TENTH GRADE ANGST

by Bruce Ingram

  The next “crisis” that we had to solve was where would we meet? Obviously, I couldn’t drive over to her house, knock on the door, and tell her father that I was there to pick up his daughter—my girlfriend. Man, that would have been the disaster of all time. Mia is always thinking about things. She came up with the idea that she would tell her mom what we were planning and see if she would write a note to the attendance office that Mia was going to ride the bus over to Camila’s house to spend the night. All that would be true, too, because I could pick up Mia there and bring her back there when our date was over, and she really would spend the night there.

  Then Mia confessed that she and her mom had sewn a dress during the winter with the hope that she could wear it if we ever went out at night somewhere. That when she and I started planning our night out, she had thought about wearing the dress to school that day. But then she decided that she wanted me to see her in this beautiful new dress for the first time when we were out together. Can’t you see how much this girl means to me? She’s always looking to please me and make me happy. And I feel like I’m doing the same for her. At least I hope I am. She tells me that I am, so it must be true.

  The funny thing was that our date was on the same night as prom was, and we both remembered how we had gone out for ice cream our freshman year on that same night. She then asked if I thought we would want to go to prom together next year and then Mia immediately apologized for being too forward. I told her not to feel that way, that one of the many things I liked about her was that she has a mind of her own and isn’t afraid to make suggestions or talk about what the future might bring us. But the more we talked about going to prom together our junior year, the more we both decided that we wouldn’t even want to. It’s just too much expense for one night and after the prom is over, that money is gone forever with “nothing to show for it,” she said. I agreed. Then I said, “Let’s go out for ice cream next spring on prom night? What do you think, is it a date?”

  And she said that it was, she’d put it on the calendar on her website. She did too. The next day I was looking at our job schedule for the months to come and next May there was already a note, stating “Remember to confirm crucial L&M Enterprise meeting for first Friday night in May.”

  Chapter Fifty: Elly

  I thought Mom and I were going to have a wonderful time shopping for my prom dress, but we spent most of the time at the mall arguing. Things started off bad from the beginning. At the first store, I picked out this awesome short, open-back dress with a low-V neck, and Mom started complaining that it was too short at the bottom and too revealing at the top. That I didn’t have to dress that way for boys to notice me, since I’m so thin now. And I told her that I’ve spent my whole life wearing frumpy, old woman clothes, that I was tired of dressing like that, plus, I’m old enough now to make my own decisions about the clothes that I wear.

  Then Mom said something smart, “Says the girl who’s never had a full or even a part-time job and who contributes how much money every month to the family’s financial affairs?”

  I snapped right back that she and Dad “always say that my job is to make good grades so that I can have a good future,” and that I’m a straight A student “again this year except for a B in phys ed and health. Is that not good enough for you to show how responsible I am?”

  Mom shot right back with “Says the girl who passed out drunk in the front seat of a car with a boy who was up to no good.”

  I admit that that last little comment really stung—really hurt—and Mom could see that it hurt me, but by then we were both so mad at each other that neither one of would apologize so we just sort of walked around in icy silence for a while, me looking at prom dresses that were so risqué that even I didn’t want to try them on, let alone wear them. But I was stopping to “admire” them just to make her even madder at me, and she kept rolling her eyes and frowning at me, as if she didn’t know that I knew what she was doing… and she was the one who was acting immature, not me.

  Finally, we came across this solid black dress that was still fairly short but not terribly short or low cut, and I had been examining so many that were so much “worse” to her way of thinking that she probably thought this one wasn’t so bad and she said, “That one would be barely acceptable, and I am using the word barely literally and figuratively.” So that is the one we bought. Then I said I needed new shoes to go with it, and she said, “No, you most certainly do not, use a pair you already have.”

  I was so stressed out from arguing with her, and I figured I had gotten most of what I wanted and she probably figured she had “won” with the “barely” acceptable dress and the no new shoes declaration, that I just decided to let the shoe thing slide. We had said we were going out for lunch, but by the time we made it to the woman at the check-out register, Mom and I were still not on good terms and those terms were not helped when the woman at the register said, “How wonderful to see, a girl and her mom out shopping together for prom.” I rolled my eyes to the lady and I happened to look at Mom at the same time, and she was rolling her eyes, too. What is it with females and eye rolling at each other? Is that our version of fist fighting like the boys do? I don’t think Mom and I said ten words to each other on the way home.

  Prom night with Eric was a total dud, I mean it was worse than going with Paul last year, if you can believe that… and that was a pretty awful night. This was our second—and half way through the evening I knew—and last date. He never made one comment about my dress or how great I looked. He barely talked at all when we were at the restaurant. When we got to the prom, he held out his sweaty hand to take mine, and all I could think was how gross and slimy his hand was. And that boy simply cannot dance at all, and I kept asking him questions when we were dancing or sitting down, and he kept giving these answers that had nothing to do with what I had asked or talked about and his voice was so low that I couldn’t understand him and sometimes couldn’t tell that he was even talking except for his lips moving a little. I swear, at least Paul talked all the time, although all he wanted to talk about was himself and sports.

