Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul on Tough Stuff Read Free

confidence. I wasn’t the only one.
    Lies and rumors, hate and envy fly like bullets every day in high school. I got hit, like many unfortunately do, and I was ready to get back out there, shielding myself with the truth and a force field of confidence I forgot I had.
    About a week later, a boy at school stopped me in the halls and asked, “So, is it true that you kiss like a horse?”
    I smiled. “You know what, I’ve never kissed a horse before, have you?” He shook his head, embarrassed, as I turned around and walked away.
    Rebecca Woolf

Have You Ever
    Have you ever lived my life?
Spent one minute in my shoes?
If you haven’t then tell me why
You judge me as you do.
    Have you ever woken up in the morning
Wondering if this was your last day on Earth?
Have you ever left your house
Unsure if you’d return?
    Have you ever seen your friend get shot
Outside his favorite store?
Have you ever seen a friend die
From drugs he’d never used before?
    Have you ever seen your mom get beat up
By your stepdad messed up on booze?
Have you ever had an unwanted pregnancy
Forcing you to choose?
    Have you ever sat beneath the stars
Hoping God will hear?
Have you ever seen your friend drive away
After way too many beers?
    Have you ever had a friend
Experiment with weed?
Have you ever covered up guilt
By doing a good deed?
    Have you ever considered suicide
As the only way?
Have you ever tried to hide yourself
Behind the things you say?
    Have you ever wanted to protect
Your friends and everyone in sight?
Have you ever felt such pain
That you cried yourself to sleep at night?
    Have you ever lived my life,
Spent one minute in my shoes?
If you haven’t, then tell me why
You judge me as you do.
    Tiffany Blevins

I Am Loni
    T o be nobody but yourself in a world that’s doing its best to make you somebody else is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting.
    e. e. cummings
    Why do I even try? If there’s one thing I should have learned, it’s, try or not, I’ll probably screw up. Mom says, “Loni, a lady shouldn’t say things like ‘screw up.’” That just proves my point. I even screw up how to tell you that I screwed up.
    I know, I have so much going for me. Don’t even go there. Dad brags about my grades, and Mom’s proud of the person I am and all my activities. Grandma goes on and on about my pretty face. Yeah, too bad about the rest of me, I think to myself.
    I’m not, like, big enough to be featured as The Amazing Amazon Teen in The Guinness Book of World Records, but I am big enough not to like shopping with my friends. “How cu-u-u-u-ute!” they squeal over every rack of clothes. They know they’ll fit into anything. I can’t commit until I scan the plastic circle dividers to see how high the sizes go.
    I pretend that clothes don’t matter to me. That explains my semi-grunge look everyone takes for my chosen style. No outfit is complete without a sweater, flannel shirt or sweatshirt tied around my waist to cover up . . . oh . . . everything.
    So, when we go to the mall, I’m the designated shopper. You know, like the designated driver who goes to a party but doesn’t partake. I stand outside the changing rooms to ooh and aah when they emerge for the three-way mirror check. Only after a careful inspection do I reassure them that their thighs, legs, waist or bottom do not look too big in that outfit; otherwise, it would be taken as insincere.
    It takes all I have not to roll my eyes when they hand me a piece of clothing and plead, “Can you see if this comes in a smaller size?” Give me a break. Where should I look? The children’s department?
    I really did screw up, though. Being a self-appointed good sport, I tried out for the volleyball team with my friends. Here’s the bad part: I made it.
    It seems I have a killer serve. I use it for self-defense. The harder I ram the ball, the