Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II (45 page)

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Authors: Jack Canfield,Mark Victor Hansen,Kimberly Kirberger

BOOK: Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II
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Page 261
Although no one in the car physically recognized either victim, there was no doubt among any of us that the voice that just spoke was a familiar one. But whose? The longest minute of my life followed until I figured it out:
Miss Greatens, MY TYPING TEACHER!
Miss Greatens, fresh out of college, was committed to making a strong professional impression on the business class students she taught. Her hair was always gathered on top of her head, large glasses covered her eyes and crisp business suits were her chosen attire. And yet outside of her work environment, she suddenly changed. Drastically. Her hair looked as though it grew a foot or so (since just this afternoon), she shrank a solid two inches (heels removed), contact lenses replaced glasses and her business suit was traded in for a sweatsuit. She no longer looked like Miss Greatens; she looked more like . . .  well,
us!
Situation assessment: WE HAD A PROBLEM. The Dodge Charger immediately went chasing back to the parking lot, but the joggers were nowhere in sight. Plan B was implemented. A telephone booth directory could provide her home address. Success. She lived right across from Kmart in an apartment complex.
Little did we know that Miss Greatens was doing some of her own phone referencing while we were trying to find her. First she called the school principal at home, then she called my parents.
(My life, as I knew it, was about to end.)
However, she hung up after the first two rings before anyone answered either call. She had decided to speak to us first.
And here we were.
Miss Greatens answered the door graciously, standing before us with mustard-stained clothes and tear-stained cheeks, wanting to hear what possible explanation warranted her pain. There was none. Absolutely none. What we had done was uncalled for. Our consciences made that perfectly clear as we poured out a flood of

 

Page 262
genuine remorse and tears to equal her own.
Then something extraordinary happened:
She forgave us
. Fully. Right there on the spot. She could have spoken to all of our parents about what happened, but didn't. She could have contacted school officials and sought stern reprimands for each of us, but didn't. And she could have held the incident over our heads for a very long time and reminded us of what we had done at will, but didn't.
Will we ever do anything like that again? NO WAY. You see, that is the power of forgiveness.
Rochelle M. Pennington

 

Page 263
Call Me
"I know it's here somewhere." Cheryl drops her book bag at her feet so she can dig through her coat pockets. When she dumps her purse out onto the table, everyone waiting in line behind her groans.
Cheryl glances up at the lunch room clock. Only three minutes until the bell and this is the last day to order a yearbook, if you want your name imprinted in gold on the front. And Cheryl did, if only she could find her wallet. The line begins to move around her.
"Come on, Cheryl." Darcy might as well stamp her foot, she sounds so impatient. "We'll be late for class."
"Darcy, please!" Cheryl snaps back. Best friends or not, Darcy and Cheryl often frustrate each other. They are just so different. Today is a good example. Darcy had "budgeted" for her yearbook and ordered it the first day of school while Cheryl had almost forgotten . . .  again.
"Darcy, my wallet's gone." Cheryl throws her things back into her purse. "My yearbook money was in it." The bell interrupts her search.
"Someone took it!" Darcy, as usual, is quick to point away from the bright side of things.

 

Page 264
"Oh, I'm sure I just misplaced it," Cheryl hopes.
They rush into class just before the second bell rings. Darcy takes center stage to Cheryl's problem and happily spreads the news about the theft.
By gym the last hour, Cheryl is tired of being stopped and having to say over and over again, "I'm sure I just left it at home." Rushing into the locker room, she changes quickly and checks the list posted by the field door to see where her group is playing soccer, then hurries out to catch up with them.
The game was a close one, and Cheryl's team is the last one back to the locker room.
Darcy stands waiting for Cheryl by her locker. Cheryl brushes passed Juanita, the new girl. It's the shocked look on Darcy's face and the startled gasps of those around her that stop Cheryl.
There, at her feet, is her wallet.
"It fell out of her locker!" Darcy points at Juanita. "She stole it."
Everyone speaks at once.
"The new girl stole it."
"Darcy caught her red-handed."
"I knew there was something about her."
"Report her."
Cheryl turns and looks at Juanita. She's never really noticed her before, beyond her "new girl" label.
Juanita picks up the wallet and holds it out to Cheryl. Her hands are trembling. "I found it in the parking lot. I was going to give it to you before gym, but you were late."
Darcy's words spit anger. "I'm so sure!"
"Really. It's true." Juanita's voice is high and pleading.
Cheryl hesitates. Juanita's eyes begin to fill with tears.
Cheryl reaches for her wallet.
"I'm so glad you found it." Cheryl smiles. "Thanks, Juanita."

 

Page 265
The tension around them breaks. "Good thing she found it." Everyone but Darcy agrees.
Cheryl does another quick change and then bangs her locker closed. "Hurry, Darcy. There's just enough time to order a yearbook."
"
If
there is any money left in your wallet."
"Not now, Darcy!"
"You are so naive!"
It isn't until they are standing in line that Cheryl opens her wallet.
"It's all here." Cheryl can't help feeling relieved. A small piece of paper flutters down from her wallet.
"She just didn't have time to empty it yet." Darcy bends down to pick up the note. "I know her type. I had her pegged the first day she came." She hands the note to Cheryl.
Cheryl reads it and then looks up at Darcy. "You had her pegged, all right. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you spend too much time pegging people."
Darcy grabs the note, reads it and throws it back at Cheryl. "Whatever!" she says and stomps off.
Cheryl reads the note again.
Cheryl,
I found your wallet in the parking lot. Hope nothing is missing.
Juanita
P.S. My number is 555-3218. Maybe you could call me.
And Cheryl did.
Cindy Hamond

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