  I saw Caleb at the prom and that awful junior he’s been dating, and I started visualizing myself with Caleb at the prom this time next year and how glamorous and exciting that would be and how many girls would be jealous of me. And then I thought I was being shallow, and I started hating myself for thinking of Caleb and me being together, and I next realized that while I was doing all that thinking, Eric and I had sat beside each other for like ten minutes, and neither one of us had said anything the whole time, and I knew I didn’t care.

  We left the prom really early which I was very, very happy to have done, because I couldn’t stand being with him anymore. When we got to my house, he said his longest sentence of the evening, “I’ll come open the car door for you and walk you to your front door.” Which I interpreted to mean that he was going to give me a kiss when we got to the door, and I thought that would be gross and sloppy like his hand, so I said, “No thank you, I can let myself out, thank you for a wonderful time.” I practically fled up the sidewalk. What an awful night.

  Chapter Fifty-One: Marcus

  Finally, in a week, I’ll be old enough to drive on my own, and I’m worried that Mom and Dad won’t let me. I haven’t even driven with Mom since I was injured. I’m still having dizzy spells. The good news is that my leg is healing right on schedule. I still think I will be close to being ready to play football when we start practicing in August. Maybe, I won’t be able to practice in pads, but I can go full bore with the weight lifting and maybe the running. I bet my parents are going to tell Coach Dell behind my back that they don’t want me doing any contact drills. He’s probably going to agree with them, too. Everybody will say it’s because they want my leg to be fully healed, but I really bet it’s because of the concussion.

  I know I mouthed off last fall when Mom and Dad bought me the Fiat, it’s still a piece of crap car, but it’s beginning to look a lot better… jus
t driving a car—any car—would be better than my parents taking me everywhere or Kylee coming by to pick me up when we go out. Just last Friday, she came by and picked me up so we could go out for pizza. Last year, I felt like I had to take Kylee and those other girls I dated out to a super fine restaurant. That I had to show them how sharp I could dress and impress them with how much money I spent on them at a restaurant. Now, I see that it’s okay to wear a pullover shirt and jeans and be out with a girl that just wants to be with me and doesn’t care about how much money I spend on her.

  Still, sometimes I act like a jerk—like at the start of the date. Things got a little weird when Kylee knocked on the door to pick me up. All she said she liked my “casual look,” because she just had on jeans and a blouse. I mean, the guy is supposed to pick up the girl, the guy is supposed to tell the girl how good she looks. I admit I was pretty foul when we got into her car, and she was chatting away and I wasn’t saying nothing. Then all of a sudden, she said, “What’s the matter, Marcus, you’re in a mood. Spill it!” I started to say nothing was the matter, but then I realized saying something like that wasn’t going to satisfy her.

  She’s a strong woman; she knows her own mind and is not going to take crap off anybody… including me. Thinking about it now, because she’s that way, that’s probably why we broke up last year. Maybe I need a strong woman for a girlfriend, maybe deep down I know that now. Mom’s a strong woman; she’s not some little wifey-dear that lets Dad make all the decisions. Last year, I never paid any attention to how they operate, now I see how things work between them. If Mom has some sort of opinion or idea about something, she’ll lay it all out and present her case to Dad. If he disagrees, he’ll go into great detail about what he thinks is best, then she will give her counter-argument. Then they start, I’d guess you call it negotiating, and that goes on for a while. They both usually make some compromises and later come to a decision. Maybe that’s how a marriage works, how a relationship with a girl in high school works—that is if a guy wants to stay in a relationship with a girl who knows her own mind.

  So instead of snapping at Kylee when she asked me what was wrong, I took this long pause and thought about all that stuff and then told her I appreciated her picking me up and telling me how great I looked dressed up, but, then, suddenly, I asked her to pull over the car and she did. I can’t believe what I did next… I started tearing up right in front of her. I mean, I’m a football and basketball player, I’m 16 years old, I’m a guy, and I’m hiding my face in front of a girl. She got this all worried look on her face, unbuckled her seat belt, and reached over to hug me and asked what was wrong. And I did “spill it,” like she had told me to.

  “I’m worried about these headaches,” I said. “I have them every day, sometimes more than once. I’m scared I’m never going to get over them.”

  “Marcus,” she said, “you’ve got to be patient. Everything will heal, your leg, your headaches will go away. That’s what the doctors say, right?”

  I said, “Yeah, that’s what they say, but what if they’re wrong? What if I never play sports again?”

  “Look,” she said, then she got really deep. “Suppose your leg doesn’t heal so that you’re all the way back from that injury. Suppose your headaches go away eventually, but the doctors tell you it’s too big a risk for you to play sports again. Are you going to be a failure for the rest of your life?”

  “No,” I said. I guess I said that because it was what she wanted to hear. But my whole life has been wrapped up in sports, and maybe I might not be able to play football or basketball anymore. But I’m not a loser, I come from a good home, I’m not stupid. Yes, my life would not be over if sports was over. But playing ball has always meant just about everything to me. It’s who I am.

