notes you used to write me in eighth grade,” I said, teasing him.
“Really?” He smiled as his entire face lit up at the thought. “I have all of yours, too.”
“Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe that he’d actually cared enough to keep them. I had thought myself sentimental, maybe even a little weird for doing the exact same thing.
That’s when I felt his hand close over mine. I lowered my gaze to stare at it. His other hand wound around my waist. I glanced up into his eyes for a brief second, totally bewildered, and then, he kissed me.
Now, I’ve been kissed before, but I can still feel his gentle lips pressing down upon mine. It had to be the most impulsive thing that he’d ever done. We just stood there kissing, until I realized what was going on.
As I pulled away, I whispered, “Nineteen more.”
While we were together in junior high, Michael had given me a little certificate that was good for twenty kisses. We never used it. I think maybe he was afraid of me or of kissing. Or both.
Michael didn’t need me to explain it. He just smiled and leaned forward to kiss me again.
Kathleen Benefiel, 16
9
CHANGES,
CHANGES
AND MORE
CHANGES
Not long ago, I was so self-assured
But recently, a lot has occurred
And I’m no longer a little girl
But I’m not a teen, that’s for sure
Now life is strange and all I know
Is that I don’t want my insecurity to show
From braces to bras, from zits to shaving
It’s crazy how much my life is changing
But if I embrace both the laughter and tears
I think I’ll survive my preteen years.
Irene Dunlap
Late Bloomer
You have to have confidence in your ability, and then be tough enough to follow through.
Rosalynn Carter
Much to my dismay, as a young girl I carried with me an unshakeable stigma. I was a “late bloomer.” Everyone knows that’s just a nice way of saying that I had a flat chest for much longer than most of the girls my age. I was one of the youngest and smallest kids in my class, so while all of the other girls were beginning to need training bras, I could put on a baseball hat and a pair of jeans and pass for a boy any day of the week. Needless to say, I tried not to. By eighth grade, I actually wanted to wear eye shadow and nail polish—to explore my newly acquired femininity or, at the very least, my hope for it.
But it didn’t seem to matter what I did. As long as I was flat-as-a-board, I felt that I would never grow up. My greatest fear was that I would turn into a scientific enigma: the only thirty-year-old who never hit puberty. All sorts of doctors would be called in to examine the freak who never developed in all the right places. I would be infamous. I would be a social outcast. My future children would starve if I tried to breastfeed them. I would make my living as a circus sideshow; “Step right up and see the woman who still has no need to wear a bra!”
All of the popular girls needed bras. Heck, all of the unpopular girls needed bras. Everyone needed a bra it seemed, except for me. While most of the girls in gym class would try to shower and dress quickly so that no one would see what they had to cover up, I tried to cover up the fact that I had nothing to cover up. I longed to be part of the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder club, if only I had boulders to hold! Or small stones. Even pebbles would have been acceptable.
I was smart. I was a cheerleader. I had friends. But junior high can be vicious. And eighth-grade girls can be ferocious. Case in point: some girls from the locker room leaked to some of the boys that I didn’t wear
a bra. Short of “stuffing” (which I considered but couldn’t figure out how to pull off the slow, natural growth rate), I couldn’t hide my pancake look. But there still seemed to be some social expectation that I should wear a bra anyway. An eighth-grade code. Unwritten rule.
So some of the boys knew. But the worst was, Scott knew. Now it might seem that this was devastating because I liked Scott, but it’s not true. Honestly. I’m openly sharing about the development of my mammary glands, so would I lie about liking a boy all this time after the fact? I promise, I didn’t like him. Scott was the boy who, on a field trip, mooned a car from the back seat of the bus. He was the boy who was always getting in trouble for being loud, getting in fights and making a general nuisance of himself. He was a little bit of a class bully, or maybe more of a class clown, but he was friends with all of the popular guys—like Joey Jackson. And he was the boy I liked.
Ahh, Joey Jackson, a.k.a. Mr. Hottie. He was the cutest boy in the entire school. And I had the distinct privilege of sitting behind him in homeroom. When he would turn around to talk to the boy who sat behind me, there I was in the middle. One day when his friend behind me was sick, Joey talked to me. I think it was when I cracked a joke and he actually laughed that I knew I was in love.
It’s easy to imagine how devastated I was to think that Sarah-told-Jenna-who-told-Brody-who-told-Scott-who-would-probably-tell-Joey that I wasn’t exactly in need of a Victoria’s Secret charge card. As if Joey couldn’t have figured it out on his own. Nevertheless, I was horrified.
One of the cruel things boys did was to sneak up behind an unsuspecting girl to snap her bra—if, in fact, she wore a bra. Now, what could be more humiliating than a bra-snapping incident? Yep, that’s right—not having a bra to snap!
Chicken Soup for the Girl's Soul Page 20
