Popular: Vintage Wisdom for a Modern Geek (17 page)

• Kenzie now sits at another table with a new friend. I suppose this is a good thing, but it makes me ache on the inside. She and I ride the bus together, though, so that’s still something we share.
  
• Adriano deliberately avoids my gaze. I got asked out by a Football Faction member and now he won’t talk to me. But I don’t care.
  
• I know so many more people. People I never would have spoken to if this whole experiment had never happened. It’s as if there’s a magnetic pull inside me toward all of humanity. It’s a love that I never thought I could feel for the students I go to school with.
  

But there’s one change that catches me off guard more than anything else. I watch as a girl tugs at her boyfriend’s sleeve. He’s sitting with his friends at an all-guy table, but she wants him to sit with her. It’s a usual sight, but this time it plays out differently.

The boyfriend refuses, and I watch as she lets out a determined sigh. She sets down her tray among all the guys and sits down with them.

The boys look at her funny for a moment, but then just shake their heads and lower their eyes. One glances up at me.

Suddenly, I have the strangest feeling. What I did made a big difference in the smallest of ways. I opened doors. I changed what was socially acceptable, just a little bit.

I’ve never felt quite so powerful.

IT’S A DATE
& BE A HOSTESS

Here we are. The last month of this social experiment that came to be all because of a sixty-year-old book at the back of a closet.

I am a changed person. As I walk through the halls today, I notice how people look at me. Like I’m actually a human being, a friend even. But the biggest difference is the way I see them. I’m not scared of everybody else. For the first time in my life, I feel happy and safe at school.

But it isn’t over yet. There are still two more chapters to cover in the stained pages of Betty’s book: “It’s a Date” and “Be a Hostess.” What better way to end this year than the two hardest tasks in the book?

While we’re on the subject of dating, let’s discuss the history of my crushes:

My first crush was Tyler, my neighbor when my dad was in graduate school. We walked together to first grade every day. One time, he invited me over, and we played a board game in his basement.

“You’re my friend, right?” he asked me.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to be your friend anymore. The only way I’ll talk to you ever again is if you kiss me.”

I didn’t want to make any hasty decisions. So, I went home and told my parents. From that day forward, Tyler had an irrational (or perhaps rational) fear of my father. Sometimes I’d throw a basketball over the fence, just so he’d throw it back. That crush lasted until third grade, when he moved away.

My next heartthrob was Blake. He was the smartest kid in the class, working on his own advanced math packets while we were still learning multiplication tables. I daydreamed about him until he started bragging to everyone that he was “so much” smarter than they were. Even back then I didn’t find that attractive.

Then came Jason. Jason was in love with Vanessa, the girl who was my first encounter with real popularity. He was the most sought-after guy in our grade. Jason had a big smile, wavy brown hair, and he was picked first in every sport. I spoke to Jason one last time before we moved to Brownsville when I told him I was leaving for good. He shrugged and said, “Good-bye, Mia.” He almost remembered my name. I was so happy!

My most recent and longest crush was, of course, Ethan.

I’ve always wondered how it must feel to like someone and have them like you back just as much. It’s never happened to me (except for kiss-happy Tyler, which doesn’t count). But this month the school is hosting an eighth-grade prom, and my goal is to go. With a boy. And not just any boy—someone nice. Not an Adriano.

And hopefully once I accomplish this task, I’ll move into the “Be a Hostess” chapter. I have never hosted a party, but seeing that we’re moving soon, it seems appropriate.

Responsibility is the secret of any hostess’ success. By that I mean thinking ahead and planning. A party just doesn’t run itself. It has to have refreshments and some sort of general scheme. And it has to have people.

I’m going to use the fifty dollars I made during my financial month along with other money I’ve saved up to pay for the party. I can do refreshments. I can create a scheme. Maybe, just maybe, I can get people there, too.

Wednesday, May 2

I get moved next to a shy boy in algebra today. His name is Nicolas. He kind of looks like an extremely awkward Clark Kent: big square glasses, black hair, and beautiful brown eyes.

I smile at him as I drop my backpack and sit down. He lifts the corners of his mouth then turns around and begins talking to a friend. He has a very quiet voice and always looks faintly surprised when he’s speaking.

On the way out of class, he does something few guys ever do anymore. He holds the door open and lets me pass in front of him.

There it is again, the effervescent burbling of a crush, rising to the surface. I glide to second period.

That is, until I almost crash into a couple making out.

No one wants to go to the movies and observe the antics of a loving couple in the row ahead. No one wants to go to a diner and eat a hamburger seasoned with the simpering goings-on of two moonstruck youth. The minute you go beyond holding hands in public you have gone too far. Embraces and kisses which are carried on for all the world to see are in poor taste.

I laugh. Oh, Betty, if you only knew then what the future would hold.

Thursday, May 3

“All right, boys and girls! Welcome to your first day of sex education. Today we will be going over the male and female reproductive systems. I don’t want any of you to shy away from the proper anatomical terms. After that we’ll watch a video on STDs. Trust me, you’ll never be the same.”

Kenzie and I exchange glances. For months, Ms. Welch has mentioned sex, but it’s always been broken up with food pyramid drawings and excited discussions about marijuana. Not anymore. We’ve been silently praying that this day would never come, and yet, here it is. Actual Sex Education with Ms. Welch.

Ms. Welch enlists a student to pass out diagrams of male and female genitalia.

“Fill in whatcha know, then we’ll go over the rest.”

I label all of the female anatomy just fine, but I can’t figure out the
other
one.

“Ma’am, what’s number twelve?” asks one boy in the back.

