The 10:15 Vixen
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Teens Talk Relationships

To tell you the truth, I’ve had my share of girlfriends. I know how to pick them, too. Every girl I’ve ever been with is nothing short of a genius, and good looking to boot. And I’d imagine there are quite a few more girls out there who will eventually have the misfortune of thinking I’m the kind of guy they want to spend their time with. But as of right now, any kind of relationship that requires any schedule whatsoever―including calls every night, dates every weekend and/or the occasional use of the phrase “I love you”―is completely out of the question. Words cannot explain how sick and tired I am of regularity. It’s predictable. It’s boring. It’s something that I really don’t want to deal with right now.

But I’ll let you in on a little secret. There’s this girl at my school I see immediately after third period who simply drives me up the wall. Every day, at about 10:15―you can practically set your watch by it―this girl comes striding down the hallway wearing an outfit that would make an old man double over with excitement. And it’s not just her outfit. Her hair is amazing. She has enough hair to give Rapunzel a run for her money. I’ve got a thing for girls with a ton of hair. And if I didn’t before, she made me have one. I’m not even going to talk about the days when she wears pigtails and go-go boots.


I don’t even know this girl’s name. I don’t know what grade she’s in. I have no idea what her interests are, or if she plays any sports, or if she has a boyfriend who wouldn’t even think twice before breaking my neck if he knew how much I studied his girl. I don’t know if she’s the worst person to ever grace this Earth, or if she’s the much sexier form of Mother Teresa. The only thing I know about this girl is that her smile almost makes it worth rolling out of bed at five in the morning, and when I miss our daily 10:15 “date”―a quick glance and an attempted suave walk from me―my day is considerably worse. The funny thing is, I doubt she even acknowledges my existence.

Not that I do much to change that fact. I have to pretend I don’t notice her either, because that’s the cool thing to do. And I’ve discovered that it’s much more difficult to be cool when you’re actually trying to be cool. The other day I glanced over at her for two seconds and I ran straight into the back of an assistant principal who informed me, in not exactly the softest voice possible, that I need to watch where I’m going and get my head out of the clouds. I’m pretty sure she heard him. I’m also pretty sure the color of my face matched perfectly with the red tie worn by the man I collided with.

I know I could find out more about her. Word travels fast in high school, with rumors flying up and down the hallways like crazy. Surely a lot of people other than me find that girl intriguing. But honestly, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything about that girl because I’m afraid it might ruin our “relationship�?completely. I mean, what are the odds that she’s the kind of person I’d imagine her to be? What if she only dates older boys, or treats everyone like crap or is one of those girls who leads you on only to have the nerve to want to stay friends after she beats your heart in with a bat? I don’t think I could handle any information like that.

I think I’ve fallen in and out of love with this girl quite a few times. You’re probably thinking that’s stupid, that fifteen-year-olds can’t fall in love with anyone. And you might be right to some extent. Teenagers don’t fall in love with reality. They fall in love with false hopes and dreams that usually lead to heartache and digestive problems. That’s where I am right now. And I don’t think I mind all that much. Because as I write this on Monday night I know that tomorrow is Tuesday, and she often wears pigtails on Tuesday. Tuesday’s a good day.