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, âFOR THE LOVE OF HEAVEN, DO NOT PICK UP THAT TELEPHONE!â
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 wasnât in the cards, baby. Different species should not date each other.
So hereâs what I did: I calmly got into my dadâs 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 everyoneâs 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 hadnât really heard me because the class was too noisy, she said. Maybe Stephanie misunderstood. Maybe there was a family emergency. Maybe her phone didnât 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. Iâm pretty sure she wasnât 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. Iâm sure you can understand my reasons.
Itâs 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.
Scoutâs Take
ââ¦University of Utah entymologist Dr. Elaine Clark says she canât 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 windâ¦â
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 wayâlong and loose for yearsâand lately Iâve been wondering what Iâd 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 Iâm too afraid to try something new.
Thatâs me in a nutshell for you. Iâm Scout Arrington and Iâm afraid.
Surprised? After all, arenât I the one who steps up and wins big soccer games? The one who knocks back straight Aâs, even in scary subjects like calculus? The one whoâs involved in a billion trillion activities in school?
Okay. You win. Itâs true that I do these things. But only because I already know I wonât fail.
Thatâs an important point. Did you miss it?
I already know I wonât 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 donât. Because Iâm afraid Iâll 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 werenât 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