Date of publication: 2017-07-08 22:34
Kennedy and I were so scared that we acted like we were trapped in a pitch-black room, and we had just seen a ghost for the first time, and there was no way to get out! We were hugging in the parking lot and telling each other, “Everything is going to be just fine…” hopefully!
It is the third inning. It seems like it is one hundred degrees out, and I am in so much pain it feels like my leg is about to fall off because of how hard the batter’s ball hit my leg. Now I am forced to sit on the bench watching the game. It is hit after hit, run after run. It is not going well. I tell my dad I want to pitch again, but he just ignores me.
Then something happened to my dog. It was on a Wednesday when I went to my dad’s house. My mom called me and said my dog was going downhill. He was struggling badly because he was an old, old, old dog. The vet put him down. I felt sad. My dog’s name was Moby, and he was a black lab. It was a memorable time and important to me when it occurred.
I scanned the room, examining the other poor, unfortunate souls. There were three others in the room. A freshman girl was the only one I recognized. I had met her at orientation. She had dark brown hair, but I couldn’t quite place her name.
After she finishes talking to him, my dad starts to pull over to the side of the road. Luckily, there is a large space where he went. My mom pulls the family car over, too, and she and my dad work to fix the problem. Then we are back on the road again. I am glad that I have helped to solve the problem, but I am still sad that my GameBoy was missing.
“Thank you for coming today,” the association board member who’d enlisted me to speak said once it was over, pressing a fifteen-dollar Starbucks gift card into my hand. (Thank you notes, gift cards, and the “opportunity to sell books afterward” were standard payment for D-List speakers like me.) I smiled sheepishly, desperate to make my way to the book signing table. “You might want to check out Toastmasters ,” she said, nodding toward the stage. “I used to be terrible up there, too.”
“During swimming?” she supplied. “On the bus? Don’t you realize how horrible you’ve been? To Laura and to me. It’s not easy being your friend.” Her voice was cold.
“Mom this guy at school Stanley is planning to shoot John and me and I don’t know what to do.” Again I ran my words together, but she understood what I was saying.