14

"Emma," the teacher says. "What is Shakespeare's philosophy?"

Ugh. Damn, this is a hard one. Nevertheless, I answer. "Shakespeare's philosophy of life was kind of pessimistic. It seems like he was agnostic, so he believed that there is basically no proof of the existence of God. However, he doesn't say he's agnostic because at the time the church was very powerful." I say. I'm about to go more deeply into the subject, but Mrs. Keeve interrupts me. "Very good, Miss Johnson. Does anyone want to add something?" she asks the class, and I can tell that my interrogation is over. Wow, that was fast.

Just as well. As much as I know about Shakespeare, I really don't like being in the center of attention.

"How'd you know that?" someone asks me suddenly, and I slightly jump in my chair. Without even turning around, I say, "Tom, geez. Stop scaring me like that."

"I'm sorry, Nerd, but I can't help it." he says. Now, I turn around to look at him. "And you have to call me Tommy."

"Right." I say while nodding. "I'm sorry, Tommy."

He smiles proudly and sits straightly. "Much better." he crouches down again and whispers, "I had fun last night." he says. "Want to hang out sometime?"

My heart starts beating quickly in my chest, and my breath catches. Is he asking me out? Again? Oh, man. Oh, man. Oh, man. I've never been asked out before, unless you count that time when Tom asked me if I wanted to have lunch with him. It sounds like he asked me out, but it didn't feel like it.

I snap back to reality. Tom just asked me a question, and I should probably answer him. "When?" I ask. "Because I'm pretty busy." A total lie, but I have this feeling inside me that's resisting his offer. I really want to go, honest, but I can't shake the feeling that I shouldn't.

"I don't know. When are you free?" he asks, and I don't know how to answer.

"Uh… I'm busy basically every day except for Saturday." I answer.

What? Why would you say that? Now he's going to ask if you want to meet him on Saturday. What is wrong with you? I think to myself.

"Great." he says quietly. "So what if we meet on Saturday? Say, around two in the afternoon?"

"Uh… yeah. Yes, okay. Yeah." I find myself saying. Something is really, really wrong with me. I have this sinking feeling in my stomach that I shouldn't do this. But why?

"Awesome." Tom says, and then keeps taking notes, leaving me in shock, in panic and about to freak the hell out.

I think I can somehow find an excuse for not being able to go out with Tom, but all the things I can think of are really lame and easily discoverable. I don't want to take any chances that he may find out, so I decide to just suck it up and get through this date.

On Friday I practically run to the bus stop hoping that Karen is already there, but no such luck. I have to wait a good five minutes before seeing her walk towards me. I know I'm being a little overdramatic, but you can't blame me. I've never had a boyfriend, much less gone on a date.

"I'm freaking out." I tell Karen without even saying hi. "I need your help."

"What's up?" she asks.

I tell her everything, and his eyes widen as I explain to her my problem. When I'm done, her eyes look like they want to pop out of their sockets.

"Oh my gosh!" Karen exclaims. "Of course I'll help you! When is the date?"

I cringe and the last word, but I guess it's accurate. "Saturday at two."

"Where are you guys going?" she asks again.

I open my mouth to answer when I realize that Tom and I didn't decide where to go.

"I don't know. We haven't talked about it." I tell Karen.

"Oh, maybe he'll have a big surprise planned for you," Karen says. "Like a big fluffy pillow or a motorcycle."

I look at her in disgust. "What? No. I don't think that's what's going to happen." I say. "I don't know. We'll probably just go to the mall or something. Nothing too fancy."

"Whatever you say, Emma," she says. "Besides, we have to worry about something more important than where you're going."

I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion. "What should we worry about?"

An evil grin appears on Karen's face. "Your clothes for the date."

Fortunately for me, I still had a day of school before Karen could torture me into looking pretty. She started talking about waxing my legs and arms, putting on make-up and giving me a pair of high heels to wear. I'm scared.

I have two periods of Social Studies, two periods of P.E. and two periods of English in the afternoon.

Social Studies is, for me, probably the most boring subject ever. So, obviously, it's the only lesson where time seems to stop. I take notes and everything, but it's happened before that I look at the time, sigh and keep writing. Then, what seems like half an hour later, I look at the clock again and see that only five minutes have passed. I really want to die when that happens.

Luckily, the teacher does us a favor: he's introducing a new topic, so talks the whole time, but he tells us that he would give us the slides the next lesson. Meaning that we don't have to take notes today.

I usually scribble something down anyways, but I'm not feeling like it today. I place down my pen and listen to the professor.

P.E. is fun. I know there are a lot of people that think otherwise, but I think that P.E. is one of the best subjects to do in school. You get to run around the whole time, playing and hitting your classmates in the face with a ball. What's not to like?

Mr. Martinez, the teacher, tells us we are going to play dodge ball today. I hear many groans, but I smile brightly. Dodge ball is one of my favorite games. I have a pretty good aim, I'm not a bad catcher, and I'm fast.

We make two teams, and I'm in the blue team. My teammates aren't the best: two guys that actually play, three that run around trying to avoid the ball, and five that never do anything.

I sigh, I guess I'm on my own.

Mr. Martinez blows the whistle, and I get to work. I sprint towards the ball in the center and pick it up. The other team is able to get three balls out of five, so I strategically step back. Two from the red team throw their balls. One hits one of my teammates, but the other one bounces off the far wall.

I take this moment as a chance to strike. I throw the ball, and it hits the guy who had hit my teammate. His eyes widen in shock, but he grins and goes to sit on the bench.

The game goes on smoothly. The opposing team tries to hit me multiple times, but I'm always able to avoid it. Unfortunately, when the red team realized that they couldn't catch me, they focused on my teammates.

After a while, I found myself alone. Two balls were in my court, but three evil-looking guys were holding the other three. I throw one ball and quickly pick up the other one. When I look up, I see one of the guys trying to catch the ball, but it slips through his fingers and falls to the floor.

"Out!" Mr. Martinez calls.

The guy walks away reluctantly and sits on the bench. I turn my attention back to the other two players. One of them throws the ball at what seems like fifty miles an hour, directly towards my chest. I instinctively duck to avoid it, losing my grip on the ball I have in my hands. I stand up swiftly, but another ball is about to hit my face. Without even thinking about it, I raise my hands to protect my face, waiting for the blow.

It doesn't come. I had somehow caught the ball in my hands without even knowing it. I look up and see the other guys looking at me in shock, and I think my expression is pretty close to theirs.

One of my teammates runs back on the court and picks up one of the balls. In a matter of minutes, the last red-team player is hit.

I told you I'm good at dodgeball.