Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 1.
By Pentatonic

Tuesday, September 2, 2014:

The day after Labor Day; the end of summer and the beginning of another school year,.

When I turned 16 the prior spring I was only 5' 9" tall and weighed about 135 pounds, with way too much of me in my behind, so much that I had grown weary of my friends commenting that my butt would look good on a girl. Although my behind was large, my waist was small compared with it. Otherwise I was just a normal teenager.

I’m not “cool,” to put it bluntly. Although far from the top of the social strata in school, I do have friends. Friends who are nerdy. Some are overweight, and some with complection problems. None of us are athletes. We are just invisible to the cool kids. We are never invited to any of their parties, and we only heard, third hand, of what goes on at such doings.

But even being a nerd, I had a respectable grade point average. I am interested in cars, and have become a relatively competent mechanic. My group of friends and I share an interest in computer games. All in all, we have become used to our social status, and it is not an unhappy situation. Was it the same for girls, I had wondered from time to time.

Over the years I had developed an acquaintance with Becky Jones, who is about 5' 7" and like me could to stand to lose a few pounds. She would make a great valkyrie in a Wagnerian opera. We share many of the same classes in school and sometimes we study together.

Saturday, September 13, 2014:

My story starts on a Saturday afternoon in the middle of September of my junior year in high school. My friends, Joe, Harry, Bob and I were sprawled on the furniture in Bob’s den, half watching something idiotic on the television.

“Hey guys,” announced Joe, “the Homecoming Dance is four weeks away. Are any of you guys going?”

“If it means getting a date, the answer is ‘no.’ It seems like every time I ask a girl out, I get shot down,” answered Harry.

Bob just belched in response and shook his head.

“How about you, Roy?” asked Joe. “You seem to get along with Becky, and she might go with you if you ask her.”

“I donno,” I replied.

At that point Bob’s mother came into the room. “Why don’t you guys see if you can get dates. It may do you good,” she said. “I’ll bet that there are a lot of girls in your school would love to be asked out to the dance.”

“Yeah, but they aren’t the popular girls,”complained Bob.

“Like you four are the most popular guys,” she replied sarcastically.

Monday, September 15, 2014:

What had been said stuck in my mind for the rest of the weekend, and I practiced all sorts of suave ways to ask Becky for a date. At lunch on Monday I came over to the table where Becky was sitting with some of her friends. I approached he table.

“Uh, Becky, do you have a minute? There’s something I want to ask you.” So much for being suave.

“Ask away,” she responded.

“In private.” I said.

“These are my friends,” she said, “I don’t have any secrets from them.” All of her friends were staring at me like a bunch of lionesses looking at a fresh kill.

“Uh,” I continued, “there’s this homecoming dance coming up. I wonder if you’d like to go with me?”

“Like on a date?” she said. The other girls just snickered. I was about ready to run away as fast as I could.

“Uh,” I stammered, “yeah, I guess so. Let me know.” With that I made my exit as quickly as possible. I could hear Becky and the other girls giggling. I could feel my face burning.

The guys had heard the exchange and clustered around me. “So you asked her,” said Joe, “What’d she say?”

“I donno, I didn’t wait for an answer.”

I didn’t have to. After my last class, I was getting ready to go home when one of the guys on the football team came up to me. I don’t think that I ever exchanged more that five words with him in my whole time at school. “I heard that you have a date for the homecoming dance,” he said, “it’s about time that you nerds participated in some school activities and supported the football team. I look forward to seeing you there.” It almost sounded like a threat.

As I was heading to my car in the parking lot, I saw Becky standing next to it. She looked concerned. My first thought was that she was going to reject my invitation to the dance.

“Were you serious about asking me to the dance?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied.

“Good, because you didn’t wait for my answer at lunch. You took off like a scared rabbit. I was afraid that your friends had put you up to it for a dare.”

“So what is your answer?”

“Yes, I’d love to,” she said with a huge smile.

“You want a ride home?” I asked, gesturing at the junkyard reject which doubled as my car.

“Ok,” she said. At that time I remembered that gentlemen open car doors for ladies, and I opened the door with a flourish.

I have a sister, Amy, who is a year older than I am and is a senior. Once everyone was seated at the supper table she announced, “Guess who has a date for the homecoming dance.”

“That’s wonderful, honey, who is he?” asked my mother.

“Not me,” she said, “him,” and she pointed her thumb at me.

“Roy, you have a date?” my father asked. “Who?”

