Why I Am Excited

I am excited. On the day this paper comes out, I will turn sixteen.

That's exciting, but that's not why I'm excited.

On October 16, I will be sixteen years, one week, and six days old. I will also be taking the PSAT (also known as the Painful, Slimy and Atrocious Torture).

That is most definitely not why I'm excited.

Five days after the afore- mentioned ordeal, I will hopefully have a sufficient number of functioning brain cells to participate in the first Knowledge Bowl meet of the year.

That is pretty exciting. Oh, fine, it's really excit- ing. But at the moment, I'm about ready to jump out of my seat, do a triple cartwheel, and land in the splits, which is unusual given the fact that I can do neither a cartwheel nor the splits.

All right, fine, I won't keep you in suspense any longer. On October 26th, at approximately nine o'clock in the evening, the WHS Homecoming Dance kicks off.

I love dances, but I'm especially excited for this one - against all odds and several fundamental laws of the universe, I have a date. (Yes, you read that right - D- A-T-E.)

He's a casual friend of mine. I asked him over the school PA system with a song, accompanying my- self on the ukulele. I never thought he would actually say yes.

I reeled in shock for the rest of the day. The next day, I sheepishly asked a friend of mine what I was supposed to do next. She informed me that my responsibilities from this point on consisted mainly of finding a dress.

I chatted with my mother, and she agreed to drive me into the Tri-Cities on Satur- day to hunt down a suitable frock. When Friday rolled around, she said that since we would already be in Day- ton on Saturday morning, we might go dress shopping in Clarkston instead.

After running a few er- rands in Dayton, we headed out past the old Seneca plant and towards the Lewiston- Clarkston area. We passed through Dusty and grabbed a snack at the small Dusty Mercantile. As we drove on, Mom suggested that I look in some of our travel guides for dining options near our destination.

I perused a rated list of establishments and suggested a few.

" Well," said Mom, "there's another place you might want to look."

"Where?" I asked, im- mediately thinking of Asotin and wondering if there were any restaurants there.

"Ehhhellip;Spokane."

All right. I'm not very good with maps, but I know that Clarkston is nowhere near Spokane.

As it turned out, this was my birthday present - a quiet weekend in Spokane with no little brother in sight. Mom and I stayed in a cozy hotel room, and I got to watch Cupcake Wars until eleven at night. We shopped around town, strolled in Riverfront Park, ate dinner at Frank's Diner, and partook of free samples at several local chocolate shops. No stress, no pressure, nothing orga- nized or pretentious. I had the time of my life.

And when we drove home on Sunday afternoon, there was a pink homecom- ing dress draped over the heap of suitcases in the back of the car.