On My Mind
The French Fry
I am very nearly late to school- no thanks to the ecstatic leap off my bed – and make it to my seat a split second before the bell rings. Yvette, to my right, gives me a thumbs up as I slide in. I smile, before turning my attention to the front of the classroom. It is, in actuality, the only class I like, if only because Mr. Stevens is not difficult on the eye. Not to mention, Mr. Stevens does not teach the class as any of the other history teachers do.
Today he begins it as he usually does.
"What is history? Who makes it? And, why is it important?"
Every day he begins with the same questions, sort of as an introduction. He eventually circles around to the current subject of study. Lately it's been World War II. We discuss answers to his questions, and then do a mini-project, like a page explaining our thoughts, or a group poster.
An easy class, most say, but not when he constantly asks, "What do you think?"
Today's assignment was to break into pairs and reason out the effects of the second World War. Naturally, I choose Yvette. From the corner of my eye, I see Liz pair with John.
Curious.
Yvette smirks as me as we turn our desks. "So, Miss Thang, what made you almost late?"
Out of reflex, I blush.
"Uh-huh, just what I thought. You were dreaming about Benjamin Cato, weren't you?"
I meekly nod. But I can't hide my grin.
"Girl, you've got to say something! Especially if you're dreaming about him."
"I can't. What would I say, 'oh hi, I've been dreaming about you, do you like me too'?"
"You've done worse."
I consider this as Yvette rummages for paper. It's true, I have done worse. In eighth grade, I could barely walk past him without running in the opposite direction. In ninth grade, I stalked him obsessively, to the point where I overheard him say, "Do you think the police are after me?" to a teammate. Tenth grade was marginally better- though I didn't stalk him, I found every excuse to talk to him; more often than not, however, it'd come out garbled, and he'd leave in the midst of my trying to straighten my sentences out. Last year I actually said "Hello, how are you?" calmly, and when he had responded, I shrieked so loudly the entire hall turned to stare. This year, I determined, was going to be better.
"Maybe you're right."
"I always am."
"I'll try at lunch."
"Today?" Hey, for once I surprise her. Her eyes widen. "Really?"
"Really," I confirm, and mean it.
oOoOo
Yvette accompanies me through the (long) line. We pick up the usual- sandwich, fries, fruit, and drink- and make our way to a table.
Liz is already there, lucky girl. She packs a lunch, and doesn't have to wait forever in line. She waves as we approach.
Yvette wastes no time. "Bea is going to ask Benjamin out."
"What?"
"No!"
Our cries simultaneously reach an octave higher than our normal ranges.
"Are you really?" Liz peers at me through blonde hair.
"No, all I mean to do is tell him how I feel."
"But that's just as well as asking him out!"
'See?' Yvette's smirk indicates.
"Keep a weather eye open, then," Liz says to Yvette. "The minute he comes in, we grab him."
I nearly choke on my drink. Hm, now that I've choked already, maybe it won't happen when I see Ben…in the meantime, however, I beg my friends.
"Don't do that."
"How else are we going to get you to him? You won't do it on your own." As much as I want to protest, I know Yvette's right, again.
"Fine," I concede. "But you have to leave us alone after that."
"Deal," they promise.
We chew contentedly for the next ten minutes. I eat my sandwich first, though how I'm able to eat, I don't know. My stomach's in butterflies.
"Bing, bing, bing," Liz suddenly mutters.
"Huh?" Yvette is confused.
"Cato alert," she replies impatiently. "Time to go."
I watch surreptitiously as they deposit their trash and stop Ben at the door. It seems to be taking a couple minutes for them to convince him, so I begin on my fries. I idly swirl one in ketchup, and place it in my mouth.
As my glance falls on my friends again, I see Liz lean forward and murmur something to Ben. As a result, he turns and waves.
In my astonishment, I swallow without chewing.
Have you ever heard a goose? It makes a very loud honking noise when distressed. To my ears, and humiliation, that is exactly what I sound like as I desperately try to breathe.
My eyes are watering, and I'm frantically waving back, at Yvette and Liz, and Ben (who looks surprised) to indicate my problem.
Unfortunately, none of them are close enough to give any immediate help. As my vision begins to go dark, I feel a pair of arms go around me and push at my waist.
"Hey!" I protest. Or try, anyway, given that my lack of air doesn't allow me to speak. But the arms continue and the fry, ketchup, spit, and all, comes sailing out of my throat…
…and splats! onto Ben's head.
I heave a grateful breath of air, and wipe my eyes. The entire cafeteria stares at me, and I wave feebly, before sinking my head into my hands.
There went my confidence and hope of asking Benjamin Cato out. Or him asking me. Or any contact whatsoever.
t.b.c.