Hope

Hope

Sometimes the name they give you is all wrong. Like Hope. I’m sure my parents meant well; but if I ever have a daughter, I won’t name her something stupid like Hope, or Charity, or Bingo.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about this now. Maybe it’s because I’m sitting in this stupid gym, listening to this stupid band, while I wait for some stupid boy to ask me to dance; and I know that’s unlikely to happen. Even without my braces and the pimple that exploded on the side of my nose this morning, no boy will ask me to dance, not with Emily Schneider in the room. She has breasts!

Mom says I’ll have breasts one day. I guess I can get them the same place she did, at the doctor’s office.

Oh, God. Here comes Anthony Halperin, and he’s looking right at me. Should I stand or stay seated so he can help me up? Are my glasses on straight? Should I say hi, or wait for him to speak first? Where are you when I need you, Mom?

He’s almost here. Breathe slower, Hope. Smile. Look like you’re interested.

Interested. Hell, if I don’t calm down, I’ll pee my pants.

Well, damn. I take my eyes off him to smooth my dress, and he walks past me straight to Emily Schnieder, that slut. Why is he interested in her? She’s not even real. Her blonde hair’s out of a bottle, her teeth are capped, and I heard she goes to the same doctor Mom does.

The excitement leaks from my body, and I slump in my chair as they begin to dance. I’m sure Anthony and I wouldn’t look as good. Hope, my ass. My parents should’ve named me Chastity. I’ll be a virgin forever.

But what does Anthony Halperin know? He’ll be sorry after he marries Emily and she blows up like a hot air balloon after three babies and floats above the people watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and doesn’t have sex with him anymore.

He’ll pass me on the street while I’m walking the twins, and his jaw will bounce off the sidewalk when he sees my killer bod. I’ll tell him how much I enjoy my work as an architect and how I’m responsible for the design of the new Frost Tower project that everyone is talking about and...oh by the way, Anthony, how’re Emily and the kids?

Well, like I said. Sometimes the name they give you is all wrong. And sometimes...it’s perfect.

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Author: Jim Harrington

**Photo courtesy of: H. Armstrong Roberts/Retrofile/Getty Images