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The List
The hallways of Greencrest High
seemed even more crowded from the hustle and bustle of Abercrombie adorned
teens running amongst one another.
“ She does show a lot of
skin...”
“ Did you hear about her and
Brad in the janitor's closet?”
“ Yeah, I did see the
website!”
I laughed at these petty
stories, and found with each retelling they became harder and harder to
believe. I doubted that a website existed with Lacey Shultz's naked picture,
and even if it did, the girl that just explained it explicitly did not even see
it. All these over exaggerated stories were byproducts of "the list."
The boys at my school started
a list of, in the most appropriate term, "easy girls", though I do
want to find a better term to describe these girls in the future. Some girls on
the list wear short skirts and tight shirts, while others are just so quiet
that we all wonder. But, no matter how much boy experience you possess, or thereby
lack of, no one deserved the humiliation of being one of the names. So, how
does one react to being listed?
Now, I don't want to sound as
if I have zero boy experience and the hotness level of a gooey grape Popsicle
stick. It's just that I'm more of the " good friend" than the
"girlfriend" who rocks an expert on Guitar Hero and plays soccer
instead of footsies. So, to get back on track with my tale, it all started with
Jason.
Jason was the varsity
quarterback and was in my Calculus class. He had never shown me any attention
before, so it was easy to notice his staring during one particular lesson on
“antideriatives” a row over. Focusing as hard as I could on the blackboard, I
tried to take notes, but his eyes were drawing me in like a black hole.
Finally, when I could no longer withstand his gaze, I made eye contact. He
smiled, and I gave a half smile back. It didn’t feel like butterflies in my
stomach, but two hippos doing the rumba! And then, just when I thought I would
die if he did yet another flirtatious move, he winked. I could hear my feet
tapping nervously, my breath beginning to quicken, and my hands flew straight
to my mouth as I started my o-so disgusting nail biting habit. He smiled one of
those I-know-how-nervous-you-are-and-it’s-kinda-cute smiles (or so I hoped),
and turned back around for the rest of the class.
As I packed up my bags, I
noticed him lingering at his desk. The bell rang and my heart stopped when I
noticed him standing a few feet away blocking my row. Focusing on my feet,
right, left, right, left, I approached Jason nervously.
“Excuse me,” I squeaked,
self-conscious of my mousy squeal.
“Hey, the name’s Jason,” he
said, as if I didn’t know the varsity quarterback’s first name. I was way ahead
of that, I happened to know his first, last, and middle name, his favorite
animal was a dog, he had two cats, and the last time he cried was three summers
ago when his bird died (not that I am a stalker, or anything.)
“That’s cool,” I smiled. Was
this kid flirting with me?! Oh My God! THAT’S COOL?! I’m supposed to tell him
my name!
“Uh… my name’s Lola,” I gushed.
My cheeks were redder than a stop sign at this point.
“Are you going to the game this
Friday?” he asked.
Every Friday was Guitar Hero night at
Damon’s Bar and Grille that my friends and I dominated each week after we
dubbed it our weekly ritual.
“Well, if you are,” he
continued, “some of us are going to Bobby’s for a big party after. You should
come. We could hang out.”
My friends were the best, but
no way would they understand this. To them, the world meant getting five stars
on Jordan
and winning Harry Potter Scene It, not going to the homecoming football game
and partying with the quarterback after. I had decided the summer prior to this
school year that I was shedding my quirky, nerdy exterior. Upon gazing at his
face, I decided this would be the first step, if any, of accomplishing those
goals. So I smiled, tilted my head a little what I hoped would be cute, and
said, “Sure, count on seeing me there!”
The night before the game, I
felt like a giddy schoolgirl. My usual tidy room looked like my closet just
purged every semi-fashionable article of clothing into a big heap in the
center. I had tried on numerous items, and found something wrong with each.
Black made me appear pale, Capri pants made me look like an unfashionable old
golfer, and yellow made me look like a big lemon. It was then, and only then,
that I wished I had a cheerleader as my best friend who owned every color Ugg
and thought Hollister cheap. But, unlike the movies, I knew that a glamorous
new girl wouldn’t just appear and give me a gorgeous makeover. No, if I was
going to do this, I had to do it on my own terms. I knew I could either wear
something I thought cute but is actually hideously ugly and risk having to move
to a new school and being a virgin till college, or I could put my trust in
Summer, my sister.
Summer was pretty in a plain
way. She never wore anything with glitter or sparkle, and she wore neutral
colors all year round. Though I thought her style dull, she had many boys
calling the house for her, so I found this a good indication that she had a
style boys found attractive.
I could sense detest with each article of
clothing thrown from my closet. She finally picked out a plaid skirt matched
with a baby pink polo and black heels. I hadn’t worn a skirt since 5th grade,
and feared looking as I stepped in the mirror. To my surprise, I didn’t look
half bad and I thanked the soccer gods for giving me the skill and toned legs
of a soccer player.
I guess you can say I wear my
emotions on my sleeve, so it was easy to tell I was anxious about something.
When my sister sat on my bed (or the only small portion not covered in clothes)
and asked me what was up, I broke down. I HAD to tell someone something as huge
as partying with the varsity quarterback, and being as I told my friends I had
a “family function” to attend instead of our weekly Damon’s outting, my sister
was the only one left to divulge the news to. I told her everything. The
staring, wink, talking, flirting, and she smiled and gasped at all the right
parts. When I was done, and I fake swooned on the bed, she grew somber and
warned me of boys.