“Becky.”

“That’s great.” my mother said. My sister just snickered.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014:

The next day I sat down for lunch with my friends. “So, you really asked Becky out?” Bob asked, “You going to go through with it?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “it ought to be fun. You guys should ask some girl out.”

“Maybe Becky has some friends who would go out with me?” Harry asked. “Could you find out?”

Wednesday, September 17, 2014:

Becky and I are in the same advanced trig course, and there was a test coming up on Friday. “You want to study together?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she said, “I’ll ask my mom, and maybe you can come over after school and stay for supper.” That was the first time a study session had included supper. Something had changed between Becky and me.

At supper that night I told my parents that I would be studying for the test with Becky, and I had been invited to stay for dinner. “Ohh! A study date,” my sister chimed in. I just frowned back at her.

Thursday, September 18, 2014:

On Thursday, Becky and I studied all afternoon. Around six, Becky’s mother announced that dinner was ready.

It seemed as if something had changed. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but Becky’s parents treated me differently, almost as if they were eying me up as possible son-in-law material.

After dinner, Becky walked me to the door. Before I walked out, I asked her if she wanted to go out for a movie and pizza on Friday night.

Becky turned slightly and called out to her parents, “Is it okay if Roy and I go out for a movie and pizza tomorrow night?” Becky’s parents apparently thought it was a great idea.

Friday, September 19, 2014:

At lunch on Friday, Harry asked me if I wanted to go to the game arcade that evening. “No, I have other plans,” I said.

“Like what?” Joe asked.

“Becky and I are going to a movie and pizza,” I admitted. This caused some mirth among my friends and Harry began to hum a few bars of the Wedding March from Lohengrin. I just scowled at them.

Most of the times when I leave the house, my parents are indifferent as to what I look like, as long as it does not violate any decency laws. This time it was different; my mother had me stand inspection. “You can’t go out on a date looking like a bum,” she said, “it’s disrespectful to the girl.”

“You have enough money?” asked my father, “Remember, on a date the guy pays for everything.” I held out my hand and my father put some bills into it. A teenager learns that you never refuse an offer of money from a parent.

I arrived at Becky’s house and her mother answered the door. “Come in,” she said, smiling broadly, “Becky will be ready in a minute.”

True to her mother’s word, Becky came down the stairs a minute later. I had never seen her look so nice. She was wearing a maroon full skirt with a white blouse which was not tucked into her waistband. She wore sandals with a low heel. The most striking part was her face; she just glowed. Her makeup was subdued and her hair framed her face.

“Try to be home at a reasonable time,” her father said with a smile.

Becky and I were about ready to turn to the door when her mother said, “Wait, before you go, I want a picture,” and she began snapping away with the camera on her cell phone.

As we walked to my car, Becky took my hand in hers. It was like electricity. Once we were in the car, she repeated the gesture.

I shouldn’t have told my pals which movie we were going to see, because there they were, with big foolish grins on their faces. I tried to take my hand from Becky’s but she just held on tighter and smiled at them.

Once in the theater, Becky steered me up to the last row, so there was no one behind us, all the time holding my hand in hers.

I could feel Becky leaning against me, and I put my arm around her shoulders. In response, she snuggled closer to me and leaned her head on my shoulder. I could smell her perfume.

Later, at the pizza parlor, we found that we had an audience. Not only my friends, but also Becky’s friends. “Maybe we should introduce them to each other, and they might leave us alone,” I commented.

“They all know each other already,” Becky replied.

When we arrived at Becky’s house after leaving the pizza place, I walked her to her door and we stood there, face to face. I knew that you weren’t supposed to kiss on a first date, but we already had a study date, so I brushed my lips against hers. “You can do better than that,” she whispered, and pulled my head to hers and placed her lips firmly on mine. It was my first kiss. It was wonderful. We kissed again, and Becky said, “I had a wonderful time. Thank you for the movie and pizza.” She kissed me again and then opened her door. I went back to my car like I was walking on air. This dating stuff is great, I thought.

The feeling of euphoria lasted until I got back home. My sister and parents were waiting up for me. My sister examined my face. “Well, we don’t have to ask you how your date was, it’s evident from the traces of lipstick on your face,” she said with a wicked smile.

“Did you have a good time?” my mother asked.

Without waiting for my answer, my sister piped out, “Just look at him, that’s your answer.”

Saturday, September 20, 2014:

The next day I was working in the yard when my three pals ‘just happened’ to come by. Obviously they were looking for an ‘after action report.’

