All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Oh, That Silverado
I sat on the bumper of my dad's Silverado trunk, parked in the mud of the ground outside of the baseball game.
My brother played, but I hated watching the game. SO boring. I was forced to come, nonetheless, and read a book on the tailgate of my dad's sleek, red Silverado, outside of the boys' locker room.
The game must have ended, because people came pouring out of the field. I also heard cheers; our team must have won.
Then he walked out. Scott Blunder. The tall, blue eyed, brown haired, deep voiced boy that everyone adored. I had a huge crush on him, even though we were so different. Scott, a country, sporty, popular boy. Me, Avery Goodman, rocker chick, skinny but out of shape, unpopular, considered weird by most, girl.
I was always too nervous to say anything to him, yet I found a word spilling out of my mouth:
"Hey."
I couldn't believe I had said it. And, surprisingly, he acknowledged me. Scott looked at me and smiled a pearly smile of perfect teeth.
"Hey, there," he said. Deep, country voice.
That was the first time we exchanged words.
-----------------------------------
A few months later, Scott walked me to that same old Silverado. By this time, though, it had been passed down to my brother. Tears were welling up in my eyes. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave my town, my friends, and, most of all, I didn't want to leave my Scott.
He helped me up into the not-so-sleek red truck. I kissed him one last time.
"I'll call you tomorrow."
Scott let go of my hand.
That was a call I never got to make.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.