Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul on Tough Stuff (22 page)

She didn't say anything, but if I had been paying attention, I would have been able to read the look of disappointment on her face. I was too busy worrying about her embarrassing me in front of Heather. All I could see was the Purse. I couldn't lie anymore, so I introduced my mom to Heather. My mom just stood there. She was in shock. I was in shock. And then I saw the look.

I guess I should have been relieved when she smiled at me, and then Heather, and invited us to dinner. It seems she had a coupon for Sizzler, they were having some sort of family dinner special for four, and my mom thought it was just perfect that we had run into each other. A coupon? What were we, homeless? I couldn't believe she suggested a coupon in front of Heather. And just when I thought things couldn't get worse, she started looking for the coupon. Oh no! Not the Purse!

At first I tried to stop her as she started to open the Purse. Then I realized there was no stopping her, so I tried to help. The Purse had to be completely unloaded onto a bench outside the theater. I was shuffling through the papers, trying to find the prized coupon, and I guess I was moving my hands too fast and I knocked the Purse. It flipped up in the air and as it did, I saw my life flash before my eyes, as if in slow motion, each one of those million receipts representing an important event. They ended up on the ground, spread about the theater, just as the movie next door was letting out. Crowds of people were stepping on all those papers.

That's when I lost it. The words came out in torrents, and I was powerless to stop them. “I can't believe you!” I yelled. “You are totally embarrassing me! Why do you have to carry all this crap with you all the time? Who cares about all these stupid receipts?” I picked up a Target receipt from the early 1990s. “Look at this,” I said. “You bought T-shirts for Dad, and you got them on sale. Isn't that special?”

Heather looked on in shock. She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the side. “It's no big deal,” she said.

“Yes, it is. I can't believe she's embarrassing me like that. She's so lame.”

“Calm down,” Heather replied. “It's okay. She was just trying to take us out to a nice dinner. I like Sizzler.”

I couldn't calm down. Heather and I just stared at each other.

My mom and my sister were on their hands and knees picking up all those little pieces of paper and bits of string and lint-covered pills. I got down there and helped them. We left the theater and drove Heather home in silence. Other than hello and good-bye, my mom didn't speak to me for the rest of the weekend. I went to school on Monday, and Heather acted weird. I came home from school and walked in as usual. My mom was there, but she didn't say anything to me. Not even, “How was your day?” She just had that look of disappointment on her face. As long as I live, I will never forget that look.

I went up to my room to do some homework and play around on the computer. It was eerily silent.
Hey, this isn't
so bad,
I thought.
I have a lot more time to myself.
But after a few hours, I began thinking about my day. I had gotten an A on an algebra test. It didn't seem to have any value until I could tell my mom about it. And I wanted to go down there and tell her about Heather. I wanted her to know how bad I felt. Worst of all, I had disappointed her. We had a good relationship and an honest one until I blew it. I lied. I was so disappointed in myself.

I finally got up the courage to go down there. She was sitting at the kitchen table with the Purse, sorting through all those receipts. Next to her was a
new
purse. A nice, flat, closable purse. She was transferring things into the new one. Just a few things. I sat there silently for a few minutes watching her sort. I noticed a restaurant receipt from Pizza Hut. I picked it up from the discard pile and noticed the date: August 26. My birthday.

“Hey, remember my birthday party last year?” My mom just looked at me. “You know, when I got the new skateboard?” Silence. More sorting. “I got an A on my algebra test.” Silence. It was unbearable. I couldn't take it.

“I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean any of the stuff I said. I . . . I . . . miss you.” She looked up from the sorting. There was a long pause. I was waiting for her to yell at me. I expected her to tell me how mad she was. I was ready for the worst, but all she said was, “How was your day?”

It's a few months later now, and that new purse, the one my mom was sorting, has become
the
Purse. And the next time Heather and I run into my mom and the Purse, I hope she has dinner plans in there somewhere.

Tal Vigderson

Friends to the End

S
ometimes someone says something really
small, and it just fits right into this empty place
in your heart.

Angela,
My So-Called Life

“Friends to the end!” Breana had signed the picture of us that hung on my bedroom wall. We were so happy the night it was taken, all confidence and smiles.

Breana's handwritten promise looped and curled with the joy we had shared. “Friends to the end”—and I was the one who ended it.

We had been friends for ten years, since the day I'd moved next door the summer before second grade. I was standing on the sidewalk watching the moving van being unloaded and there was Breana, straddling her bike beside me.

“That your bike?” She pointed at the pink bike my father was wheeling into the garage.

“Yes.”

“Wanna ride to the park?”

“Sure.”

Just like that, we became friends. We were next-door sisters.

Maybe if I could look back and say, “This is the moment our friendship ended,” I could repair it. But there wasn't a dramatic split. I made one choice, one step, one rip at a time, until I had walked away from Breana and into my new life with my new friends.

I guess I could say that Breana started it. It was her idea that I try out for cheerleading. “You're the best dancer in our class and the best gymnast at the club. You'd be a natural.”

“You're crazy,” I protested, though I really did believe her and I did want to try out. I knew that Breana knew that. It was her job to talk me into it, though. That way, if I failed I could shrug it off with a “What did I tell you?”

I agreed to go for it when Breana promised to try out with me. She went to all the practices, learned the routines and spent two weeks in the backyard coaching me.

Breana was as excited as I was when I made the squad and more surprised than I was when she did, too.

