Every Girl Does It

To my unsuspecting sister who spent countless hours reading my work and encouraging me!

Oh no
.
T
his is
not happening,
not
happening
!

I wipe my hands over my pleated skirt, a ner
vous habit
. Sweaty hands are
n’
t attractive, or so Brad Macintosh said when he hel
d them during couple
’
s skate my seventh
grade year.

It
’
s
my
first choir solo ever.
Why couldn’t it
be
our fall concert instead of our Spring Spectacular? I feel ridiculous standing in front of the entire school with my mouth gaping open trying to find a middle C. Not to mention the fact that my mother
,
who is standing up in the
front
of the audience waving
with
video camera in hand, forced me to wear a pleated skirt.
T
hus the outfit is now screaming “u
ncool” on my
lanky body.

Never am I this mean
. But
when I get nervous
,
I tend to snap at
people. All week I
’ve been
at odds with
my mom for taking pictures of me
.
S
he was literally documenting every day of my life up until the big solo or as she put
s
it
,
“my discovery!”
Leave it to my
mom to
turn
a j
unior
h
igh
s
olo into
the
performance
of a lifetime, which
will
not only
get
her daughter
discovered
, but will make her a best selling artist all before
her
eighteenth
birthday. Somehow I don’t think
MTV is going to be knocking on our door anytime soon for the professional footage my mom shot in order to do a “
d
iary” on my life before I was famous.

Nervous and sweating
,
I begin my solo, praying I remember the words.
When I finish
,
I
felt
like
I’d
r
u
n the
fifty-yard
dash the way my heart is hammering, but then
I
realize everyone is clapping.
They
’
re all clapping for me
.
I did well!

In fact, p
eople
are begin
n
ing
to stand up and clap
.
I actually feel famous, like I
’
m a
pop star
giving my first concert and people love me
.
THEY LOVE ME!

I bow and do a little curtsy just so they know I
’
m still humble
then
wave like Miss America all the way back to my seat with t
he rest of the choir. Blushing
,
I try to avoid eye contact with the rest of the choir as they whisper
,
“
g
ood job
”
.
I look
humble,
but
I’m actually soaring because of how proud I am
.
I actually did it!
Now if only my mom would turn off that dang camera and sit down. My dad
gives
me
a
thumbs
up
,
and oh
yes
,
my mom is wipin
g a stray tear from her eye.
L
ooking at them you’d assume I’ve never done anything exciting in my entire life.

****

Our choir director grabs the microphone and clears his throat. The entire audience falls silent like he’s the president of the
United States
about to make his
State
of
the
Union
address.

Our town is small
.
J
ust because our choir
director
used to be a somewhat famous Christian artist does
n’
t mean he should be elected mayor or given
the key to the town
; h
owever
,
few agree with my practical assessment.
After all,
he did give me my starring solo,
so I should probably act a little more thankful.
So I, like everyone else
,
put the stars in my eyes and listen intently for what he is about to say.

“Now, I know we normally end after the starring solo
.”
H
e turns and winks at me while I
feel my face turn hot
as
people start
chant
ing
my name
.
“
B
ut,”
h
e says
,
holding up his hand
,
“
w
e have a little treat for all of you today
.
Preston, why don’t you come down here?”

Preston? Weird, I didn’t know he was i
n choir. Poor boy
.
H
e’d
be more attractive if he t
raded
in the
S
tar
W
ar
s t-shirts for some button-
ups. He
’
s the only member of the
local
Star Wars fan club; he refuses to acknowledge that George Lucas did
,
in fact
,
make more films. He says it
’
s blasphemy to even speak of it, thus why he
’
s the only member of
the
club.

Rather than his usual uniform sporting R2D2 or Luke Skywalker,
he
’
s
wear
ing a
n
over large
sweater vest and pants way too shor
t for his height. As I’m assessing his wardrobe
,
my eyes land on
Austin
Macintosh
,
a pretty boy.

G
ood looks and
talent on the basketball court don’t hurt
his popularity with the ladies
either.
Hopefully
,
he
’ll
ask me to prom
.
I mean
,
it’s
only natural
for
the starting point
guard
to
ask
out the s
oloist of the year
,
right? Deciding to be bold, I wink
at
him and
notice a faint blush stain his cheeks
and
his eyes shift downward in nervousness. When he looks up he lifts his h
and in a friendly wave and wink
s
. Yes!

“Amanda Lewis!”

I hear my name
. Why
do I hear my name? Turning
,
I
see Preston staring at me,
and
the entire audience seems to be waiting in
suspense
.

“What?” I ask in hushed tones
.

T
he girl next to me tells me Preston
had
asked me to approa
ch the front. Strange
,
but maybe I won an award?
Without
further
hesitation
,
I
walk up and smile brightly
as people clap. The temptation to wave again is overwhelming
,
and I succumb, beaming as I receive another round of applause.
Wow, I could get use to this kind of attention.
Finally I reach Preston
,
but
there’s
no trophy. Bummer.

He grabs for my hand
,
and before I can pull it away
,
it
’
s already stuck
in his grasp
.
H
e
’
s
rubbing my thumb. This is awkward
.
“Will you go to prom with me?”

He’s
kidding
.
I’m getting pranked
.
T
his
can’t
be real. Is this
Candid Camera
? Looking around
,
I
notice that everyone in the audience is
dead silent
.
E
ven my f
riends in the
choir
are sitting
there with
their mouths gap
ing
open
. This is social suicide.

As I take the
micr
ophone out of his hands
,
I feel the collective hush of people ho
lding their breath. Somehow
I manage
to press on
as gracefully as possible
.
“Wow, that’s so sweet to
offer
,
” I say cheerfully
.
I
see
my mom has turned the video camera back on. We’ll have words later.

“But
,
”
I say unsure
,
“I already promised
I
’
d go with my cousin.
Maybe if you
had
asked sooner…” This is my
peace offering, a pathetic one.

“Prom
’s in two
months,” Preston replies,
defeated.

“I know
,
” I say quickly
.
“
B
ut I wan
ted to get an early start
.
S
o s
orry
,
Preston.”

He grabs
t
he microphone and tr
ies
to smile
.
“
I
t
’
s okay
.
Y
ou
’
r
e
right
.
I should have asked sooner
.
H
ey
,
let’s give another round of applause to the soloist of the night!” He backs up and claps for me
,
bu
t I can see tears in his eyes. Humiliation, and it
’
s all my fault.

All I want right now is for the floor to swallow me alive.
T
hat is
n’
t an option,
however,
so I wave with little enthusiasm and find my seat.

A girl next to me nudges my knee
.
“
T
hat was close
,
huh?”
H
er eyes are laughing
,
like
she’s
making a joke
,
but I
just
want to
cry
.
H
ow cruel can a person be? People around me are m
uttering words like
,
o
uch
,
h
arsh
,
b
ummer
,
and I fight the tears
threatening
to
stream
down my face
. My throat constricts with a sudden onslaught of emotion
as I
watch
Preston slowly move back to his seat and hang his head in his hands
. I silently pray for him to lift his head and look in my direction. Instea
d
all
I
see
a single tear slide down his cheek
then nausea overwhelms me
. I
just shot Bambi
,
and
the worst part is
,
I can’t seem to find the strength to get up, walk o
ver to his seat, and apologize.