Dark Horse

The Thing About Awkward

     People started dating in sixth grade.
At least at my school.
Guess what? I got asked out. Just kidding, I didn't. It's sad I've never gotten my first kiss. Well, maybe a little more embarrassing than sad. I bet the isn't one other girl who hasn't had her first kiss yet. Mason's hands started to hesitate. Little touches, but they sent sparks. Like when someone shocks you, but more pleasant and much more electric. Like my whole body was on fire. It felt so good to feel something again.

Every time I saw Mason, I noticed something different about him. The way he tapped his pencil frantically when he was being timed. Or how his eyes get a faraway look when he's thinking hard.
"Miss Elkhart, could you please tell me what Gary Soto was trying to convey in 'Oranges'?"
What poem? What was it about? Those moments of panic you have when you know you're about to be embarrassed. Badly.
"It's about first love," says a voice from the back. Mason. "The scariest thing of all, liking a girl and trying to make everything perfect, and then not having money. Pure panic." He smiles.
"Then you realize that you've been wanting this your whole life."
I'll have to thank Mason later.
Mr. Beloit is not amused. His snapping blue eyes lock into Mason's.
"Was I asking you?" He doesn't give Mason a chance to answer. I hate when teachers do that. "Is your name Miss Elkhart? Did I ask you to tell me?" He snaps. "Mr. Lorne, go to the office, please." He waves a yellow detention slip in front of Mason's face.
"But he just answered your question!" I hear myself blurt out. Oh great. That's the thing about awkward. You never know what's going to flood out of your mouth. Mr. Beloit cleanly rips out another detention slip.
"Well, Miss Elkhart, I see nothing wrong with you joining him."
Thanks, Mason.

When I was little, I wanted to be a mermaid. I know, embarrassing and unrealistic. But I liked to believe that there were actually things that were half-human, half-fish. When you're a kid, you think anything is possible. Literally, everything. I used to think I could marry Troy Bolton. Well, to be honest, what girl didn't? Like I said, embarrassing. Unfortunately, when you're a kid, your parents are adults (well, most of the time, anyway) and that means they remember everything.

"Sophie, I heard from your dad you wanted to be a ballerina when you were younger?" Mrs. Tremblay asks. Like she cares.
"Yes."
"Do you think that it could connect to your, um, depression now?"
I give her a confused look. What does ballet have to do with depression? She puts her hand on top of mine. She gives me a sympathetic look.
"Eighty-three percent of dancers have had some type of eating disorder. You just look so thin..." she trails off.
Excuse me? I haven't done dance since I was seven.
"You don't know a thing about me," I spat before getting up to leave.
She gives one of those heavy disappointed sighs.
"You're right," she says, "only you do."
Get me out.
Get me out right now.

"Hey Dad."
"Sophie, you see I was wondering, what if we invited that new kid."
"What new kid? Dad, we're all freshman. We're all new."
"No, I mean the one from Michigan. His little sister's in my gym class. The mom's doing that PTO stuff with your mom."
"Okay," I say, shutting the door.
"Wait! Sophie!"
"Yeah, Dad?" I say, opening the door.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Dad."