“Well, how was it?” Joe asked.

“It was okay,” I responded, “you ought to try it yourself.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Harry stammered.

“I know, you have to ask a girl to go out with you. They aren’t going to ask you,” I said. “You could have asked Cathy, Sue or Judy last night at the pizza place.”

“I probably would have been shot down,” Joe said dejectedly.

“I don’t think so,” I responded. “Becky told me that Sue thinks you’re kinda cute, in a nerdly way.” I added with a snicker. “Look, I have an idea. At lunch on Monday, all four of us can ask Becky, Cathy, Sue and Judy if they want to play miniature golf on Saturday evening. It’s like a group date,” I said.

“Hey, that might work,” said Harry, “I’m up for it.” Joe and Bob nodded their heads in agreement.

“Just keep your cotton picking hands off of Becky,” I added menacingly.

“Ooh, so that’s the way the wind is blowing,” Joe exclaimed, with a big grin.

Monday, September 22, 2014:

At lunch on Monday, the guys and I approached the table where Becky, Cathy, Sue and Judy were sitting. “The guys and I would like to challenge you girls to a game of miniature golf on Saturday,” I announced. All of the girls smiled.

The girls cut right to the chase. “What time?” Cathy asked, as if the invitation had been accepted, which, as it turned out, it was. The other girls nodded in agreement.

So the eight of us showed up at the miniature golf place at 7:30 that Saturday evening. Was it officially a date? I can’t say one way or the other, but all of us guys were wearing slacks, not jeans, shirts with collars and leather shoes. The girls, not to be outdone, were wearing skirts or shorts with cute tops. All of the girls were wearing subdued make up. I, for one, was impressed.

I had clued the guys that the girls probably expected us to pay, which was true. We then split into two groups, Joe, Sue, Bob and Cathy in one group, and the rest of us in the other. All the time Becky kept a tight grip on my hand, as if to say that I belonged to her. The other girls seemed to accept this. While we kept score, it soon became apparent that social interaction was much more important, because at the end of the game everyone had a date to the Homecoming dance.

Cathy and Becky then suggested that we play another round and even offered to pay. The catch was that the girls had made plans for a Halloween party, and the winners could chose the Halloween costumes for the losers. I figured that guys are just naturally better at this than girls, so I started with a confident attitude, which soon turned to worry. It appears that Becky had an eye that a professional golfer would envy. I lost by one stroke, but that was enough.

“Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with this,” crowed Becky, “be at my house on Sunday afternoon, for our study session and we can think about your costume.”

My parents were still up when I got home. “So, how was it?” my mother asked. I told her how as a result of the evening all of us had dates to the Homecoming Dance. “Well, it’s about time that you guys got off of your rears and did something mature,” she added.

I then let the other shoe drop, and told my parents about the bet we had for the second game. “So, how much did you beat Becky by?” my father asked.

“I lost,” I admitted.

“Oh, this should turn out to be interesting,” my mother said with a wicked smile, “I want pictures.”

My sister just giggled.

Sunday, September 28, 2014:

On Sunday afternoon, I showed up at Becky’s house to study for a test on Monday. The subject of the Homecoming Dance and the Halloween party were discussed. Becky must have told her parents about the wager, to judge from the gleeful smiles on their faces. “I guess that Becky forgot to tell you that she took third place at the girls under 16 golf tournament a year ago,” her father said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, it must have slipped her mind,” I said ruefully. Becky was just gave me a sly smile.

We studied hard for several hours, and when we felt that we had a good grasp of the materials we relaxed. “What do you think about the essay that was assigned in the sociology class?” Becky asked.

“It’s going to be difficult,” I responded and fished the assignment from my backpack. It was due in two weeks. “Sexual stereotypes; what it would be like to be the other sex,” I read off the sheet of paper. “I have to write what it would be like to be a girl, and you have to write what it would be like to be a boy,” I read on, “We have to incorporate some of the sexual stereotypes which we discussed in class. One good thing is that we can discuss this with each other,” I concluded.

“It’ll be a lot of fun working on our papers with each other,” Becky added. “I feel sorry for the kids who don’t have a boy or girl friend.”

“They’ll have to find one soon, or have a fertile imagination,” I added. I didn’t have a clue what it was like to be a girl. Becky, on the other hand, had formed a plan to educate me on that point, and it had to do with a skirt. Naturally, she kept this to herself.