Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul on Tough Stuff (2 page)

There are no words to describe what we feel when we hear this kind of story. We are grateful and we are humbled, but more than anything, we are certain that as long as these stories are changing lives, we will continue to compile these books.

Guidelines for Reading This Book

Be aware that this is an entire book of stories about difficult and often tragic events. Although a
Chicken Soup
story always contains something that is inspiring, uplifting or life-changing, the most positive element in some of these stories might be your response to do something different in your own life more than the content of the story itself.

Read this book one story at a time.

It is not necessary to read the stories in the order they appear in the book. In fact, you may find it preferable to skip around and read the stories that you are drawn to as opposed to reading an entire chapter from beginning to end. Trust your intuition.

Parents of younger children (as well as older brothers and sisters) should be aware that many of these stories may not be appropriate for children who are not yet teenagers (ten- to twelve-year-olds). We suggest you read the stories first and then decide which ones are suitable for your child (or younger sibling).

We started this book with a chapter on self-acceptance because we feel that this is the most important issue facing teens today. These are stories about embarrassment, harassment and teasing, and were rated very highly by our panel of teen readers. The story “I Kiss Like a Horse” uses some strong language when describing the cruelty that was inflicted upon the writer. We debated long and hard about changing some of the words (like
slut
and
whore
), which we felt might be offensive to some readers, but in the end we felt it would detract from the impact of the story. Sadly, this is a very common situation that teenage girls are faced with, and we felt it was very important to leave the story as it was written in the hopes that it would help other girls facing the same kind of verbal and emotional abuse, as well as sensitize teenage boys and girls to the incredibly damaging power of their words.

In an effort to provide as much support as we could to those of you who are facing similar tough stuff in your lives, we have listed some useful hotlines and Web sites at the end of many stories and in the back of the book. If you are facing a challenge similar to that addressed in one of the stories, we encourage you to reach out for help. We also hope you will encourage your friends and brothers and sisters to use these valuable resources as well.

Keep in mind that part of growing up is learning how to deal with difficult issues, and the benefits can be great if you have the courage to ask for help. Human beings are not designed to go through life alone. No one has to bear the burden of the tough times all by themselves. There are thousands of dedicated professionals (teachers, counselors, ministers, therapists and psychologists) as well as competent and caring volunteers who have devoted their lives to helping teens through the tough stuff. Have the courage to reach out to some of them and let them help you.

Our hearts are with you as you read these stories and as you confront the unique challenges of your life. We pray that each and every one of you find comfort, hope and inspiration in the courage, strength and faith of the teenagers who have bravely shared their stories with you on the pages that follow.

All our love,
Kimberly, Jack and Mark

To everything there is a season
And a time to every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is
   planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones
   together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time for war, and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1–8

1
ON SELF-
ACCEPTANCE

. . .
A
nd you help each other realize that
all the things you want to be . . .
you already are.

Gretchen,
Dawson's Creek

I Kiss Like a Horse

F
orgiveness means letting go of a hurtful situation
and moving on with your own happiness.

Amanda Ford

He was the first boy to ask me to prom. He was also the first boy to dump me two days before the dance. My dress was scarlet, and I spent every afternoon after school on my tiptoes, dancing before the mirror with my hair in my hands, daydreaming about a slow dance under blue lights and perhaps a swift caress under falling stars.

Max was a junior, and I was a freshman. Max had a car, and I had a bike. Max hung out with girls who were, in my opinion, straight-up mean. These girls liked Max and hated me. I was too young to be with Max. I wasn't cool enough. I didn't scream and fight and smoke weed at high-school parties. A week after our breakup, I awoke late in the night to the shrieks of girls' voices and the horns of several cars.

“You slut! Max never liked you. Stay away from our guys from now on. . . . He was just using you! You're so-o-o-o stupid!” I didn't move. I didn't even look out the window. I was afraid they'd see me and keep yelling.

“Come on guys, let's go,” one girl shouted. And then they were gone.

I just lay there dumbfounded. I woke up early the next morning and surveyed the damage. Toilet paper wasn't that big of a deal. I had been toilet-papered before. But the chocolate syrup on the garage door wasn't pleasant. “You Kiss Like a Horse” it said, and the stains lingered long after I tried to hose them down. The driveway was painted with half a dozen cruel phrases describing untrue details of my nonexistent sex life. I kept my mouth shut, though, and laughed it off. They were all lies, so what did it matter?

Everyone knew the next day at school.

“You must be so embarrassed,” she said.

“I feel so sorry for you,” he said.

“So what does a horse kiss like?” he asked.

“Did you really have sex with him?” she asked.

“Shut up, who cares, whatever,” I said. “And, no, I didn't have sex with him.”

Max was one of the only boys I had ever kissed, and I guess I wasn't a very good kisser. I bit his tongue once or twice, and he bled. At the time, he was sweet about it.

“It's cool . . .” he had said, wiping the blood from his lip. “It doesn't hurt. You can bite me all you want.”

I guess when the game is over all bets are off, though.

