My humor guru, C.J., says this should be my first humor-effort post. This actually was on my site a long, long time ago and somehow isn’t there anymore. I must have removed it when I revamped the site a few months back. Anyway–the first five efforts will be centered around this story. Feedback is always appreciated!
The last day of sixth grade wasn’t my most brilliant.
For starters, all the sixth graders at Mandan Middle School were involved in a humongous softball tournament. I was on the same team as TayLynn and TeLora Birdbeard, which meant I had to put up with their almost-constant remarks about my lack of softball abilities and their twittering whenever Ashton Newberry was up to bat.
Silly twins. You’d think after six grades of crushing on the same guy, they’d give up and move on to someone else.
Not that I could blame them. Ashton had these huge blue eyes, hair that reminded me of melted chocolate chips and a smile so bright that his shiny trumpet seemed wooden in comparison.
Sigh. I’d been crushing on him, too. We shared the same music stand in band class. Surely that was the perfect beginning for the perfect relationship, right?
But no. I never knew what to say to him beyond asking him to change the music or turn the stand so I could see it better. The longest conversation we had all year was the day that I accidentally spilled a package of Skittles into my trumpet case. He tried to help me get them cleaned up before Mr. Barton saw.
Unfortunately, a strawberry-flavored Skittle got caught far enough down my trumpet that it blocked off the horn. I didn’t know it until I tried to play Aura Lee with the rest of the trumpet section. All that came out was a long, squeaky wheeze. I blew harder, trying to get any kind of a decent sound to come out, and the Skittle suddenly dislodged. It launched out of my trumpet and hit Mr. Barton in the forehead just as my trumpet blared like a dying elephant. The class burst into a torrent of laughter that lasted nearly half an hour—at least until Mr. Barton got himself under control enough to double our required home practice time.
Oh, and I got detention.
What a way to make a good impression! I must have been more embarrassed by it than I realized, because I was hot and sweaty when the bell finally rang. I slammed my trumpet into its case and lunged out of my chair.
“Hey, Lacey, wait up,” Ashton said. He closed the music folder carefully, picked up his trumpet and followed me to door. “That was the best laugh I’ve had all year.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I was sure I was as red as the Skittle had been. “It wasn’t as much fun for me as it was for everyone else.”
Ashton grinned. “I don’t think anyone knew Mr. Barton could scream like that. He sounded like a little girl.”
“He sounded like a like a hot dog getting cooked too long in the microwave.” I started to smile. “Do you think it’s worth detention, though?”
“Most definitely. You should lighten up.” We reached the lockers, and Ashton saluted me as he walked backward toward his locker. “See you tomorrow, Skittles.”
Skittles. He called me Skittles! I would never eat another type of candy ever again.
Gwen Bristol 