Taste of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul III Read Online Free PDF Page A

figured others were probably thinking the same thing.
    The teacher began checking the attendance, each person casually lifting his or her hand as names were called in turn.
    â€œTerri Jackson?” the teacher asked, following the roll with her finger. Silence. “Um, Terri Jackson?”
    Finally we heard a meek answer from the back of the room, followed by the sound of ripping cloth. We all shifted in our seats to see what had happened.
    â€œScary Terri ripped the armpit of her shirt!” one boy joked.
    â€œEww, I bet it’s a hundred years old!” another girl commented. One comment after another brought a roar of laugher.
    I was probably laughing the loudest. Sadly, making Terri feel insecure made me feel secure and confident. It was a good break from the awkward silence and un­comfor­table first-day jitters.
    Terri Jackson was the joke of the whole sixth grade that year. If we had nothing to talk about, Terri’s trip through the lunchroom was an entertaining conversation starter. Her grandma-looking dress, missing front tooth and stained gym clothes kept us mocking and imitating her for hours.
    At my twelfth birthday party, ten giggly, gossipy girls were playing Truth or Dare, a favorite party game. We had just finished a Terri Jackson discussion. It was my turn at the game.
    â€œUmm . . . Sydney! Truth or Dare?” one of my friends asked.
    â€œHow about a dare? Bring it on. I’ll do anything.” Oh, if only I’d known what she was about to say.
    â€œOkay, I dare you to invite Terri Jackson over to your house next Friday for two whole hours!”
    â€œTwo whole hours?! Please ask something else, please !” I begged. “How could anybody do that?” But my question was drowned out by a sea of giggly girls slapping their hands over their mouths and rolling on the floor, trying to contain their laughter.
    The next day, I cautiously walked up to Terri as if her body odor was going to make me fall over dead. My friends huddled and watched from a corner to see if I would follow through with the brave dare.
    I managed to choke out, “Hey Scary—I mean Terri—you want to come over for two hours Friday?” I didn’t see her face light up because I had turned to my friends and made a gagging expression. When I was satisfied with their laughter of approval, I turned back to Terri. Terri’s face was buried in her filthy hands; she was crying. I couldn’t stand it. Half of me felt the strongest compassion for her, but the other half wanted to slap her for making me look so cruel and heartless. That was exactly what I was being.
    â€œWhat’s got you all upset? All I did was invite you over,” I whispered, trying not to show my concern.
    She looked up and watched my eyes for what seemed like forever. “Really?” That was all she could say. Her ­seldom-heard voice almost startled me.
    â€œI guess so, if you’re up to it.” My voice sounded surprisingly sincere. I’d never seen her flash her toothless smile so brightly. The rest of the day I had a good feeling, and I was not dreading the two-hour visit as I had before. I was almost looking forward to it.
    Friday rolled around quickly. My time with Terri passed by in a flash as the two hours slipped into four hours, and I found myself actually enjoying her company. We chatted about her family and her battles with poverty. We discovered that we both played violin, and my favorite part of the afternoon occurred when she played the violin for me. I was amazed by how beautifully she played.
    I would love to tell you that Terri and I became best friends and that from then on I ignored all my other friends’ comments. But that’s not how it happened. While I no longer participated in the Terri bashings and even tried to defend her at times, I didn’t want to lose everyone else’s acceptance just to gain Terri’s.
    Terri disappeared after the sixth grade.