Don't think, just strike.
|Gerard Dunwiddie heard his father screaming and squeezed his eyes shut. “Gerard!” his father bellowed from downstairs. “Are you cleaning up your room? You better not be thinking about that girl again. You hear me?”
“No!” Gerard shouted. “I mean, Yes! I hear you!” He stared at Page 66 of his biology book. Hemoglobin: the main transport of oxygen and carbon dioxide in blood. He looked over at his bio project, a wax model he’d been carving of a human heart, all four chambers.
His carving knife sat against the heart and, with a blink of surprise, Gerard noticed a spider picking its way along the razor-sharp blade. Gerard leaned in, looking for spider blood on the blade. No blood. The spider was really doing it. He wondered if he could do it, if he could walk on the edge of a knife.
“Gerard!” roared his father again. “You better be cleaning that pigsty and not thinking about that girl, that Mazy!”
“Marcy,” Gerard whispered. Touching the dried blood left by his father’s fist, over his left eye, he exploded, “I am cleaning!”
Gerard peered at the knife. The spider was gone, the blade was clean, still no blood. The spider had walked the knife edge. I can do it, Gerard thought. He listened for his father, heard the television blast on -- he was in his den. Gerard looked again at the knife.
He wiped his hands on his pants, picked up his cell phone, punched in the numbers. “Out of my league,” he whispered. “What am I thinking? Who am I kidding?”
A soft voice wafted from the phone. “Hello?”
Walking on the edge of the knife, Gerard croaked, “Marcy, this is Gerard Dunwiddie and I’m wondering if you’ll go to the Valentine’s Dance with me on Friday.”
(Word count: 300)