The Note
A few days later, right in the middle of class, the door opened. One of the office helpers stepped inside carrying a folded note.
She walked over to the teacher, whispered something, and handed it to her. The teacher looked down at the note…
looked around the room… and smiled.
“Billy?”
Every head turned.
Mine included.
The office helper walked over and handed me the folded note.
I started to open it.
The teacher smiled.
“Not now.”
“You can read it after class.”
Apparently…
she’d already read it.
I hadn’t.
So there I sat…
holding what had suddenly become the most interesting piece of paper in the room.
I’m sure the teacher taught something important that day.
I couldn’t tell you what it was.
Neither, as I recall, could anybody else. There was a stir around the room.
Kids kept looking over at me…
then at the note…
then back at me again.
Everybody wanted to know what was in it.
Truth is…
so did I.
Evidently… “Someone” had already figured out the system well enough to interrupt class just to get me a note.
I was still trying to find the cafeteria. lol
I left the classroom as soon as the bell rang. I found a quiet spot in the hallway to check out this mysterious note.
I opened it and it simply said…
“Would you go to the Honor Society Dance with me”
and was signed….
Maybe
I had no idea who that was, but a friend was standing there and I asked him… Who is Maybe? He laughed and said… she’s right over there.
She’s the blond.
I glanced over and saw 3 girls standing across the hall.
It was clear they were waiting on me to read the note.
My friend pointed out Maybe, and briefly our eyes met.
She was cute! I mean really cute…
I looked back toward the three girls. They were still pretending not to watch me.
They weren’t fooling anybody.
I smiled.
Well…
This should be interesting.
Truth is…
I was shy.
Very shy.
Most people never knew it.
I’d learned pretty early that everybody gets butterflies The energy that created those butterflies never really went away.
Somewhere along the way…
I learned to put it to work. So while everyone else saw a confident fourteen-year-old walking toward a pretty cheerleader…
what they didn’t see…
was a shy kid quietly putting his butterflies to work.
I could tell by the look on her face she hadn’t expected me to walk over
quite like that.
But, standing there wondering about her
didn’t seem like much of a strategy.
I folded the note…
slipped it into my pocket…
and started walking.
She smiled as I walked up.
“Hi.”
She smiled back.
“Thanks for the note.”
“You’re welcome.”
“This seems like a good time to introduce myself.”
She laughed.
Just like that…
the butterflies had something better to do.
“So…”
“I’ve got a question.”
“Okay.”
“What is a Honor Society Dance.”
She smiled.
“You’ve never been to one?”
I shook my head.
“Truth is…”
“That isn’t exactly my crowd.”
“It’s just a dance.”
“Nothing to worry about.”
I nodded.
“Okay…”
“Then I’ve got another question.”
“I figured you might.”
“What are you going to wear?”
Her smile got even bigger.
She started describing the dress she was planning to wear.
The color.
The shoes.
Her hair.
Every detail.
It didn’t take long to figure out…
she loved clothes.
I don’t remember all of it anymore.
I just remember thinking…
She had definitely given this a whole lot more thought than I would have.
When she finally came up for air…
“Perfect.” I said.
She tilted her head.
“Perfect?”
“Now I’ve got some shopping to do.”
I’d like to think she liked knowing that our first date mattered enough to me that I was going to buy something new just for the occasion.
“What should I wear?”
Without missing a beat…
she started planning my wardrobe too.
That conversation probably saved me
from showing up looking like an idiot.
I’ve learned something over the years.
If a woman enjoys clothes…
ask what she’s planning to wear.
Then pay attention.
It’ll save you from making some remarkably bad decisions.
Finally…
I looked down the hallway toward her next classroom.
“Can I walk you to class?”
“I’d like that.”
I reached over and picked up her books.
So we started walking.
Just talking.
About school.
Teachers.
The dance.
Whatever fourteen-year-olds talk about when
they’re trying to convince
each other they aren’t nervous.
By the time we reached her classroom…
the new kid didn’t feel quite so new anymore.
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