By the time I walked into William Chrisman, being the new kid was something I was getting used to.

That didn't mean I liked it.

Third grade...

New school.

Fourth grade...

The kid coming back after rheumatic fever.

Seventh grade...

Bridger Junior High.

Now...

William Chrisman.

Every few years it seemed life handed me another hallway... 

another classroom... another group of kids who 

already knew one another while I 

tried to figure out where I fit.

You'd think after doing it four times I'd have gotten pretty good at it.

I never really did.

The first couple of weeks went pretty much the way first couple of weeks 

always do.

I learned where my locker was.

I learned which teachers appreciated you getting to class before the bell.

I figured out the quickest way to the cafeteria.

Eventually...

I even found the right bathroom.

Little victories.

By then I'd learned that every school had its own personality.

Different hallways.

Different teachers.

Different lunch tables.

Different unwritten rules.

Mostly, I was just trying to find my place 

without looking completely lost.

One afternoon, between classes, I was wandering the hallway when 

something on the activities bulletin board caught my eye.

Talent Show Auditions.

I stopped for a second and smiled.

Play a little guitar.

Sing a song.

Meet a few people.

Seemed like a pretty good way to get to know the place...

...and let the place get to know me.

So...

I signed up.

The Audition

A few days later I walked onto the auditorium stage carrying my twelve-

string Yamaki.

Funny thing about a twelve-string guitar...

It gets everybody's attention before you ever play a note.

Then...

they expect you to do something with it.

Auditions were pretty simple.

Walk out.

Play your song.

Thank the teachers.

Go home.

It was a good plan.

It just wasn't the plan they had for me that day.

I'd chosen Dan Fogelberg's Looking for a Lady.

I loved that song.

Truth is...

I especially liked one line.

"Share my empty bed."

At fourteen, I thought it sounded mysterious.

A little grown up.

And if I'm being completely honest...

I figured it might score me a few points with the girls.

So...

I played it.

Intro to outro.

When I finished, one of the teachers looked down at the lyrics in front of 

her before looking back up at me.

"Billy..."

"Did that lyric say..."

"Share my empty bed?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled politely.

"I'm afraid that's inappropriate for a junior high talent show."

I think that's the day I developed my lifelong dislike for the word 

inappropriate.

I guess even junior high had its version of Big Brother.

That usually means somebody else's opinion

 just got promoted to a rule.

Fortunately...

I'd already learned another lesson.

Always have a backup plan.

One of the teachers looked at me and smiled.

"Can you play us another song?"

I smiled.

"Yes, ma'am."

As a musician, you never walk into a performance unprepared.

Strings break.

Microphones quit.

Audiences surprise you.

And sometimes...

someone decides your first choice is 

a little too suggestive for junior high.

So I started playing John Denver's My Sweet Lady.

The Fogelberg song had already done its job.

They wanted me in the talent show.

Now all I had to do...

...was give them a song they could say yes to.

When I finished, one of the teachers smiled.

"We'll see you at the talent show."

I thanked them...

picked up my guitar...

and headed home.

The Note

A few days later, right in the middle of class, the door opened.

One of the office helpers stepped inside carrying a folded note.

She walked over to the teacher, whispered something, and handed it to her.

The teacher looked down at the note...

looked around the room...

and smiled.

"Billy?"

Every head turned.

Mine included.

The office helper walked over and handed me the folded note.

I started to open it.

The teacher smiled.

"Not now."

"You can read it after class."

Apparently...

she'd already read it.

I hadn't.

So there I sat...
 

holding what had suddenly become the most interesting piece of paper 

in the room.

I'm sure the teacher taught something important that day.

I couldn't tell you what it was.

Neither, as I recall, could anybody else.

There was a stir around the room.

Kids kept looking over at me...

then at the note...

then back at me again.

Everybody wanted to know what was in it.

Truth is...

so did I.

Evidently...

"Someone" had already figured out the system 

well enough to interrupt class just to get me a note.

I was still trying to find the cafeteria. lol

I left the classroom as soon as the bell rang. 

I found a quiet spot in the hallway to check out this mysterious note.

I opened it and it simply said.. 

“Would you go the the Honor Society Dance with me” 

and was signed…. 

Maybe

I had no idea who that was, but a friend was standing there and I asked 

him.. 

Who is Maybe?

He laughed and said.. she's right over there. 

I glanced over and saw 3 girls standing across the hall. 

It was clear they were waiting on me to read the note. 

My friend pointed out Maybe, and briefly our eyes met. 

She was cute! I mean really cute…

I looked back toward the three girls.

They were still pretending not to watch me.

They weren't fooling anybody.

I smiled.

Well...

This should be interesting.

Truth is...

I was shy.

Very shy.

Most people never knew it.

I'd learned pretty early that everybody gets butterflies.

The energy that created those butterflies never really went away.

Somewhere along the way...

I learned to manage it.

So while everyone else saw a confident fourteen-year-old 

walking toward 

a pretty cheerleader...

what they didn't see...

was a shy kid quietly putting his butterflies to work.

That said...

I could tell by the look on her face she hadn't expected me to walk over 

quite like that.

But, standing there wondering about her 

didn't seem like much of a strategy.

I folded the note...

slipped it into my pocket...

and started walking.

She smiled as I walked up.

"Hi."

She smiled back.

"Thanks for the note."

"You're welcome."

"This seems like a good time to introduce myself."

She laughed.

Just like that...

the butterflies had something better to do.

"So..."

"I've got a question."

“Okay.”

“What is a honor Society Dance.”

She smiled.

"You've never been to one?"

I shook my head.

"Truth is..."

"That isn't exactly my crowd."

"It's just a dance."

"Nothing to worry about."

