OUT OF MY LEAGUE
EXCERPT:
Floating (Shoshana)
That just happened. I can’t believe that just happened. Am I dreaming?
Dale Rogers offered to carry my books for me. Dale Rogers had a conversation with me. Dale Rogers is a really nice guy!
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of his groupies. Not even close. I’ve always found it ridiculous how what seems like ninety percent of the girls in my senior class are always fawning over him, acting like he’s the most amazing person ever to walk the earth. Simply because he’s a football player. And class president. And he looks good.
If I’m being completely honest with myself, I’ve always kind of agreed with them about Dale’s looks. He has blondish-brown hair that always seems to fall right, dark green eyes, handsome features, and strong, muscular arms. I’m not blind. I can see that Dale’s a good-looking dude. But I’ve never been crazy about him like the other girls, because, well, for one, he’s in a totally separate social class from me, and for two, I’d always figured he’d be kind of a jerk. Well, maybe not a jerk, but at least arrogant. Full of himself. Thinking he’s the coolest thing around.
And that was totally not the case. First of all, he seemed truly apologetic for crashing into me. He carried my books for me even though he knew it would make him late to his own class. He talked to me—actually talked to little old me! And then seeing him interact with that kid from the special ed class… that was just the sweetest thing ever.
I float through French, and before I know it it’s the end of the day. I pile my books into their massive stack again and wait for the rest of the class to clear out before I head out the door.
When I take my first step into the hallway, I take a quick glance around. It’s not like I actually expect Dale to be there again, but if he is… would it be presumptuous to ask him to carry half of my books again? Would that be weird?
Would he even remember me?
~
Wondering (Dale)
It’s been a week. A week since I met her. Why am I still thinking about her?
I guess the main thing is I still feel like an idiot for not asking her name. What kind of arrogant jerk does she think I am?
I want to find her again. I could find her again. I know where two of her classes are. But what the heck would I say—“Oh, hi, sorry I waited a week, but—what’s your name?” Uh-huh. Me, auto mechanics student, who she already knows has never been seen carrying books around school before, having the audacity to go up and ask the name of an AP student?
OK. So I actually do know a couple AP students, and I’m on good terms with them. And obviously some of the AP kids I know know her, because they’re in her French class. I could just ask one of them what her name is.
But I know what they’d do. They’d laugh. They’d want to know why I want to know her name. They’d probably assume that I liked her or something like that, and they wouldn’t even bother actually telling me her name. They’d just go, “Dude, she’s way out of your league. She’d never be interested in you.”
I know that she’d never be interested in me. And I’m not interested in her that way, because I don’t even really know her. I just want to know her name.
EXCERPT:
Floating (Shoshana)
That just happened. I can’t believe that just happened. Am I dreaming?
Dale Rogers offered to carry my books for me. Dale Rogers had a conversation with me. Dale Rogers is a really nice guy!
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of his groupies. Not even close. I’ve always found it ridiculous how what seems like ninety percent of the girls in my senior class are always fawning over him, acting like he’s the most amazing person ever to walk the earth. Simply because he’s a football player. And class president. And he looks good.
If I’m being completely honest with myself, I’ve always kind of agreed with them about Dale’s looks. He has blondish-brown hair that always seems to fall right, dark green eyes, handsome features, and strong, muscular arms. I’m not blind. I can see that Dale’s a good-looking dude. But I’ve never been crazy about him like the other girls, because, well, for one, he’s in a totally separate social class from me, and for two, I’d always figured he’d be kind of a jerk. Well, maybe not a jerk, but at least arrogant. Full of himself. Thinking he’s the coolest thing around.
And that was totally not the case. First of all, he seemed truly apologetic for crashing into me. He carried my books for me even though he knew it would make him late to his own class. He talked to me—actually talked to little old me! And then seeing him interact with that kid from the special ed class… that was just the sweetest thing ever.
I float through French, and before I know it it’s the end of the day. I pile my books into their massive stack again and wait for the rest of the class to clear out before I head out the door.
When I take my first step into the hallway, I take a quick glance around. It’s not like I actually expect Dale to be there again, but if he is… would it be presumptuous to ask him to carry half of my books again? Would that be weird?
Would he even remember me?
~
Wondering (Dale)
It’s been a week. A week since I met her. Why am I still thinking about her?
I guess the main thing is I still feel like an idiot for not asking her name. What kind of arrogant jerk does she think I am?
I want to find her again. I could find her again. I know where two of her classes are. But what the heck would I say—“Oh, hi, sorry I waited a week, but—what’s your name?” Uh-huh. Me, auto mechanics student, who she already knows has never been seen carrying books around school before, having the audacity to go up and ask the name of an AP student?
OK. So I actually do know a couple AP students, and I’m on good terms with them. And obviously some of the AP kids I know know her, because they’re in her French class. I could just ask one of them what her name is.
But I know what they’d do. They’d laugh. They’d want to know why I want to know her name. They’d probably assume that I liked her or something like that, and they wouldn’t even bother actually telling me her name. They’d just go, “Dude, she’s way out of your league. She’d never be interested in you.”
I know that she’d never be interested in me. And I’m not interested in her that way, because I don’t even really know her. I just want to know her name.
