The Spy in the Cafeteria

After almost straight-A-ing my way through ninth grade at a public junior high in Charleston, West Virginia -- the only B I got on my report card was for a 92 in first-semester History; at that school, you needed a 94 for an A -- I thought I needed to better my chances of getting into my dream school, the University of Virginia.

So I decided I had to go to The Episcopal High School in Alexandria, Virginia. The "The" indicated my grades would be taken more seriously.

I got horrible grades and had to move back home after a year.

(Thank goodness my Dad did not make me stay all through high school as his father made him stay at Episcopal's rival school, Woodberry Forest.)

During the year away, I received several letters from my Charleston buddies who were at George Washington High School. (Yes, letters. Through the post office. This was before e-mail. Yes, I am old.)

I read all about the amazing-looking twins who would go on to become The Homecoming Queen and The One Who Should Have Been Homecoming Queen. I read all about all of the pretty girls while the only girl at prep school I would see for several months was the chaplain's daughter.

And when I say "see," I mean I would see her around campus. From afar. I think the closest I ever got to her was when I held the door for her. And I think I held the door open for a good three minutes during her approach.

So everyone else from my junior high had a year head start on me for getting to know the ladies. Fortunately, by virtue of my friendships from ninth grade, I was "allowed" to sit at the "cool" table of underclassmen in the cafeteria as I tried to catch up in the socializing race in 11th grade.

Little did I know there was a future spy in the cafeteria. Not just in the cafeteria. At the table, sitting near me. She had a pretty face, caring eyes and a sweet personality.

And she talked to me.

I found out that she was a 10th-grader and took ballet. This girl was opening the door for me. How so?

"I took ballet for eight years," I said.

"Nuh-uh." she said.

She didn't believe me. Why didn't she believe me? You would think if I was feeding her a line, I would think of something other than "I took ballet for eight years."

Well, I will show her, I thought. So the next day, I brought in proof -- a 5x7 photo of me wearing ballet slippers my Mom had spray-painted white, fringe-covered white pants, a fringe-covered white vest and a pink-and-white Native American headdress my Grandma had made for me.

And I wonder why she never went out with me.

Actually, she had a boyfriend. Not that she would have gone out with me had she not had a boyfriend, but I am sticking to the story that the reasoning was she had a boyfriend.

Not that I was a shy nerd.

Or that I used to wear a pink-and-white headdress.

A decade later, I saw her at a Christmas Eve service at church. She walked right up to me and gave me a hug. I was stunned. I stammered as I got her address and told her I was going to write a screenplay for her one day.

Another decade later, I am finally making that screenplay into a movie. I tailored the main character, Taylor, after her. She is from Charleston. And a ballerina. And has a lot of guy friends.

And that girl from the cafeteria won't be in the movie.

She became a spy.

And got a new boyfriend.

Maybe they will attend the premiere.

If they show up, I'll be the one holding the door open. I'll even wait longer than three minutes.