I nodded.

"Okay..."

"Then I've got another question."

"I figured you might."

"What are you going to wear?"

Her smile got even bigger.

She started describing the dress she was planning to wear.

The color.

The shoes.

Her hair.

Every detail.

It didn't take long to figure out...

she loved clothes.

I don't remember all of it anymore.

I just remember thinking...

She had definitely given this a whole lot 

more thought than I would have.

When she finally came up for air...

"Perfect." I said.

She tilted her head.

"Perfect?"

"Now I've got some shopping to do."

I'd like to think she liked knowing that our first date 

mattered enough to me that I was 

going to buy something new just for the occasion.

"What should I wear?"

Without missing a beat...

she started planning my wardrobe too.

That conversation probably saved me 

from showing up looking like an idiot.

I've learned something over the years.

If a woman enjoys clothes...

ask what she's planning to wear.

Then pay attention.

It'll save you from making some remarkably bad decisions.

Finally...

I looked down the hallway toward her next classroom.

"Can I walk you to class?"

"I'd like that."

I reached over and picked up her books.

My Daddy taught me well.

So we started walking.

Just talking.

About school.

Teachers.

The dance.

Whatever fourteen-year-olds talk about when 

they're trying to convince 

each other they aren't nervous.

By the time we reached her classroom...

the new kid didn't feel quite so new anymore.

The night of the dance finally arrived.

This was our first real date.

I don't remember exactly what I wore.

I'm pretty sure it looked a whole lot like what Maybe had described.

I'd gone shopping.

I wanted to get it right.

Besides...

I always liked dressing up when the occasion called for it.

My brother drove me to the dance

Getting dropped off in his Triumph TR4 

was a whole lot cooler than 

anything I could have dreamed up.

It was snowing.

Not hard.

Just enough.

On the drive over...

he started coaching me.

Real coaching.

He knew this wasn't just another school event.

This was my first real date with Maybe.

He reminded me to be a gentleman.

Open doors.

Listen more than I talked.

Treat her with respect.

Make sure she had a good time.

He expected more from me than what 

passed for normal junior high behavior.

Truth is...

so did I.

He wasn't trying to teach me how to impress a girl.

He was teaching me how to treat one.

We pulled into the school parking lot.

Arriving at your first real date in your brother's  

British sports car didn't 

exactly hurt my confidence.

I thanked my brother...

climbed out...

and there she was.

Already waiting.

The snow catching in her hair.

The light shining in her eyes.

She was beautful.

I just stood there for a second.

"Wow..."

"You look great."

She smiled.

"Thank you."

Then she looked me over...

smiled again...

and said,

“You look great too.”

That was all a fourteen-year-old boy needed to hear.

Together...

we walked toward the front doors.

I held the door open for her.

She smiled.

"Thank you."

I remembered my brother's advice on the drive over.

So far...

I was doing okay.

Inside, Maybe introduced me to her world.

To her friends she'd smile and say,

"This is the guy I've been telling you about."

To the teachers...

“I'd like you to meet Billy.”

I don't remember every introduction.

I just remember realizing...

she'd been talking about me with her circle of friends.

That felt pretty good.

Somewhere along the way...

I'd stopped being "the new kid."

I'd become Billy.

At least to her.

And I really liked that.
 

Eventually we danced.

I had rhythm.

Just not where it counted.

I had plenty of rhythm in my hands.

And plenty in my heart.

My feet...

were pretty much making things up as they went.

I was faking it.

Probably…faking it pretty poorly.

The funny thing was...

Maybe didn't seem to care.

She just smiled...

followed along...

and somehow made it all work.
 

I'm pretty sure she was doing most of the dancing.

I was just trying to stay out of her way.

I did learn that dancing isn't nearly as 

complicated when you're looking into someone's

 eyes instead of down at your feet.

Somewhere during the evening...

an ice fight broke out.

I don't remember exactly how it started.

I may or may not have had something to do with it.

Funny...

Some memories stay with you because they changed your life.

Others stay with you because of who those memories were made with.

Maybe… was was one of those.

Eventually...

the music stopped.

The lights came up.

Teachers started encouraging everyone toward the doors.

Just like that...

our first real date was over.

I walked Maybe out to her car.

Her mom was waiting.

We stood there for a moment...

neither one of us quite ready to say goodnight.

Finally...

I leaned over...

and gave her a little kiss goodnight.

She smiled.

I smiled.

Then I opened the passenger door for her.

"Goodnight…Maybe's Mom."

I had not met her, Maybe's Mom was the best I could do.

She smiled.

"Goodnight, Billy."

Maybe climbed inside.

I gently closed the door.

Looking back...

I guess I'd been the topic of conversation with her mom, too.

I stood there...

watching their taillights fade away into the snowy night.

Then I turned...

walked over to my brother's TR4...

and climbed in.

He looked over with a grin.

"Well?"

I smiled.

"It went pretty good."

He laughed.

"That's it?"

I shrugged.
 

“Well... what all do you want to hear about?”
 

That was apparently all the invitation he needed.
 

The ride home became a play-by-play of the evening.
 

He wanted to know everything.

“Did you dance?”
 

“Yep.”
 

“Did she seem to have a good time?”
 

“I think so.”
 

“Did you walk her to the car?”
 

“Yep.”
 

“Open the door for her?”
 

“Yep.”
 

He nodded.
 

Then he smiled.
 

“Did you kiss her goodnight?”
 

I tried not to smile…
 

but I wasn't fooling anybody.
 

“Yep.”
 

He grinned.
 

“Atta boy.”
 

The rest of the drive home was filled with more questions…
 

and a whole lot of laughter.

I never did tell him about the ice fight.

Some stories...

are just better left off script.