El Legacy Publications

“Maude, why are we going up the stairs? You know how I feel about heights,” I say shakily as I cling close to the school wall.

I don’t need to be reminded, again, of the Disneyland spring break vacation I took when I was in second grade. We all know the story of what happened to me after my mom forced me to ride the Tower of Terror. I haven’t been able to sleep on the second story of a hotel since.

“I’m just trying to break all of your irrational fears in one day. Honestly, Beck, you need to live a little. What are you going to do in college?” she questions, staring over the railing.

“Study and to get good grades,” I shrug.

Maude’s icy eyes look back at me incredulously. She then stands at the edge of the balcony, looking out across the school. I press my back into the school’s wall and my fingers dig into any crevices I can find. The sight of Maude near the edge fills me with anxiety. Fearful, I close my eyes and try not to think too much about the possible outcomes of standing too close to the edge.

Her hand takes mine and my eyes burst open. Suddenly, my comforting wall is no longer against my back. Maude is using all of her might to drag me to the balcony. However, I continue to resist. Over and over, I say no, which doesn’t discourage her one bit. I feel the need to scream, but can’t find myself to do so because it will attract too much attention. For one, we’re not allowed to be up here during our lunch hour, and two, if I scream, Maude and I will be sent to the principal’s office for questioning over our “suspicious activities.”

Somehow, she gets me to the edge of the balcony. I clasp the bar so tightly that my knuckles turn white. Maude’s hands are around the bar as well. She keeps her left hand close to my right, just in case she has to grab my hand if I try to escape. Taking deep breaths, I close my eyes and try to tell myself that I am on the ground and there is no possible way of falling. This causes me to envision myself falling from the building, and my heart rate sky rockets.

“Beck, calm down! Just open your eyes and enjoy the fountain view,” Maude encourages.

My eyes scrunch as I try to make sense of her words. Fountain? Our school doesn’t have a fountain? Her words fill my mind with curiosity and I can’t help but take a peek. When my eyes open, I stop breathing. Just as I suspected, there is no fountain. We’re just on the second floor of the school, looking down at the student body wandering around during our lunch period.

Cliche cliques weren’t purposely formed at our school. Similar interests just brought people together. Fear hammers through my veins as I look down at the supposed fountain view that Maude is trying to make me envision. All I see are the similar colors bunched together in lopsided ovals. On the far end of the school are the cheerleaders in their green and tan uniforms. Across from them, are the football players. (Maude calls our mascot the Oak Tree, but we are the Fearless Pine Cones. I still don’t see how a pine cone could be fearless.)

Outside the bandroom, I see the other flute players. I’m tempted to run down there, but Maude holds onto my wrist. She signals for me to continue to look. What more does she want me to look at? Our entire student body consists of close to 600 students, and everyone knows one or two things about each other.

“What do you want me to look at?” I urge her to answer. Already, my eyes are closed again.

That day, Maude set out to conquer my fear of heights. Although it didn’t happen that day, it did later on that year. But that’s another story.

“Beck, stop closing your eyes, the floor isn’t going to fall in the next ten minutes!” she yells.

“Maude, there could be an earthquake, or a plane could crash into the school, or a---”

She rolls her eyes in the process of groaning, “Stop assuming the worst! For one minute, open your eyes and forget about falling and the fact that we are only 100 feet up off the ground. Just listen to what I have to say, and we’ll be off the second floor in the blink of an eye.”

Reluctantly, I open my eyes. The first time I blink, I attempt to take myself out of Maude’s grasp. She isn’t willing to let go until I have to hear what she has to say. Rather than looking down, I just look up. It only makes me feel more faint. Maude’s hand tugs at my hair and forces me to look down at the first floor of our school. As she begins to elaborate on her coin theory, it all starts to make sense.

Her words transform the bottom floor of the school into a pool of water. The description she has of every girl, causes my eyes to view every girl’s head as a coin. Cheer uniforms are topped with shiny pennies. My flute group are all quarters, with the exception of Madison Shane. (She is only a dime because she dated the quarterback for 3 hours. Sure, he was only using Madison to make his then-ex-girlfriend jealous, but now everyone knows her as Madison Shane-angle.)

I swear the kids at my school were the dullest colors in a box of crayons. Honestly, Shane-angle? That doesn’t sound remotely close to Triangle to refer to her 3 hours of dating the quarterback. The sad part is, that wasn’t the worst nickname that they assigned. But I’ll get to that part of the story later.

As for the rest of the fountain, there are various coins making their way through the school. Maude then nudges me. I look over at her and she asks, “So which one do you want to go after?”

Maude has always been pushy. Her theater background only made it worse. She isn’t keen on the idea of being shy. But somehow, as polar as our personalities are, Maude and I are best friends. I put up with her over-the-top need for the spotlight, and she borderline agrees with my shyness.

Although, now that we are in senior year, I have seen a shift in Maude. Lately, she has become more pushy. She’s beginning to fear that we won’t get into the same college. With my stellar grades and harmonious flute skills, I’m not too worried. As for Maude, her grades are up there and she participates in any production in the area. Maude is just overreacting to the fact that we are about to be grown-ups.

Now kids, listen closely. When Maude and I were six-years-old, we were sitting in my treehouse on a rainy day. Maude told me that we have to embrace our youth for as long as we can because that’s the only time where we will truly be free of stress. She banned us from playing games that were typical such as “high school”, “house”, and “super market”.

The next thing she said has been forever engraved in my mind. “You see Beck, kids spend too much time anticipating for the future, rather than taking the time to enjoy their pre-puberty state. You and me are going to be the exception,” she holds her pinky out to me, “let’s make a Pinky-Promise-Pact, a Triple-P, that we won’t ever worry about the future and that we’re just going to live in the moment.”

