Tuesday, October 10
Last night at dinner, my parents decided to play the role of wise sages after I casually (read: reluctantly) mentioned my Homecoming situation. I was half-expecting my mom to say something cheesy and my dad to make a joke out of it, but they actually surprised me.
"Just be yourself," Mom said, smiling in that reassuring way. "Confidence is key. Even if it doesn't go perfectly, showing you're genuine is what matters most."
Dad chimed in with, "Remember, she's probably nervous about Homecoming too. Just ask like you're inviting her to a fun event, nothing more. It'll take the pressure off."
For once, their advice seemed doable. I went to bed feeling like maybe—just maybe—I had a shot at this.
Fast forward to today at lunch. Alyssa was sitting with her friends a couple of tables over, and I could feel my heart racing like I'd just sprinted a mile. I repeated Dad's advice in my head: "Just a fun invite, no big deal." I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over.
But as soon as I got close, the worst thing happened: my voice bailed on me. It was like my throat turned into the Sahara Desert. I opened my mouth, and instead of words, an awkward croak came out. Alyssa looked up, surprised, and her friends giggled.
"Uh, hey," I managed to say, my face probably turning a solid shade of tomato. Before I could recover, one of her friends piped up with, "Need something, Max?"
Panic mode activated. I stammered some excuse about needing to talk to a friend and backed away as quickly as possible, nearly tripping over a chair on my way out. I could still hear them laughing as I slunk back to my table, where Ben and Leo were watching with wide eyes.
"Smooth, dude," Leo said, barely suppressing a grin.
"Like butter," Ben added with a wink.
So much for parental wisdom. I'm starting to think I need more than advice—I need a miracle.
YOU ARE READING
The (Not so amazing) adventures of Max
HumorDiary style book of a 14 year old boy called Max starting his first year of high school
