The Loser's Guide to Life and Love by A. E. Cannon Page A

again some other day.
    It was like all the people in her house were crouched around the caller ID so that the instant my name came up, they could all shout at each other, “FOR THE LOVE OF HEAVEN, DO NOT PICK UP THAT TELEPHONE!”
    Finally, with ten minutes left (and counting) until seven, I understood that Stephanie the Desirable and I would not be going out together that night. Or any night.
    As Ali would say, it just wasn’t in the cards, baby. Different species should not date each other.
    So here’s what I did: I calmly got into my dad’s Hyundai, picked up my friend and his date (by myself), and explained (also by myself) that Stephanie had called at the last minute to tell me she was sick.
    Which, of course, was a load of completely nonbelievable crap.
    But hey, I was a great sport. I ignored everyone’s look of pity and went along to the movie, where I starred as the chaperone.
    Later that night, Mom started up with me. Maybe Stephanie hadn’t really heard me because the class was too noisy, she said. Maybe Stephanie misunderstood. Maybe there was a family emergency. Maybe her phone didn’t work. Maybe she just forgot and then was too embarrassed to call.
    Maybe, I said.
    Mom finally left my bedroom, swearing like a hockey player under her breath. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t swearing at me.
    The next day at school Stephanie was her regular, beautiful, way-high-up-there-on-the-high-school-food-chain self. Full of false smiles. Like nothing had happened. Actually, nothing DID happen. That, I believe, would be the point here.
    Generally speaking, I choose not to think about thisstuff. I’m sure you can understand my reasons.
    It’s just that on this restless, wanting sort of night, the thing I suddenly want the very most is to forget the sick wave of shame that washed over me when I hung up the phone for the last time and realized that I had been stood up.

Scout’s Take
    â€œâ€¦University of Utah entymologist Dr. Elaine Clark says she can’t really explain the sudden and mysterious appearance of so many dragonflies. She says it is as though they have flown into town on the wings of a strange wind…”
    I turn off the evening news (a piece on dragonflies! Slow news day!) and catch sight of my fuzzy reflection in the vacant green of the television screen. I lift a coarse curl, then let it bounce to my shoulder.
    I have worn my impossible hair this way—long and loose for years—and lately I’ve been wondering what I’d look like if I did something different to it. Cut it. Straighten it. Wear it up. Turn it into dreads. Dye it hot pink.
    Only I’m too afraid to try something new.
    That’s me in a nutshell for you. I’m Scout Arrington and I’m afraid.
    Surprised? After all, aren’t I the one who steps up and wins big soccer games? The one who knocks back straight A’s, even in scary subjects like calculus? The one who’s involved in a billion trillion activities in school?
    Okay. You win. It’s true that I do these things. But only because I already know I won’t fail.
    That’s an important point. Did you miss it?
    I already know I won’t fail!
    How totally and completely lame is that?
    Let me tell you about this dream I have at least two or three times a year ever since I learned to swim. I dream that I am standing on the highest diving platform at the city pool and more than anything I want to jump into the beautiful blue water below. Only I don’t. Because I’m afraid I’ll do a belly flop and that all the people watching will laugh.
    What if the whole world were full of people just like me? People who weren’t willing to try something new because they might look stupid. Seriously, what kind of world would that even be? (ANSWER: less messy.)
    But so what? So what?
    Meanwhile, I sit around NOT doing the things I think about doing.
    Painting, for example.
    Singing.
    Making