rested her hand on Scott’s arm. “What are you thinking about?”
Scott scowled. “How you broke your word and told everyone about our kiss.”
“No, I didn’t. I only told Pamela.”
Remembering how Derek had questioned him about kissing Felicia, Scott replied, “Admit it, you told her so everyone would know you kissed a boy.”
Felicia pouted. “Okay, I did. I’m sorry.” As they strolled up the walkway leading to the front door of her house, she added hopefully, “If you want, we could French-kiss. Then we’ll both know what that’s like.”
“I don’t think so. You’ll have to wait until you get a boyfriend,”
Creasing her eyebrows angrily, Felicia remarked, “But you drive every boy away from me, so I’ll just have to keep kissing you.”
Scott crossed her lawn to his house. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
As Felicia watched her lifelong neighbor walking away, she yelled, “What am I talking about? That’s a joke. You never know what I’m talking about when it comes to that subject…but you know about everything else, like the stars, the atoms, the lawn, and fixing things.” When Scott ignored her, irritation bubbled up inside of her. She shouted louder, “I’m going to ask Randy to French-kiss me! And there’s nothing you can do about it!”
Ten minutes later, Scott was sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard. In his notebook, he described Derek’s stance this morning when the topic of Shelley came up. His dad always told him, “If an individual doesn’t learn from his mistakes, he’ll never learn.”
A knock on his bedroom door caused Scott to quickly place his notebook inside his top desk drawer. “Come in.”
His dad entered and looked at the pen in his hand.
Scott was constantly writing down ideas and listing things. When he was young, he’d share his notes with his dad, wanting advice and feedback. By the time he entered junior high, the lists became private.
His dad sat on Scott’s desk chair and joked, “You’re doing some research?”
Scott tossed the pen onto his desk. “You could say that.”
His dad stretched his legs forward and got comfortable. “The windows are open so I heard your conversation with Felicia.” He paused and remarked seriously, “It’s time to stop being so protective.”
Scott stared at his closet doors, remembering when Felicia’s dad lay on his deathbed, dying from pancreatic cancer. Frank Woods had weakly clasped his dad’s hand and said, “Michael, will you take care of Janet and Felicia for me?” At the same time his dad gave his vow, Scott also made the same promise. Even at the age of eight, he knew he could keep a closer eye on Felicia than his own dad could. On the day of Mr. Woods’s funeral, Scott wrote Felicia’ dad a letter.
Mr. Woods,
I promise to take care of Felicia. I won’t let any boy hurt her.
Scott.
Scott frowned and thought about how Randy was unacceptable for Felicia. “I made my own promise, Dad.”
“Well, it’s time to start letting her go.”
“None of the guys in this neighborhood are right for Felicia, but I’ll keep looking.”
Michael concealed a smile. “Trust Felicia.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust Felicia. It’s the guys I don’t trust. You know they’re always bragging about scoring with the girls.”
“Most of the time, they’re exaggerating.”
Scott thought about his friends. The thought of one of them with his longtime neighbor was an idea he wouldn’t accept. After a brief silence, he admitted, “It’s hard to let her go, Dad,”
Michael stood and rested his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “You’re going to start working on it.”
After his dad left the room, Scott decided that keeping an eye on Felicia was still necessary since Randy was making moves for her.
He opened the drawer of his desk, took out his notebook, and jotted down the poem he composed at The Parlor. This Thursday, he’d give it to the girl at the park.
Around eleven o’clock, there was a rap on his bedroom window. Derek stood outside. A few minutes later, Scott closed the front door and the two friends strolled through the dark evening, illuminated only by the streetlights and the full moon. A cool mist had settled over South Hillside. They entered Furman’s one-car garage where they had their private conversations.
Scott turned on the light while Derek creased his brows. “Why did you shoot down Margie?”
Resting against the garage wall, Scott propped up his right leg. “I don’t go backward. I only go forward.”
4
Patience
Scott always thought of himself as a patient person, especially when he had to deal with a demanding mother, a group of quick-tempered friends, and a longtime-sister-like neighbor who enjoyed irritating him as much as possible. However, Scott had to admit Tuesday and Wednesday crawled incredibly slowly. He kept himself busy to stifle his excitement about seeing the girl at the park on Thursday. He thought about her constantly. To pass his time and when he was in the privacy of his own bedroom, he wrote a poetic list of names that reminded him of her.
You Are…
Angelica—An angel
Blossom—A budding woman
Crystal—A sparkling treasure
Melody—A musical lyric
Pearl—A valued gem
Prudence—A sensible girl
Tiara—A princess
When Scott finished, he placed his notebook in his desk drawer, satisfied he had captured the qualities of the girl inside the park. He closed his desk drawer as his mom gave a quick knock on his bedroom door, entered, and placed a stack of clothes on his bed. “These clothes need to be put away, and, Scott, put them away before you go to bed. I don’t want to see them on your chair tomorrow morning.”
“Okay,” Scott replied, watching her leave. As much as his friends tested his patience, his mom could spark his irritation faster than anyone of them.
On Tuesday morning, Scott gritted his teeth after hearing his mom remind him, for the umpteenth time, to wash his breakfast dishes before leaving the kitchen. While he wiped his clean dish and placed it inside the cupboard, he contemplated the reason for her repetitive reminders.
His patience ran thinner a few minutes later when she reminded him, once again, to fix the door handle at Felicia’s house before playing football.
“I heard you
