4. The first time I saw Carlos I would never have believed he was going to change my life. I had my arms full of books and I was rushing into the classroom when I ran into something solid. It was Carlos.
"My . . . , you're tall," he said.
Of course, the class began to laugh. Angry, I walked to my seat without a word.
I glanced back to see if Reed Harrington was laughing with the rest. That would be the last straw. To my relied, Reed was studying chemistry and did not seem to be aware of anything else. I didn't know why I considered Reed my friend. Maybe just because he was a good two inches taller than me. Anyway, every time I blew out my birthday candles and made a wish, it was for a date with Reed Harrington.
"Take that seat," Mr. McCarthy told the cocky newcomer Carlos, pointing to the only empty one, in the back of the room.
Carlos laughed widely. "But I need a couple of dictionaries." Again, the class laughed, but now they were laughing with Carlos, not at him. He had been here only 10 minutes and already he had them on his side.
The bell rang for classes. As I stood up to go, I saw Carlos coming toward me. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you, he said. I looked straight ahead over the top of his black hair. "That's all right."
"I ought to know better." He was still blocking my way. "What's your name?" "Karen Forbes." He held out his hand. Unwillingly, I shook hands with him. He looked up at me seriously with his brown eyes. "I am Carlos. I don't see why you're so touchy"
It was the school elections that made me think of Carlos again. Reed Harrington was voted president and Carlos vice-president. "How come?" I kept asking myself, "How come this shrimp who's only been in town for a little over a month gets to be so popular?"
So on that morning, I stopped Carlos and said, "It doesn't seem to bother you — being short." He looked up at me, "Of course I mind being short. But there isn't anything I can do about it. When I realized I was going to have to spend my life in this undersized skin, I just decided to make the best of it and concentrate on being myself. " "You seem to get along great," I admitted, "But what about me? Nobody wants to date a girl taller than he is." "The trouble with you is you're afraid to be yourself. You're smart. And you could be pretty. In fact, you might be more than pretty." I felt myself turning red. . .