On My Mind

The Sweater

The next few days pass uneventfully, as I do not actively seek out Ben. I am much too embarrassed by the "French Fry Fiasco" to try. Then, too, football season begins, as well as Drama Club, and I rarely see him.

Drama club is interesting, and for the second year, I am its president. Though last year we held a talent show for the community, this year, I want to try something a little different.

As people file in, I examine my clipboard. It has a list of ideas, should my initial one fail to inspire.

I call for the students to settle, and begin. "This year, as president, I want to try a different kind of drama. We know the stage is a good focus for it, as well as the wide screen. But what about photography?

"Those of you who are involved in Photography Club know that pictures often inspire just as much emotion as a play, or musical, do. So, I challenge you to take that knowledge and share it with the other members as we create stills, that will be exhibited at a show, and also in the yearbook."

Those few in Photography Club nod, and to my surprise, I see the other members look just as interested. Huh- maybe I'm brilliant after all.

"What are stills?" asks a girl, who I recognize to be Beth from my third period. Her companion answers, "They're basically photographs of a group of people, in an active pose- like running from a bear, or dying, or something equally dramatic- taken to make a point or evoke a certain emotion."

Wow. I didn't know anyone outside of me knew what they were.

"Thank you…"

"Lora," she supplies.

"Thank you, Lora, you are exactly right, and I hope the rest of you paid attention-" two boys stop murmuring at the back-"so that you can start right away. Break into groups of four, and see what you can create."

The next Club meetings are extremely fun as we experiment with clothing, lighting and background to create the stills. I am roped into a winter-themed still, in the midst of a snowball fight. Its creator, Kristin, informs me that the group's intention is for humor and, she hopes, a recollection of childhood. "It's supposed to make you remember fighting with the neighborhood kids, see?" as she arranges me in a theatrically horrified pose.

I coordinate with the theatre teacher, Mr. Mendel, to use the stage a day before the rest of the school's Picture Days, so that we wouldn't hold them up. As the day approaches, the Club begins to advertise for an exhibition show not long before holiday break.

The Picture Day arrives without incident. I have been so busy that Benjamin Cato has been absolutely removed from my mind. Nor have I been able to talk with Yvette or Liz much, as Kristin has me sitting with her at lunch to discuss her still.

Today, however, she is busy setting up in the auditorium, and I am happily back with my friends. The rest of the members shooed me away before I could help, saying, as a gift to me, they want to surprise me with the complete set-ups.

I am munching away on chicken nuggets when my-Liz and Yvette look at me and chorus, "So, what about Ben?"

I carefully swallow, remembering the last time. "What about him?"

Their expressions of near-horror and shock are so amusing I begin to laugh.

"Where is Bea, and what have you done with her?" Liz threatens, with a spoon, taken from Yvette's tray.

"I'm right here, and have done nothing but been involved with Drama Club. Today's Picture Day." I carefully smooth my outfit.

"Explains the sweater, when it's practically seventy," says Yvette, eyeing it. It's a lovely blue, at least in my opinion, and being cold-blooded anyway, I appreciate the extra layer.

"But really, Bea, have you thought about what you're going to do with him?"

"Do? What you mean do?"

"Well, aside from the kissing…" Yvette slyly begins, but Liz elbows her. I can't help the blush that spreads across my cheeks.

"I'll tell him. One day. If he'll hear me out. I don't think the French Fry Fiasco attracted him any…" I stare mournfully at my chocolate milk.

Yvette and Liz both laugh. "'French Fry Fiasco'?"

"What?" I say defensively. "At least it's alliterative."

"Too much English class," whispers Liz.

I whack her with my own spoon.

"Or Drama Club," Yvette agrees.

I whack her, too.

"In any case, decide quick, because here he comes," Yvette says, rubbing at her wounded arm (I didn't hit her that hard…).

I turn around, and gasp. Benjamin Cato is wearing a beautiful three- piece suit that brilliantly fits him. I wonder at the formality, until Liz answers, "Duh, a game, today."

Oh, right. Tradition has it that the first principal ordered the first football team to dress up for good luck, as his previous school did (that team won the championships). Ever since then, every athletic event has the team members dressed well the day of the game, or signing, or whatever.

He almost catches my eyes as I stare, and I whip back around to face my friends. With shaking hands, I pick up my chocolate milk and drink, if only to quench my suddenly dry throat.

I hear footsteps, and look up to see him say, "Hey, there" as he approaches. I am so delighted that he can still speak to me after the Fiasco that I gasp with delight. I did not realize that I still had chocolate milk inside my mouth, so it goes up and out my nose.

I snort it everywhere; on the table, on my tray, my sweater, even a bit on Yvette and Liz, who fall over themselves with laughter.

"Ohmigosh, I'm so sorry!" I say, hurriedly reaching for the napkins.

Both girls wave me away, indicating my sweater.

I look down and groan. Oh, no….

The lovely, light blue of the sweater is rapidly fading to a murky unidentifiable color as the milk soaks in. Rubbing at it with napkins only made the flimsy thing stick to it in pieces.

Kristin was going to absolutely murder me.

t.b.c.