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. âMaybe we should do things together,â he said. âGo running, go to a dance, I donât know.â 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. âHi,â she said.
âHi.â
âI never see you anymore. Except in classes, and that doesnât count.â She tugged on one of the four stud earrings that lined her ear.
âI know,â I said. âItâs the play. Iâm really busy. Itâll be over soon.â 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.
âLetâs do something,â 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. âLetâs get a bunch of people together and crash the Winter Carnival dance. Weâll go to the thrift shop and get some beaded dresses.â
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 heâd invited me to that particuÂlar dance, I told her I was busy. âI canât,â I said. She looked at me and waited. âJoe Greenlaw asked me.â
âYeah, right,â she said.
âIâm sorry,â I told her. âHe did.â Sara picked up her backpack from between her feet and started to walk away.
âSara!â I called after her.
âLet me know when you can fit me into your busy schedule,â she hissed.
⢠⢠⢠â¢
This is the part of my story that is really embarrassingâthe 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. âIâm sorry,â he said.
I looked at him, not understanding.
âSara McGee asked me if it was true we were going to the dance together. Iâm sorry. Iâm going with Rachel.â
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.
âIâm sorry,â Joe continued. âItâs nothing personal.â He turned and looked like he was leaving, but then he came back. He put his hand on my arm. âDonât be embarrassed,â he said. âYou know, I should have asked you. I wish I had.â 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 wouldnât be true. To Sara, I might have looked the same. Still, deep inside, where she couldnât 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