Take My Advice

Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

Colby sat in front of me in English class. At the start of the year when we were all laying claim to "our" seats, I hung back until I saw where he was planning to sit and then I pounced for a spot two rows back and one column over. I probably took out a few teeth with my elbow as I forced my way through the crowd and flung myself into the chair I wanted, but I considered it a small price to pay for the perfect vantage point from whence to watch the man of my dreams.  

Mr. Griffith had asked Colby to read a poem to the class, and I closed my eyes in the deliciousness of the moment. Colby's voice was low and mellow, and he seemed to appreciate all the nuances that were supposed to go into a piece of poetry. Most other guys read in monotone, or seemed to think that they had to pause at the end of every line whether there was a comma or period there or not. Colby . . . Colby just got it.  

"Jill, you seem to be enjoying this piece. How would you analyze the rhythm?" Mr. Griffith's much-less sonorous voice cut into my reverie and I realized I'd been swaying back and forth a little bit. Not a lot, not like I was drunk or anything-at least, I didn't think it was that much. Amanda would have to tell me later. I'm sure she saw the whole thing.  

"I would say that the cadence is rather measured and even, but it doesn't have to be read that way. There's a flow from line to line that allows the reader to determine for himself how to approach it."  

"Very good, Jill. As we just heard, Colby chose to let the rhythm move from line to line without forcing the beat of the syllables. Another reader might . . ." Mr. Griffith continued on, but I needed a minute to recover from being put on the spot like that, and another minute to get over my embarrassment about my little Colby love-fest. 

"Hey, that was a good answer."  

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Dylan sitting behind me. "Thanks."  

"Poetry isn't my thing. I'm more of a sci-fi nerd."  

He wasn't really talking to me in the middle of this class, was he? I mean, of all the classes to interrupt . . . and right while Mr. Griffith was praising Colby for his brilliance, too. I needed to be in on that discussion-at least to hear it, even if I couldn't add to it without incriminating myself further.  

"Have you read Lloyd Alexander?"  

"Yes. Several times. Now, we're not supposed to be whispering in class."  

"Oh, right. Sorry." Dylan settled back in his chair and I turned my attention to Mr. Griffith. He was still discussing meter, so I guess I hadn't missed much. Still, I was annoyed-who just talks in the middle of English class like that? It was so bohemian.  

Colby didn't say anything else for the rest of the period, but that was all right. I contented myself by studying his hair. See, his hair is not just blond. It's more of a sandy blond with caramel highlights. I don't mean that he dyed it-this was all natural, the tones blending from one to the other to create a perfect head of hair. I wondered who cut it, and hoped they realized how incredibly lucky they were to get to run their fingers through it on a regular basis.  

When the bell rang, I gathered up my books and shoved them into my backpack, and then headed for the door. Amanda and I always meet at my locker after English-it's the best place for me to dish about my thoughts and feelings and every little word and exchanged glance. And yes, I realize how pathetic I sound, carrying on a whole love affair with a guy who only sees me as a cog in the newspaper machine, or a piece of the giant puzzle. But at least I'm not a dumb border piece-I'm right in the middle, making up a vital part of the picture. According to the latest student poll, and we all know how unerringly accurate those are, my column is the most read out of all the regular features.