Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content Read Online Free PDF Page B

much as wave to me. I feel like a complete idiot coming to a moronic football game just to watch my “best” friend (or not) cheerleading. What in the world is wrong with me? And even when I searched the general-admission crowd until I finally spotted her parents, it was plain to see that they were having a great time with several other couples. I would definitely not fit in.
    And so I decide to leave at the beginning of the fourth quarter. My hands and feet are numb with cold, and no one has said more than two words to me all night long. I think there is nothing as lonely as being alone in a crowd. And I know that I cannot take it for another minute. I invited Bree to come with me, but she had plans to go to a slumber party. I considered asking Mom, just so I could have an excuse to sit in the general admission section and possibly hang out with Jordan’s family, but Mom had already made plans to go out with friends. As I walk down the stadium steps and across the parking lot, I cannot help but think I am a pathetic loser.
    I notice what appear to be Amy Weatherspoon and some of her weird friends. They are hanging like dark shadows on the perimeter of the parking lot, huddled together around a bench, and I can see a circle of cigarette—or perhaps it’s grass—smoke rising above them like a halo or perhaps smoke from a campfire. I wonder why they even came here tonight since none of them appear to be serious football fans. Then I realize that they probably plan to go to the dance afterward. And at least they don’t have to walk in by themselves.
    Fortunately (or not, depending on how you look at it), it only takes a few minutes for me to get home. I unlock the deadbolt on the door and let myself in, eager to get warm again, although our apartment is cold since Mom always turns the thermostat down when we’re not home. I make instant cocoa in the microwave, telling myself that perhaps if I can just get warm and regain some confidence, then perhaps I can somehow manage to make myself go back to school in time for the dance. Or not. I’m still not sure. I sip my cocoa in the silent, semidark apartment, feeling (I hate to admit) extremely sorry for myself.
    It seems like everyone on the planet has a life and friends, everyone except for me, that is. I sit on the stone sofa and look out the front window. I can barely see the school, or rather the lights in the parking lot, from here. I notice a few cars beginning to leave now and figure the game must be over. Some people, like parents, will be going home to call it a night. But others, like Jordan and her cheerleading friends, will be dashing out to get something to eat, or perhaps to change from their uniforms into something “cooler” to wear to the dance. Others, who don’t have access to cars, will just hang out in the parking lot, visiting with friends and snarfing down the bargain hot dogs left over from the game, before they head over to the cafeteria, unfashionably early, for the dance.
    What is wrong with me anyway? Why am I sitting up here in the dark all by myself on a Friday night? When did I become such a hopeless loser anyway? Or was I simply like this all along but didn’t even notice? Perhaps I’ve never been anything more than Jordan Ferguson’s shadow. But maybe I don’t care either. After all, it
was
a good life. Everything was a lot more fun when Jordan was around, and so much easier too. Is this all my fault? Do I just need to try harder? Take control of my life?
    I can just imagine Jordan saying, “Get off your rear, Kara Hendricks! And get yourself on over to the dance right this minute!”
    Instead, I meticulously fix myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I take time to make it just the way I like, even trimming off the crusts. Then I pour myself a tall glass of milk and stand over the kitchen sink and quietly consume my little feast.
    I go to the bathroom now and stare at myself in the mirror. I took some extra time before the game to