Repeating history again......

( WARNING: this is going to be one of the typical stories and somewhat falls in the confessions-of-a-drama-queen genre ....so anyway don't kill me and i was trying to give out a message (again which might be a pretty obvious one)... err okay i dunno what to say next.... )

I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown, which always forced me to blow it at the most important moments

Jim Morrison.

What was I thinking? Why couldn’t I have left well enough alone? Stupid, stupid, Valentine’s Day. I had to write that dumb poem, and I had to go and put it in Evan’s locker. Why do they have those vents on lockers anyway? What needs to breathe in your locker? I don’t keep puppies in my locker, and I don’t know anyone who does. And my text books are just as stale as ever, with or without ventilation, air….blah blah!

But they HAVE TO put those vents on, just big enough to stick a stupid valentine with a stupid poem inside.

It all started at the beginning of last year history class. I was walking into the class with my friend Belle, minding my own business, talking about some play in some place that we both watched the night before, when I saw something bright out of the corner of my eye. I looked over. Actually it wasn’t a bright spot at all, but a head of brilliant jet black hair. Beneath that hair were two amazing, beautiful green eyes. I didn’t know it then, but that moment was the beginning of the end for my chance of a good grade in history.

I spent the next twelve weeks staring at the pretty head (or at least the back of it). Seating was alphabetical, but I was fortunate enough to be two rows back and four rows seats over from Evan so that if I stretched my neck in just the right way, I could see that head. When the bell rang, I would try to get up at just the right time so that I could bump into him or catch his glance as he left the room. I’m sure Mr. H… whatever, our teacher, must have given his lecture everyday, but all I can remember is something-something happened, and some guy killed some other guy for some chick…..oh ok no….that’s probably from CSI: Miami .

We broke for the holidays, and all I could think about was Evan. I would go play video games or hang out at the malls and hope to see him. Surely Evan shopped at Gas and Puma or well some great store. Maybe I’d see him there. I think I once heard him say he liked movies maybe I’d catch him at the movie theater. I saw a guy at the mall that I thought I once saw him talking to Evan in the halls so I followed him around for about twenty minutes, but it turned out he was with his mom and he looked at me like I was a little creepy, so I gave it up.

So anyway, the next semester started. Evan never made his move, and so I somehow decided it was a good idea to write a stupid poem and put it in Evan’s locker, through those evil vents. I knew when Evan’s next class got out, and I decided to sneak out of my class early and position myself at the wall around the corner from his locker before he did. My plan worked, and I was there in time to see Evan open his locker. The bright red envelope came flying out and nearly poked him in the eye. It hit the ground, and Tyler picked it up.

“What’s this?” he asked. “Did someone send you a valentine? Who’s your girlfriend?” Evan’s friends suddenly gathered around .Tyler opened the envelope and began to read my poem.

Dear Evan,

You may not know much about me

So I’m sending you this little plea

Today is Valentine’s Day

And have something to say

I have admired you from afar

I wish I had a car

So we could go out on a date

To the movies or maybe to roller skate

Because I think you are cool

The best in our dumb school

So please hear what I have to say

It’s really important, okay?

The words resonated in my head, each one striking me with the force of a sedge hammer. And there was my name in the bottom of the page- for all the world to see! What was I thinking? Everyone laughed. The force of their laughter caused me to move, ever so slightly someone noticed me. I had nowhere to run and had to walk past them all on my way to my next class: History. They saw me.

“Look Evan, it’s your girlfriend” “why don’t you give him a big kiss? “Hey superweeb, come over here and give your boyfriend a big old kiss”

Tyler grabbed my arm and tried to shove me towards Evan. He turned away with the look as though someone has just shoved dog poop in his face. I think I turned a new color of red that’s not even available in the Camel 64 box of crayons. All I could hear was the laughing. Other kids started coming over to see what was so funny, and Tyler handed over the card so they could pass it around. I tried to move, but Tyler had a firm grip on my arm. How could this possibly get any worse?

I looked for Evan for some support, some sign that he wasn’t a part of this ugly mob. But his expression had changed from disgust to laughter, too. He had joined in with the rest. This was clearly the single worst event of my entire life.

If I was distracted in history before, now multiply that by ten. I couldn’t even look at the back of Evan’s head because everyone was looking at me to see if I was looking at the back of Evan’s head. I could only wallow in self-pity. The whole rest of the year was I was either Evan’s girlfriend or superweeb. Everyone forgot my name.

That day, I went home and tried to hide under the covers of my bed. My mother came in and asked what was wrong. I couldn’t possibly tell her. But I had to tell someone.

She eventually managed to get the story out of me. I told her everything – about Evan, the black hair, the eyes, the attempts to accidentally bump into him, and finally, the evil locker slots and how they forced me put that card with the poem inside.

She just looked at me and smiled. She smiled. She didn’t laugh, she didn’t cry. She didn’t pat me on the back and tell me everything was going to be okay. She didn’t try to turn the whole experience into some kind of lesson. She didn’t scold me, and she didn’t compliment me. She just smiled.

At first I thought maybe she is possessed, or maybe she had been cooking with wine again. But then she took my hand and asked me a question: “if you could go back and do it again, what would you have done differently?”

I thought about it. I could not have stared at Evan’s big dark head. I could have not tried to bump into him I could have not put that card in his locker. Sure, I could have avoided the ugly mess, and people would still remember my first name.

“And so then where would you be?” my mom asked. I’d be a happy, anonymous student. “Is that how you think of yourself” she asked. How did I think of myself? Right then, I didn’t think much of myself. I felt like a big loser. She must have known.

“You aren’t a loser. How do think any girl ever got to meet any boy? By hiding in a corner? By letting boys like Tyler decide who you can like and who you can’t? In my opinion this is Evan’s big loss. I think your poem is sweet.”

She said all that because that’s what mothers are supposed to say. I knew that. And I still felt bad, but I started to see things from her point of view. How could I have not taken the chance? In that moment when I put the card in Evan’s locker I felt brave and adventurous and strong. How dare they laugh at me? I had dared to take my shot.

That moment didn’t last very long because the next day I got my report card, and it turned out I failed history. So now I have to go for extra classes, a sort of summer routine. But it’s okay, because there’s this new guy, who just transferred in and he has to go to summer classes, too, and you should see the back of his head……

Ps: people this story is a work of fiction, I can never fail in history, even if Orlando Bloom is in my class….duh!