The Size of Your Dreams by - (best chinese ebook reader TXT) 📕

I intend to take Monica Grey out on a date for New Year’s Eve

No change registered on Mr. Griffin face, which told me he’d suspected it was something like this. “Did you write down any steps?”

“Many. I crossed them all out. I don’t believe any will work.”

“You’ve been working hard on this?”

I nodded. “I’ve done over twenty cards. It used to say Homecoming, but that came and went. Now even New Years is getting too soon. I’ve been thinking of changing it to Senior Prom.”

“This card is different from all the others.” Mr. Griffin rubbed his eyes. “Notecards are powerful tools for directing your will. But this card is about directing the will of another. It’s possible, but you must tread carefully.”

Was he going to help me or not?

“What do you think it would take for her to go out with you?”

I took another deep breath. At least we were moving forward. “I guess she’d have to see beneath my shyness. See the real me.”

“The real you? I see. Tell me about this Monica.”

“She’s beautiful. I’ve had a crush on her for years.”

“Is she popular?”

“Very.”

“What are three things the two of you have in common?”

I bit my thumbnail.

“Can you think of even one?”

I shook my head.

“Have you ever spoken to her?”

“A bit. We were in chemistry together last year. A couple of times we were assigned to be lab partners.”

“Has she ever shown the least bit of interest in you?”

My eyes burned. “No.”

“Do you find it ironic that you want her to see beneath your exterior, but all you’ve seen is hers?”

I shrugged.

Mr. Griffin got to his feet. “What if this Saturday night she and some friends got together, and they invited you to join. Would you go?”

“Of course.”

“They drive out to the lookout, and someone pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Monica pours two glasses, keeping one for herself, and extending one to you. Do you take it?”

“Probably.”

“A couple of hours later, there are three empty bottles. Someone mentions getting home before curfew, so you all pile into the car. Do you go?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Griffin.”

“That’s a scary thought, Kelvin.”

It was scary.

“Kelvin, look at me. I want to make sure you hear what I’m about to say.” I slowly lifted my head and met his gaze. “You don’t have a vision for yourself. You have a vision for other people.”

A ball grew in my throat. Mr. Griffin was right, but I couldn’t say so.

“I was a geeky kid in school myself.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t have many friends. I could have—there were a few other geeky kids, and we probably would have had fun together.”

“Why didn’t you?” Somehow it was easier to look him in the eye now that we were speaking about him, not me.

“I wanted to fit in with the cool kids, and I knew I’d kill any chance of that if I hung out with the geeks. So I shunned them. I spent several years mostly alone, rejecting the kids who could have been my friends simply because everyone else also rejected them. Of course, they also wanted to be popular, so they didn’t want to be seen with me any more than I wanted to be seen with them.”

My mind went to Darnell. I was so upset that Jarod didn’t invite me to join him and his friends on Friday night that I gave little thought to the fact that I’d blown off the one guy who had invited me. “So all of you were alone?”

“No. I was one of the lucky ones. Two of the other geeky kids didn’t fare so well.”

“What happened to them?”

“One of them got his wish. He decided he’d do whatever it took to become popular. He started off doing drugs. Before long he was selling them.”

“And the other one?”

“Took his own life.”

My stomach clenched.

“The real shame of it was that both of them could have had entirely different futures waiting just around the corner.”

“What do you mean?”

“The guy who turned to drugs was brilliant. He easily could have gone to MIT or Cal Tech with others like him. This was right around the time when being a geek was starting to become cool, when geeks were changing the world. MIT was where I first found a circle of close friends, and it might have been the same for him.”

“Might?”

“Yes, he might have found friends there. There’s no question people would have liked him. The bigger question was, would he have allowed himself to be liked?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“There’s a reason we call middle and high school the formative years. If we’re not careful, we can cement destructive beliefs about ourselves. The stories we tell ourselves can be so powerful that even when our circumstances change, we may fail to adapt.”

“So if he believed he was unlikeable…”

“Then he might not have let others in, even when around others who wanted to be his friend.”

“What happened to him?”

“His grades plummeted. He didn’t care about learning anymore. Last I heard, he was recently out of prison and working as a janitor somewhere.”

“And the guy who killed himself?”

“He was an artist. Horribly picked on as a kid. I think he would have had an even easier time finding a community of friends in places like Greenwich Village or San Francisco.”

“What does this all mean for me?”

“There are no shortcuts, Kelvin. Everything you want is attainable, but it comes from building yourself, not swaying others. Right now, I fear you just want to become the person you think others want you to be.”

Mr. Griffin had first called me out for helping others in class. Was he saying I should stop that? “But I liked it when I was helping the others with their cards.”

“Then by all means, do it. Just make sure you’re doing it out of your love for helping, not out of some ulterior motive.”

“What do you think my motive is?”

“I think you want them to like you. I think you’re disappointed that they haven’t responded with the friendship you want. Let me guess: they appreciate your help, but don’t invite you to join them and their friends.”

“Except for Darnell. He’d like to be better friends. Of course, he’s no more popular than I am.”

“At this rate, he will be. Darnell’s decided what he wants, and he’s going for it with everything he’s got. He may be getting teased now, but he’s going to win the respect of a ton of people. I can’t say the same for you. You’re too busy looking over your shoulder to see how others react to everything you do.”

“So what do I do now?”

“It’s time you get the love of the one person who truly matters.”

“Who’s that?”

Mr. Griffin lifted his brow.

“Oh, right.” I squirmed. “But how do I do that?”

“First step, tear up that notecard. We both know you’re not going to win Miss Monica’s heart, and even if you did, you wouldn’t find the satisfaction you expect.”

I looked down at the card only to see that I’d rolled it tight like a cigarette. I crumpled it and threw it in the trash. It was strange, after all of the energy I’d put into this goal, how much relief I felt with the notecard gone.

Mr. Griffin handed me a blank card. “You’re going to write a new kind of notecard.”

“What goes on it?”

“All of the attributes you want to see in yourself.”

“With a 30-day deadline, like the others?”

“No. This card is not future-oriented. It’s not about who you intend to become in a month. This is an Identity Card. It’s