Channing “Frye Sauce” Frye sat out all of last season with an screwed-up heart. The doctors claimed it was a genetic abnormality, present since birth, but I know better.
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Channing was pacing. He always paced his room when he was nervous. The phone was sitting on his bed, just waiting to be picked up and dialed.
“You can do it, Frye-man,” Channing said to himself. “You know Clara likes you. Just call her and ask her to the dance man.” But the pep talk didn’t make his hands any less sweaty, or his stomach feel any less like it was about to erupt its contents all over the floor.
Sitting down on the bed, he picked up the phone and jabbed the first few numbers. “What if she says no?” interrupted his brain, causing Channing to slam down the phone in fright. “Don’t be stupid,” he reminded himself. “She was all over you after the game. She wants the D. The date.”
Now dialing the complete number, he almost died when a male voice answered, “Hello, this is the Smith household.”
“Um…c-can I, uh, speak…speak to C-C-Clara?”
“Sure, let me go get her.”
Now Channing’s heart was beating faster than ever. Her dad sounded like a nice guy on the phone, but he would probably beat the snot out of him anyway if he got the chance. Channing was about to hang up in fear when Clara came on the line.
“Hello?”
“Guh. Uh,” was all that Channing could say.
“Who is this?”
Channing swallowed hard. “It’s Channing,” he answered, in a too-high voice. “Nice weather, huh?”
Clara sounded confused. “Yeah, I guess.”
There was a pause while Channing gathered his testicular power into a large enough chunk to ask the question. “Do…do you want to be my date for the dance on Friday?”
“I’m already going with Randy. Sorry,” responded Clara. Vision tunneled and arms weak, Channing felt like he had been punched in the nuts by a boxer.
“No, it’s cool, I’ve got some other girls lined up anyway,” Channing said with false cheer. “It’s cool.”
“I’m really sorry,” Clara said again.
“No problem. It’s cool, really. Randy’s a cool dude. It’s cool,” Channing said. “See you later.” Without waiting for a response, he hung up the phone. Lying on the bed, his heart physically hurt, and it was fluttering like crazy.
It was a lie. It wasn’t cool. He didn’t have any other girls ready to go. Clara was the one. The only. And now Randy had her. He felt his chest constrict, and his heart gave another painful twinge. The twinge of love rejected.
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So that’s how Channing’s heart got screwed up. I hope you’re happy, Clara.