  “Marcus,” she said. “I really like you, maybe one day we might even fall in love with each other. Who knows? I do know what kind of guy I want. I want a guy who respects me and my opinion, who wants to be equal to me but not superior. I think maybe you can be that guy or I wouldn’t be spending time with you. I wouldn’t care if you never played sports again, as far as my wanting to be with you. But if you’re happy playing sports, then I would always support you. But I’m a lot more interested in Marcus the man than I’m interested in Marcus the jock.”

  I mean, man, she absolutely floored me with that type of talk. She started up the car and we went on to go eat. We talked like that all night through dinner and on the way home. It was the best date I’ve ever had… she’s something.

  Chapter Fifty-Two: Mia

  When Luke picked me up at Camila’s house for our first “nighttime” date, the first thing I noticed about him was that he had on a pair of light blue pants with a dark green shirt and a tie that didn’t match either one of them. Luke has zero fashion sense, and you know what, I could care less. Clothes don’t make the man—a kind heart does.

  I’m not vain, at least I hope I’m not, but I so much wanted Luke to notice the new dress that Mama and I made. And, yes, for him to say I looked good in it. It’s the shortest one I’ve ever worn, it’s almost two inches above my knee, and I could tell Mama was not happy about that the first time I tried it on, but she didn’t say anything—just gave me the “wrinkled brow” look. I know the dress is too short to wear to mass, and I’ve never worn a dress to school. I don’t own any slacks; they’re just too expensive and Mama says they’re harder to make than a dress or skirt. Luke did compliment me on my dress and said I looked great in it and then started asking questions about how long it took to make and what it was made of—that type of thing. I felt like he was honoring me for the work Mama and I put into making it.

  When we got to the restaurant and started looking over the menu, Luke confessed he needed help. He said he had been doing a lot of googling about restaurant food, but he was still confused. He confided to me that he had never eaten at what he called a “sit down, nighttime restaurant,” that his mom and dad had always said those types of places were for folks “who put on airs.” He also said he had never had a salad before, that he knew what one was, but didn’t know what fork to use to eat one or what kind of “topping” to put on one. I could tell that he was embarrassed about his lack of knowledge about that type of thing.

  He had told me before that the usual meal at his parent’s house had been hot dogs, hamburgers, or pizza, or some cheap cut of fried meat and that a lot of dinners had just been macaroni and cheese or something frozen put in a microwave. That dinner had always been a stressful thing at his house and one time his dad had yelled at him for cutting the fat off a piece of meat and saying that he was not to “act all high and mighty in my house.” Luke said a couple times they all went out to fast food joints, but that was only because they were going to or coming back from a car race when he was young. What they ate then was pizza or fried burgers or hotdogs just like at home. Luke rarely talks about his parents anymore, especially his dad. I know he misses his mom, but I’m really sure he doesn’t miss his dad.

  So I explained to Luke about what the different kinds of seafood tasted like and before I even got to the various cuts of beef, he decided that he wanted to try the seafood. He said he had had tuna before, but not very often, but I bet it was out of a can or pouch. He picked flounder almondine, and he said he would have it grilled. I had told him that it was healthier that way instead of being fried, and he grinned at me and said he already knew that. I think he also picked flounder because it was the cheapest seafood on the menu, and he didn’t want to run up our bill. I picked the flounder, too. I also told him to choose French dressing for his salad. I just couldn’t see him as an oil and vinegar guy.

  The waitress came back, and we ordered and everything just went perfectly. Luke said he really liked salad and could I make ones for us the next time we went on a picnic. I said, “How about next Saturday?” and he started teasing me about being too “forward” because he knows I worry about that all the time. But, actually, since we’ve been going together, somet
imes I plan things and sometimes he does and sometimes we both do. I think that’s the way it should be between two people dating, that both members of the couple should feel free to make suggestions.

  The flounder was great, too, and so was the baked potato and steamed vegetable medley. When we were done with the main course, the waitress came by and dropped off the dessert menu. We had never discussed having dessert and how much that would cost and we knew that we had to give the waitress a tip and things just started seeming more and more expensive, so we both decided to tell the waitress we were too full to eat dessert.

  After we left, it was still early, and I didn’t want to go back to Camila’s house so soon. I wanted to spend time with him. And Luke did the nicest thing. He stopped at the Dairy Queen, and said we were going to eat ice cream there as our dessert and he was treating and that was the end of the discussion. It was so like him. I had a chocolate ice cream cone and Luke, as always, had a vanilla one.

  I don’t care that Luke doesn’t know how to dress up or how to order at a restaurant. I can teach him those things. His heart is in the right place, that’s for sure, and that’s all I care about. After he escorted me to the door, we kissed each other for the longest time.

  Who Am I?

  Chapter Fifty-Three: Luke

  I had almost forgotten about Thomas’ threat to beat me up, but he was kind enough to remind me of that fact last Tuesday during lunch went I went to the restroom before heading to the library. I am washing my hands when the next thing I know someone slugs me in the back from behind, puts an arm lock on me and snaps out, “How ya been,” and twirls me around, and I see he’s brought along two of his buddies.