The night of our first football game, Breana gave me a cross necklace that matched the one she had on. It was a great reminder that we were in this together, and we both shared our gratitude to God.

Our halftime performance was flawless, even the grand finale big lift. I jumped into my stance with Breana beneath me as my secure base. I posed on her shoulders and smiled for the flash of my father's camera.

It was this picture of us that Breana signed.

One afternoon after football practice, Drew Peterson caught up with us and asked me to the Homecoming Dance. My brain didn't know how to talk to a Drew Peterson. I could only nod. His blue eyes alone were enough to leave me speechless.

Breana was the one who finally spoke: “She'd love to!”

The night of the dance, Breana helped me do my hair and makeup and then left me with a hug. “Look for the heart. I'll be waiting up.”

The heart. We had made those hearts for each other so many Valentine's Days ago that I don't remember when we started hanging them in our bedroom windows as a signal to meet at the back porch swing.

I shared everything with Breana after the first, second and even the third date. After that, I began to make up excuses. It was too late, or I was too tired. It wasn't like I was doing anything really wrong. It was just that I knew Breana wouldn't understand the kind of parties I was going to and the people I was with. Why did I have to explain myself to her anyway?

That stupid heart began to anger me. “Just grow up, Breana,” I'd spit under my breath when I passed by her window after a night out with Drew.

Last night I didn't just pass by her window, I nearly passed out under it. I was losing my balance, and the next thing I knew, Breana was cradling my head in her lap.

She brushed my hair back out of my eyes.

“You are the real Miss Goody Two Shoes,” I said, and burst into tears.

That's what Drew had called me at the party. “A toast to Miss Goody Two Shoes. She's too good to drink with the rest of us sinners,” he had said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

My new friends lifted their drinks in a mock salute. “To Saint Jenny.”

I laughed the hollow laugh that I had heard myself use so often during the last four weeks. Then I grabbed Drew's drink from his hand and gulped it down. They all hooted their approval.

The alcohol's harshness shocked me. I couldn't breathe and when I finally gasped in air, I went into a coughing spasm. My stomach rolled. I needed help. I grabbed for Drew, but he dodged my reach.

“I guess some people just can't handle their liquor.” He pointed at me, and they all snickered. Standing in the center of their ridicule, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be the person they were accusing me of being.

These were my new friends? They laughed
with
me if I did what they did but
at
me if I didn't?

“Please, Drew, I want to go home.”

“Sure thing,” he said, much to my relief. He wasn't such a bad guy. Tomorrow I would talk to him. I knew I could make him understand about his friends and these parties. After all, he had said that he loved me.

Drew took my hand and led me out the door to the sidewalk. He turned me towards home. “Go play with your dolls. Call me when you grow up.”

I stumbled the six blocks to home. It wasn't until I saw the heart in Breana's window that I knew I had made it, but not without taking a spill on the porch and making the rude comment to Breana.

The next morning came fresh and new, but just a little too early for me. I struggled out of bed and cleaned up for the day. I put on my cross that Breana had given to me. Faith renewed, I fastened the chain with a sense of joy. I was starting over.

I flung open my curtains and hung my old Valentine's heart in the window. I wanted it to be the first thing Breana saw. I could hardly wait for our reunion on the back porch swing, to be together again.

Looking across at her bedroom, I almost expected to see Breana smiling over at me. The last thing I expected to see is what I saw. The heart was gone. Her window was empty.

I walked through the house and out to our swing in a fog of shock. There the shock turned to pain. On the swing cushion was half of the heart from her window. Breana had written just two words:
The End.

I sank into the swing as torn apart as the heart I held on my lap. The faded heart turned deep red where my tears dropped on it. It had taken me too long to see the truth. I was too late.

I was crying and gasping so I didn't hear her approaching. But I looked up and saw Breana standing over me. I wiped my tears and nodded.

Breana sat down. She placed the other half of the heart beside the one in my lap. On it were the words:
Friends to.

I studied the pieced-together heart for a moment before grasping what it meant. Hope started to fill me, and I began to cry.

“Friends to the end?” I finally managed to ask.

“Yes.” Breana smiled and gave the swing a little push start with her foot. “Friends to the end.”

Jenny Michaels
As told to Cynthia Hamond

I'm Sorry . . .

I'm sorry for all the times I lost my temper
For the times when I was rude
For all the gifts that were given
And never received thank-yous.

For all the love you've given me
And I haven't given back
For all the times you were patient
A virtue that I lack.

I'm sorry for all the people
To whom I was so cruel
To all the people I laughed at
I acted like a fool.

I couldn't see past your imperfections
I couldn't see past my pride
Your feelings I trampled all over
On my high horse I would ride.

I'm sorry for all the times I lied
For the people I hurt along the way
Not a day goes by that I don't regret it
And I'd take it back any day.

The only person I cared about
Was me and only me
And now I'm truly sorry
I only wish I could make you see.

I'm sorry for everything I've done
For all the people I let down
I'm only asking for a second chance
So I can turn things back around.

I know that it's a little late
My deeds can't be undone
I realize now that I was wrong
And I'm sorry everyone.

Teal Henderson

A Different View

At fourteen, fifteen and sixteen, with our bodies changing and maturing, the way we looked was the most important thing in the world to us. Obvious flaws were tragic. A pimple could prove fatal. My friends and I strived for perfection. Guys started paying attention, and girls were trying to outdo each other.