Taste of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul III

Taste of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul III by Jack Canfield Read Free Book Online

Book: Taste of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul III by Jack Canfield Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jack Canfield
hair that was shiny as glass, put her arm across his shoulder. One night, during dress rehearsal week, we were standing together on the fire escape outside the auditorium watching the snow flakes gather on the iron railing. Joe told me that deep down inside he was really shy and that he was glad he could be himself with me. “Maybe we should do things together,” he said. “Go running, go to a dance, I don’t know.” And then we heard Mrs. Layton calling for us, so we ran back inside.
    The next day, Sara stood by my locker just before homeroom. “Hi,” she said.
    â€œHi.”
    â€œI never see you anymore. Except in classes, and that doesn’t count.” She tugged on one of the four stud earrings that lined her ear.
    â€œI know,” I said. “It’s the play. I’m really busy. It’ll be over soon.” I looked closely at Sara, past her makeup, and her jewelry, and the long black cape that covered her shirt and her thick, black hiking boots. She always seemed so bold, the way she stated her opinions as if they were facts, and looked anybody in the eye. But now she was quiet, more like the old me than Sara. I gave her a hug.
    â€œLet’s do something,” she suggested. She looked at the poster on the bulletin board just behind us. It was a drawing of a flapper girl twirling a strand of pearls. “Let’s get a bunch of people together and crash the Winter Carnival dance. We’ll go to the thrift shop and get some beaded dresses.”
    A dance. I thought of Joe and of our conversation the night before. And even though I knew, deep down, that it would be a white lie to say he’d invited me to that particu­lar dance, I told her I was busy. “I can’t,” I said. She looked at me and waited. “Joe Greenlaw asked me.”
    â€œYeah, right,” she said.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I told her. “He did.” Sara picked up her backpack from between her feet and started to walk away.
    â€œSara!” I called after her.
    â€œLet me know when you can fit me into your busy schedule,” she hissed.
    â€¢ • • •
    This is the part of my story that is really embarrassing—the part that I wish I could tell in third person, as if it really belonged to somebody else. A week after the play was over Joe found me during sixth-period study hall. “I’m sorry,” he said.
    I looked at him, not understanding.
    â€œSara McGee asked me if it was true we were going to the dance together. I’m sorry. I’m going with Rachel.”
    I looked down at my feet. The new me was going away, like a picture on a computer screen that fades out. I was sure my ears were bright red.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Joe continued. “It’s nothing personal.” He turned and looked like he was leaving, but then he came back. He put his hand on my arm. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “You know, I should have asked you. I wish I had.” And then he left.
    Now Sara passed me in the hall without speaking. I spent most of my free time studying or practicing my sprints. I went back to wearing my plain, comfortable clothes and threw away my makeup. And I only talked when teachers called on me. As if nothing had changed.
    But that wouldn’t be true. To Sara, I might have looked the same. Still, deep inside, where she couldn’t see, there was another me. I was brave, I was fun. I got a standing ovation in the middle of a stage, and a boy regretted not asking me to a dance. And it was Sara I had to thank for introducing that girl to me.
    Jane Denitz Smith

Finding a Vision
    F ace your deficiencies and acknowledge them; but do not let them master you. Let them teach you patience, sweetness, insight.
    Helen Keller
    Six years ago, I went blind. Due to a severe herpes simplex virus in my eyes, I lost one of my most precious possessions: my eyesight. Tiny cold sores covered the surface of my

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