There she was. That young girl. Wondering if any of those boys wandering around the halls of the high school were going to ask her to Homecoming. "Probably not," she whispered to herself. Head down, she walked outside, through the parking lot. Walked home.
Within the week, she discovered something. One of those boys cruising along, walking from class to class noticed her. Had thought about her. And had wanted to ask her to the dance. And he did. Ask her. And she said "OK."
She didn't mind that he was shorter than her average girl height. His glasses didn't bother her either. What she did know what that he was kind. And polite. Not overbearing or pushy.
Within the following week, she discovered something else. Some more of those boys striding along, ambling through the corridors, also had intentions of asking her to the first formal dance of her freshman year.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Four more boys, including the boy she was crushing on, and the one she used to shove her third grade desk next to, asked her on a date. To the dance. Each boy, at a different time, approached her. Quietly, sort of shyly. And each asked, "Would you like to go to Homecoming with me?" She smiled all four times. And, in her head, in her heart, she wished she could have said yes. To each boy. But she didn't. She already told someone she'd go with him. Someone kind and polite.
So she told each of those boys, the ones who asked her too late, that she was "sorry, but I have already been asked." She lowered her head, feeling bad. Yet, feeling pretty happy. Realizing that she had it wrong. Completely wrong. Boys did want to dance with her.
She didn't mind that he was shorter than her average girl height. His glasses didn't bother her either. What she did know what that he was kind. And polite. Not overbearing or pushy.
Within the following week, she discovered something else. Some more of those boys striding along, ambling through the corridors, also had intentions of asking her to the first formal dance of her freshman year.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Four more boys, including the boy she was crushing on, and the one she used to shove her third grade desk next to, asked her on a date. To the dance. Each boy, at a different time, approached her. Quietly, sort of shyly. And each asked, "Would you like to go to Homecoming with me?" She smiled all four times. And, in her head, in her heart, she wished she could have said yes. To each boy. But she didn't. She already told someone she'd go with him. Someone kind and polite.
So she told each of those boys, the ones who asked her too late, that she was "sorry, but I have already been asked." She lowered her head, feeling bad. Yet, feeling pretty happy. Realizing that she had it wrong. Completely wrong. Boys did want to dance with her.
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