hair,” she replied, not even paying attention to him. More cool points.
“Wel , that is very important because that hair is a masterpiece.” I cringed for him. She rol ed her eyes. I looked over at Gia and wondered if I sounded that cheesy to her. She caught my glance and smiled at me. We heard the first bel tel ing us lunch was over. I walked Gia back to our lockers and then to speech. We took our assigned seats, and she sat sideways as we waited for class to start.
“Did you get snow in Indiana?” Britney Langley asked her, also sitting sideways.
“Yeah, we’d get a few inches every year. It got real y cold. The ice is worse than the snow.” She smiled politely.
“Did you ever go to a Colts game?” a boy across the room asked. I thought his name was Bryan. He was the editor of the school paper.
“Yeah, my step-dad’s law firm had a suite, so we went to a few games. I have a picture with Peyton Manning on my phone if you want to see.”
“Yeah!” A few kids crowded her as she flipped through the pictures and then showed it proudly to them. It was her in a Colts jersey and jeans, her hair pul ed up in blue and white ribbons in a ponytail with wispy curls around her face. Her brother was in a jersey and jeans also, along with a woman slightly tal er than her, but a ghost of her. It could have been Gia in twenty years. They were smiling with Peyton Manning’s arms around them.
“That’s real y cool,” Bryan said.
“Yeah, it was a fun night.”
“OK, guys, today we’re going to talk about basic techniques when giving speeches and how to address the audience,” Mr. Franklin began, as he entered the room with a stack of books. I assumed they were for dramatic effect. Everyone took their seats, and Gia smiled nervously at me before she turned around. I wondered what that was about.
I leaned forward to take notes, but couldn’t resist staring at the back of her head. She leaned forward and sat back nervously about halfway through the class. Final y, she passed me a note, and I realized she’d been trying to get my attention with her movement.
I don’t like sitting in front of you.
Why not? I passed the note back to her.
Because I can’t see what you’re doing. You’re making me nervous.
Don’t worry I’m just staring at the back of your head.
Exactly. Stop!
I chuckled and heard her snicker when she heard me laugh.
Can’t help it. What do you do to your hair to make it such a “masterpiece”?
Lame.
I try.
Well you should try harder.
OK, redo: don’t worry, I’m just waiting for this class to be over so I can read your note about five times and write you a response that will blow your mind.
I heard a slight gasp escape when she read it.
Better.
Can I read your note now?
No.
Please?
No.
You’re so demanding.
You might understand when you read it.
Fine, and honestly, thanks.
For what?
For writing me a note and distracting me from the back of your head.
Har, har, har. You’re welcome.
“Bryan, would you like to demonstrate this technique?” I looked up suddenly. I’d missed the lecture. Bryan went forward. Mr. Franklin handed him a paper. He stepped to the podium and read the statement.
“Very good. Now what could he have done to improve the speech? I wil only accept positive constructive criticism. If you are hurtful, or negative, then you wil go next, and only negative criticism wil be given from the class.” He raised his eyebrows to the class. The class cheerful y encouraged him to speak up, and to use his hands more. The bel rang.
“Tomorrow I want to start talking about our first real speech assignment and—” We were out of the class. I was walking so close to her. Again, I just had to reach over a little bit and touch her hand. I could just hold a finger. Our pinkies could touch.
“Gia?” Not again, I thought. We’d have to find another way to her next class. Gia turned to see Jil ian waving at us.
“Please, no,” she said under her
“Wel , that is very important because that hair is a masterpiece.” I cringed for him. She rol ed her eyes. I looked over at Gia and wondered if I sounded that cheesy to her. She caught my glance and smiled at me. We heard the first bel tel ing us lunch was over. I walked Gia back to our lockers and then to speech. We took our assigned seats, and she sat sideways as we waited for class to start.
“Did you get snow in Indiana?” Britney Langley asked her, also sitting sideways.
“Yeah, we’d get a few inches every year. It got real y cold. The ice is worse than the snow.” She smiled politely.
“Did you ever go to a Colts game?” a boy across the room asked. I thought his name was Bryan. He was the editor of the school paper.
“Yeah, my step-dad’s law firm had a suite, so we went to a few games. I have a picture with Peyton Manning on my phone if you want to see.”
“Yeah!” A few kids crowded her as she flipped through the pictures and then showed it proudly to them. It was her in a Colts jersey and jeans, her hair pul ed up in blue and white ribbons in a ponytail with wispy curls around her face. Her brother was in a jersey and jeans also, along with a woman slightly tal er than her, but a ghost of her. It could have been Gia in twenty years. They were smiling with Peyton Manning’s arms around them.
“That’s real y cool,” Bryan said.
“Yeah, it was a fun night.”
“OK, guys, today we’re going to talk about basic techniques when giving speeches and how to address the audience,” Mr. Franklin began, as he entered the room with a stack of books. I assumed they were for dramatic effect. Everyone took their seats, and Gia smiled nervously at me before she turned around. I wondered what that was about.
I leaned forward to take notes, but couldn’t resist staring at the back of her head. She leaned forward and sat back nervously about halfway through the class. Final y, she passed me a note, and I realized she’d been trying to get my attention with her movement.
I don’t like sitting in front of you.
Why not? I passed the note back to her.
Because I can’t see what you’re doing. You’re making me nervous.
Don’t worry I’m just staring at the back of your head.
Exactly. Stop!
I chuckled and heard her snicker when she heard me laugh.
Can’t help it. What do you do to your hair to make it such a “masterpiece”?
Lame.
I try.
Well you should try harder.
OK, redo: don’t worry, I’m just waiting for this class to be over so I can read your note about five times and write you a response that will blow your mind.
I heard a slight gasp escape when she read it.
Better.
Can I read your note now?
No.
Please?
No.
You’re so demanding.
You might understand when you read it.
Fine, and honestly, thanks.
For what?
For writing me a note and distracting me from the back of your head.
Har, har, har. You’re welcome.
“Bryan, would you like to demonstrate this technique?” I looked up suddenly. I’d missed the lecture. Bryan went forward. Mr. Franklin handed him a paper. He stepped to the podium and read the statement.
“Very good. Now what could he have done to improve the speech? I wil only accept positive constructive criticism. If you are hurtful, or negative, then you wil go next, and only negative criticism wil be given from the class.” He raised his eyebrows to the class. The class cheerful y encouraged him to speak up, and to use his hands more. The bel rang.
“Tomorrow I want to start talking about our first real speech assignment and—” We were out of the class. I was walking so close to her. Again, I just had to reach over a little bit and touch her hand. I could just hold a finger. Our pinkies could touch.
“Gia?” Not again, I thought. We’d have to find another way to her next class. Gia turned to see Jil ian waving at us.
“Please, no,” she said under her
Similar Books