The taunting didn't stop—it only got worse. A few weeks later the older girls had a “list” photocopied and circulated around school. Not only was my name associated with biting and horses, but now I was number one on the “High-School Whore List.”

“I'm not a whore,” I sighed in the girls' bathroom as I was washing my hands. The paper signs were taped everywhere. I tore them down.

All I did was kiss him. And I didn't even do it right. “I'm not a whore!” I screamed at two dozen eyes stripping me of my innocence. I was disgusting to them. I was disgusting to everybody. I was even starting to believe that I was all the things they said I was. It's funny how easy rumors are to believe, even if they are about you. I carried myself differently. I went to parties and kissed all the boys. I wanted them to tell me that I wasn't a sloppy kisser, that I wasn't a horse, and that I wasn't a bad person. No one ever cleared my name, though. Instead, they all tried unsuccessfully to bring me home with them. After all, I was the “easiest and cheapest date in school.”

I was never able to fulfill my prom fantasy, let alone wear my gown or get my hair done. It was hard enough staying home the night of the prom, barefoot on the couch between my parents watching
I Love Lucy.

The dress was still hanging in my closet the night the phone rang, my beautiful never-been-worn shoes still neatly in their paper box. I answered the phone.

“Neighhhhh.”

“Huh?” I couldn't believe it was still going on.

“Neighhhhhh.”

Click.

Whoever it was hung up. Was Max behind all of this? What had I done to be treated this way? Did I miss something? Would it ever end? I couldn't take it any longer. This wasn't going to stop until I did something about it. I needed to find Max and talk to him. I needed to do something.

I found him at his locker. I had purposely avoided that hallway for the past couple of months. I didn't want to see him. But today was different. I was tired of avoiding confrontation. I wanted my life back.

He ignored me at first, and I grimaced.

“I have to . . .” he began.

I interrupted. “So why? What did I ever do to you? You broke up with me. You spread rumors about me. I don't understand. What did I do to you?”

“. . . get to class,” he finished.

“Why, Max?”

“Listen, I don't know what you're talking about, and even if I did, it's not my problem.” He didn't care. He didn't want to.

I don't know what I expected; maybe an apology or an explanation. I guess I hoped that he would take it back. I wanted himto tell me that he was sorry and that he would undo the rumors and set me free. I wanted him to tell me that, after all was said and done, I really didn't kiss like a horse. He didn't say a thing.

It turned out that I didn't need an explanation after all. His silence spoke words that he could never muster. Max was afraid. He couldn't be with me. He wasn't supposed to. His friends hadn't approved and so he got rid of me, even though I know he didn't want to. He had to convince himself that I was a monster or the worst kisser in the whole school. He had to convince himself that he didn't like me anymore, and for that reason, I felt sorry. I felt sorry for him and for all the pathetic souls who believed him. I felt sorry for the girls who wasted their baby-sitting money on toilet paper and their weekends fabricating degrading lists. I felt sorry for all of them. And for the first time in months, I felt relieved. I knew who I was, and the rest didn't matter.

Max was just some guy—some guy who needed to grow up. And I refused to be just some girl. So what if I was a lousy kisser? It took me years before I was steady on my Rollerblades. And so what if the older girls didn't like me? It wouldn't be long before I myself was an “older girl.” And so what if there were rumors? They weren't true. I held my head high, defending my morality and reputation with a string of confidence. I wasn't the only one.

Lies and rumors, hate and envy fly like bullets every day in high school. I got hit, like many unfortunately do, and I was ready to get back out there, shielding myself with the truth and a force field of confidence I forgot I had.

About a week later, a boy at school stopped me in the halls and asked, “So, is it true that you kiss like a horse?”

I smiled. “You know what, I've never kissed a horse before, have you?” He shook his head, embarrassed, as I turned around and walked away.

Rebecca Woolf

Have You Ever

Have you ever lived my life?
Spent one minute in my shoes?
If you haven't then tell me why
You judge me as you do.

Have you ever woken up in the morning
Wondering if this was your last day on Earth?
Have you ever left your house
Unsure if you'd return?

Have you ever seen your friend get shot
Outside his favorite store?
Have you ever seen a friend die
From drugs he'd never used before?

Have you ever seen your mom get beat up
By your stepdad messed up on booze?
Have you ever had an unwanted pregnancy
Forcing you to choose?

Have you ever sat beneath the stars
Hoping God will hear?
Have you ever seen your friend drive away
After way too many beers?

Have you ever had a friend
Experiment with weed?
Have you ever covered up guilt
By doing a good deed?

Have you ever considered suicide
As the only way?
Have you ever tried to hide yourself
Behind the things you say?

Have you ever wanted to protect
Your friends and everyone in sight?
Have you ever felt such pain
That you cried yourself to sleep at night?

Have you ever lived my life,
Spent one minute in my shoes?
If you haven't, then tell me why
You judge me as you do.

Tiffany Blevins

I Am Loni

T
o be nobody but yourself in a world that's
doing its best to make you somebody else is to
fight the hardest battle you are ever going to
fight. Never stop fighting.

e. e. cummings