Free The Downside of Being Up by Alan Sitomer Page B

man-to-man talk with his son. It seemed like he felt—what’s the word?—satisfied.
    I went straight to my room, closed my door and opened up the school’s e-link phone directory. A moment later I dialed up Allison on video chat.
    Yep, Dad’s words had set me straight. I knew exactly what I needed to do.
    â€œHey, Allison,” I said when her face came on the computer screen.
    It took a second for her to realize who I was.
    â€œDon’t you mean hi-hi?” she said with a thousand-watt smile once she saw it was me.
    â€œOh yeah, right,” I said. “Hi-hi. Look,” I began. “You know today when I saw you in the halls and asked about your math homework?”
    â€œUh-huh,” she answered.
    â€œWell, I don’t care about your stupid math homework. What I really wanted to do was ask you to the Big Dance, but I chickened out because I didn’t have the guts,” I said. “But now I do have the guts, so I’m gonna tell you three things: One . . .” I took a deep breath. “I think you’re beautiful. Two,” I continued, not letting her get in a word edgewise, “I think you’re a really nice, really cool person. And three,” I added, not slowing down for anything, “you make me feel, I don’t know, good on the inside when I see you in the halls or in class and stuff like that. I mean, it’s like, I don’t know, I just think you’re special.”
    I paused.
    Maybe I was making a fool of myself? Maybe I was creating yet another embarrassing, shameful, every-kid-in-the-school-is-going-to-hear-about-this-and-laugh-at-me moment? Maybe tomorrow the entire universe would have yet another reason to snort, giggle and hoot at Bobby Connor.
    But so what? I didn’t care. Screw my dad, I needed to reach. ’Cause if I didn’t, I think a part of me would have died.
    â€œAllison, I think you’re amazing and I’m one hundred percent convinced that you need to attend the eighth grade dance with me, because I’m sure we’ll have a great time together. And if you do not say yes right now, I am utterly certain it will be the greatest, most horrific tragedy in my young and absolutely pathetic life. So whaddya say?” I took one more deep breath. “Will you go to the Big Dance with me?”
    Then there was silence.

13
    â€œHey, Bobby, wanna hear my new poem for English class?”
    â€œI don’t want to hear your new poem, Finkelstein.”
    â€œBet you do.”
    â€œBet I don’t.”
    â€œBet you do.”
    â€œBet I don’t.”
    â€œYou know, Bobby,” said Finkelstein. “It’s really hard to be best friends with someone who is so emotionally withholding.”
    â€œWe’re not best friends, Finkelstein.”
    â€œSee?” he answered. “Withholding.”
    We stood in the center of the crowded hall. A banner made of blue paper advertising the Big Dance in red and black Magic Marker writing had been taped to the wall.
    Of course, I couldn’t tell Finkelstein that Allison had agreed to go to the dance with me. It would simply break the poor kid’s heart to discover I had a date and he didn’t, but the fact is, I don’t think God had yet invented the girl crazy enough to attend a school dance with Alfred Finkelstein. Sure, he pretended not to care about all the rejection, but deep down, I am sure he was sad about being turned down so many times. Knowing that, I decided to keep the fact that I had a Big Dance date a secret and listen to his poem, just so I didn’t hurt his feelings.
    â€œYou know what, Finkelstein, I’m in a good mood today. Why not? Hit me with this English-class poem of yours. If it’s good enough, maybe I’ll steal it, because I haven’t even given two seconds of thought to mine yet.”
    â€œHe-hurrggh, he-hurrggh.”
    â€œWhat? Why are you laughing?”
    â€œI knew you were