I can’t say we committed to that promise, but we did loosely stick to it. Maude very much lives in the moment. She does worry about the future, but she doesn’t express  it out loud. Maude’s actions were saying it louder than ever at that moment. In fact, we were both scared of what was to come after we walked the stage and accepted our diplomas.

“Didn’t you guys---”

“Dinosaur, please, I’m trying to tell a story,” I interject before her can spoil the story, even though they are all more than aware of the fate Maude and I had.

“Maude, I’m not “going after” any of these girls. It’s the first day of senior year, should I really make a fool of myself this early in the year?” I question.

She nods, “Of course, that way by the end of the year, no one will remember.”

Maude grabs my hand and begins to drag me down behind her. Relieved we are leaving the second floor, I’m more than willing to go along with her plan. It’s just one girl that I have to “go after.” Why not “go after” one that I somewhat know? However, it will make things awkward for the rest of the year, rather than a few minutes.

In front of my eyes, she snaps her fingers to break me from my thoughts. Never have I ever been so happy to be on the ground level of our school. I begin to head back to the band room, but Maude grabs the sleeve of my shirt and pulls me back. “Beck, are you forgetting what you’re supposed to do?”

“I never agreed to anything,” I scoff.

She pleads, “Beck c’mon just once. It’s not like I’m asking you to bite your own finger off. I’m just having you talk to a pretty girl.”

Annoyed, I groan. Maude and I begin to scan the fountain. The sight of all the coins is beginning to make me dizzy. Dimes and quarters surround me, with nickels here and there, and pennies on the far side.

I lean towards her, “Does this theory only apply to girls, or do you use this on guys?” She nods her head and reminds me that was besides the point. We’re here to find me a girlfriend, not for me to question her theory. How does Maude expect for me to get a girlfriend that fast? Sure, she and Atlas happened in the blink of an eye, but they were made for each other.

Atlas and Maude are the true definition of true love. Maude wants me to fit the definition as well, but I’m just too awkward. Seventeen years of life, no first kiss, and no first girlfriend.

“That sounds extremely sad out loud,” I realize.

Chloe sarcastically remarks, “I could almost cry a river.”

Maude then points to a girl. Already, I know that she is out of my league. How does Maude expect me to go after that girl? Couldn’t we start with someone easier? Possibly someone at my level? What would I even say? Should I ask how her about what math class she has? Maybe a fact about flutes? Or should I ask if she spent her summer efficiently?

Question after question enters my head and I can’t settle on one. I can’t just go up to a girl and talk to her. Let alone, can I go up to her with the expectations that Maude has. Honestly, I can’t pick up a girl that easily.

Taking small steps back, Maude pulls me forward and pushes me towards her.

I look back at Maude and beg, “Please don’t make me do this. I don’t even know what to say to her.”

“Beck just be yourself! You aren’t asking her to marry you. Just make a short conversation with her then ask her out on a group date for coffee or something.”

“Maude, that will nev---”

“Beck! Stop doubting yourself!”

“Sorry, it’s not humanly possible.”

Maude’s eyes glare at me. Those blue eyes of her are sending icicles in my direction. She isn’t going to let this go. I know she expects for me to have at least a five minute conversation with this girl, but Maude knows me better than anyone else. If anything, she should lower her expectations. Maude should just be proud that I am actually going to walk up to this girl without her by my side.

“I don’t even know what I should say,” I shrug and begin to walk back over to her.

Maude holds up her hand and signals me away in the process of saying, “Just say your Sally Beauty pickup line.”

Nervously, I run my hand through my hair and turn around. That pickup line was a joke, never intended for use. If anything, I shouldn’t have said it out loud since it is utterly lame. However, Maude got a kick out of it, and so did Atlas. It’s bad, so bad that it makes criminals look good.

I keep a slow and cautious gait towards this girl. The sight of her causes my heart to accelerate. How will she react to my pickup line? It’s obvious that she’s going to think I’m a nerd and ultra lame; well I am, but that’s besides the point. Will I even be able to get a word out? This girl is beautiful. She’s staring at me.

Dead in my tracks, I stop. Her ebony eyes stare into mine. Air is caught in my throat and the color in my cheeks disappears. Then something amazing happens, we make eye contact and she actually starts to walk towards me. Me. She stops in front of me and she’s the perfect height to where she only has to tilt her head up slightly so we can make perfect eye contact.

Her eyebrows lift, “Did you need something?” Her voice is light like a feather. Her breath hits my face like a warm summer breeze. The smile she has on her face is so bright that it could light the entire globe at once.

For the first time, I flirt without stuttering, “Is your name Sally because you’re full of beauty?”

She actually laughs and it’s so light, airy, and pretty that it sounds like the hand bells. Plus, there was zero pity in the laugh; she truly liked it. She giggles, “No, actually my name is…”

“Anyone up for seconds?” my mom calls.

Every one of them jumps up from the table and cheers. They still have half-filled plates. With the amount of storytelling I have done, I have barely dug into my food. My mom didn’t even compliment how quiet I have kept them. Two by two they leave. Meredith is the last of the group to leave.

She rises from the table and makes eye contact with me. Meredith remarks, “I just thought that I would let you know that not one of us believe your story. There’s no way that your lame pick up line picked up that penny.”

“I didn’t say that---”

“Beck, don’t try to defend yourself, it’s just sad,” she pats my shoulders then dashes away with her plate for more stuffing.

Not once did I say that girl was a penny. Plus, they didn’t allow me to even finish the story, this wasn’t even the half of it. They better get a large second helping, this story is going to take a lot longer than their young minds are prepared for.