“Don’t do anything you’re not
ready for, okay? Remember, boys may seem like the world now, but if you do
something you’re not ready for, you will regret it later.”
I smiled, nodded, and told her all the things she wanted to hear and kept
everything “bad” to myself.
It was lucky that the weather
had not become true autumn weather and was still mid 80s because I would have
froze in anything colder. My skirt kept blowing up from the wind, and my hair
became tangled. All in all, it was a good night. I saw some school friends that
I never hang out with outside of school, and together we made the best of the
game. Jason made the game winning touchdown, and when exiting the field with
his team, he took off his helmet and winked at me again as I waited in the
massive group of fans. All my friends gushed and howled in excitement that I
was in speaking terms with the star of the team, and that I got them invites to
one of the coolest parties.
The party had already started when we arrived. Pong was out, and I had a slight
hunch that the cups they were using were not filled, as they are at my
household, with soda, but with beer. The only beer I had ever tasted was the
root kind, and I felt nervous when a hand grabbed me.
“Hey, you made it,” Jason slurred. I could tell he was slightly buzzed
from whatever beverage was in his blue plastic cup. He took my arm and pulled
me away from my friends who all gave me envious looks that purely stated, “I
wish I was you.”
He lead past mass herds of people, some of which I recognized from some team or
another, others were complete unfamiliar faces. They all smiled as we past, and
shouts of “Congrats!” and “Good Job!” followed us everywhere. I received many
of the facial expressions my friends had given me from many other girls.
When we reached the bedroom, the
first thing I noticed, and I’m very sorry to say so, was the guitar from Guitar
Hero cropped up against Bobby’s bed.
“Oh wow! We should play!” I
said, completely unaware of how nerdy and childish I looked wanting to play a
video game over playing tonsil hockey. Again, I felt him grab my arm, but this
time I felt exerted force as he pulled me next to him on the bed. The bed was
semi lumpy and I wondered if there were hidden magazines under his mattress.
“How was the game?” Jason asked. He took his hand and put it under my chin to
make me look at him. I had been nervous to do so, but looking at him wasn’t as
hard as I had imagined. I saw a mud stain to the right of his left eyebrow and
noticed slight stubble upon his chin. Seeing such a popular boy with imperfect
features made everything so much easier.
“Good,” I cooed. Suddenly, I
noticed his head tilting and coming closer. I knew it was coming but became
completely unaware of everything. What do I do? Do I meet him halfway? Does he
want tongue? What if he’s boring? What if I’m boring?
Next thing I knew, we were kissing. It was something I will never forget, my
mouth touching that of a high school football legend. He maneuvered his way
about my mouth like an expert, and I felt his hands upon me. Suddenly,
something sparked.
He did NOT just unzip my pants.
“What are you doing?” I
spluttered, jumping back and wiping his slobber from my mouth with the back of
my hand.
“What’s wrong?” He looked
confused.
“I barely even know you and you
think… you think…”
I ran to the door, and for the
third time I felt his hand on my arm. This time there was so much force in it I
felt scared and chilled. I looked at him with disgust in my eyes.
“You were on the list. What’s
wrong with you…” and then he called me something that will haunt me for the
rest of my life. I slapped him in the face as a tear ran down my cheek.
“What list?!” I screamed, unable to
bottle my anger.
“The **** list. All the boys
made a list of easy girls. Your number ten.” He grinned an evil grin. A grin
that remains etched forever in my memories of that night. He knew then, that my
name on that list was a mistake. He knew then that my name would soon become
number one on that list. He knew then that because I didn’t give him what he
wanted, I would forever remain in my student body’s eyes, the class ****.
A week had passed, and still
dirty looks and evil glares followed me wherever I went. Teachers were now
involved having heard the rumors from listening to their student’s sidebar
conversations, and reading notes. Everyone was disgusted with me, when I was
the one who turned down one of the most popular boys in school.
The bathroom became my sanctuary and when I could no longer handle school and
my peers, I went there. One time in particular, it was terrible. The girl’s had
filled my locker with condoms and dirty pictures so that they tumbled on me
when I opened it. Their laughter filled the halls and soon everyone had turned
to see me and a pile of protection at my feet. I ran as fast as I could to the
bathroom, shut the stall, and began to sob. I heard heels enter, and I quickly
quieted my cries. I saw the heels pacing back and forth as if waiting for me to
come out. I peeked out my stall door and saw none other than Lacey Shultz
standing before me.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She
looked at my sympathetically and I knew that if anyone had the slightest
feeling of what it was like to walk in my shoes, it would be her, the supposed
online star.
I walked toward her and gave her
a hug.
“I’m sorry I believed the stories
I heard about you.”
I felt her shudder under my arms,
and I pulled her closer. Her tears wet my back and soon, they were falling from
my face too.
“Ditto.”
It was then that I realized
something so vastly important, I could not believe it had happened in a
bathroom let alone in a bathroom with a complete stranger I had never spoken to
in my life. I realized that even though everyone believed I was something, it
didn’t mean I was that person. Even though my life felt as if it were at rock
bottom now, I was leaving here soon. I was going to a college where no one
would know me, or my past, and that would make everything okay. I knew I did
the right thing, and even if I was one person in a world of millions who knew
that, I was the most important person who judged me. If I could look at myself
after each day and liked what I saw, that was the only thing that mattered.
And so, linking arms with
Lacey, we walked out together. We had walked in the bathroom “the biggest sluts
in school”, and walked out with knowledge that you can only find in your heart,
not from a list.
Copyright 2008 Kayla
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