“Really? You don’t know where your testicles are?” Ms. Welch chuckles.

I hide my face. Even I figured out that one.

Ms. Welch moves on and pushes play on the remote control.

I will not describe to you what went on in the twenty minutes following. I will, however, tell you that the film was shot in the 1980s. There were scary hairstyles, inaccurate information about AIDS, and an awful background song. It went something like this:

Abstinence, it means love and it means trust.

Abstinence, with STDs it is a must!

Why is everyone expecting me to grow up so fast?

Why am I the only one who thinks relationships are meant to last?

Ms. Welch turns off the TV.

“So, class, did you see that pus and infection? And the genital warts? That’s what happens. Don’t have sex. So, who wants to get me my lunch?”

I lean over to Kenzie, who has covered her eyes with her sweatshirt. “Kenzie, I think I’m going to join a convent.”

“Have fun, future nun.”

Friday, May 4

When I wake up and look at the calendar, I don’t think about the prom, or the party, or boys, or the fact that I’m going to have to face another day of sex education.

My sister would have been eight years old today.

The realization is like a punch in the gut, leaving me gasping and holding back tears. My little sister, Ariana, would be dancing around, wanting presents and cake. Every year I wait for this anniversary to stop hurting.

I am slowly realizing that it never will.

For me, her birthdays hurt worse than her death days. Birthdays remind me of everything that will never be.

Monday, May 7

Dear Mrs. Cornell,

I was so excited to talk to you on the telephone a while back. This whole year I’ve dreamed of hearing what you’d say about what I’m doing.

This last month, themed “Popular Attitude,” was definitely a success. I have never forced myself to do anything as hard as talking to strangers. It has always been impossible for me to make new friends and fit into a group. Now, I know and talk to more people than I ever thought possible.

I’ve learned that lots of people are afraid to make the first move in a conversation. Many are simply waiting for you to talk first. So many of them have wonderful stories and personalities.

I’d love your advice for this month. After much consideration I have decided to host a party. What kinds of things should I prepare? Do you know any fun games or have any ideas? What did you enjoy doing when you went to casual parties? Also, I would love to learn more about your middle school years. What were you like in eighth grade?

Your Friend,

Maya Van Wagenen

P S. Thank you so much for the modeling pictures that you sent me! They are beautiful, and I was so thrilled to get them in the mail! You have such a gift; your eyes and expressions are so bright! I can tell that you loved what you were doing. As soon as we get to our new house in Georgia this summer, I will frame them and put them on my walls!

Tuesday, May 8

This evening, the school holds an awards ceremony for students who made all As or had perfect attendance throughout the school year. I do my makeup in the car and try to get fluff off my slacks. Mom, Brodie, and Natalia choose a spot at the back of the auditorium. Dad has to teach, so he can’t be there.

Up front, the eighth graders have a “Reserved” section. I sit next to a less popular Volleyball Girl. She stares at me.

Shifting, under her gaze, I decide to say, “Hi.” We start chatting.

“You know,” she confides, “I never respected you until I saw you sitting there, right in the middle of all those boys just chillin’. You were amazing. You just seemed so calm.”

“Thanks.”

She smiles at me—a genuine “I-accept-your-existence-as-a-human-being” smile.

It is the most beautiful feeling.

I turn around to look for Mom and see Dad there too. He waves. He rushed to get here between classes, just to see me. I’m incredibly touched.

After the ceremony is over I talk to Dante and then rush up to give Kenzie a big hug. Ironically, we’re the only two girls wearing pants. Great minds think alike.

I can’t believe the school year is almost over. But there is still so much left to do. I’m almost there, Betty.

Wednesday, May 9

Popular.

The definition was always sort of fuzzy in my head. I knew what it didn’t mean. It didn’t mean being picked last. It didn’t mean being made fun of or having no one to sit with. It didn’t mean being alone. But that isn’t enough anymore. I need real opinions—am I really becoming popular thanks to Betty? It’s time to start asking my peers what popularity means to them. I start with Gabriel (the tall one who rescued me from being trampled) and his table of all guys, who have been much nicer to me recently.

“Hi there,” I chirp.

“You again!” says Sergio, leaning over to give me a high five.

“Yep.”

Gabriel smiles. I sit across from him and pull out my lunch.

One kid, Luis, scoots as far away from me as he can.

“What’s wrong,” asks Gabriel. “Scared of a girl?”

“Um, well, I , you see, I never know what to say around, um female types, so I, like, get nervous, and er, then I break out into hives.” He shrugs and looks at me. “Sorry.”

“Nice to know,” I say.

They talk about girlfriends, video games, and movies. Finally I pluck up enough courage to ask, “Hey, Gabriel, I’m doing a report on popularity. What do you think it means?”

He scrunches up his forehead. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. Everybody, deep down is exactly the same.”

I write that down in a notebook with a star next to it.

Very interesting.

“So who do you think are the most popular people in school?” I ask.

Luis motions over to Carlos Sanchez’s table. “Like, the jocks. They’re um, like a bunch of bastards.”

“I sat with them last week,” I say casually. “They were nice to me.”

His jaw drops. “You sat with them? Really? What do they talk about?”

The other guys lean in to listen.

“The same things that you guys talk about.”

“No way!”

“That’s impossible!”

“You’re crazy!”

“It’s true,” I say. “You should try sitting with them sometime.”

They laugh.

Thursday, May 10

I stay after school for choir practice. We’re learning some choreography for our next concert. We take a break and I sit next to Eva, one of my seventh-grade buddies from the trip.

“Hi, Maya! I’m going to make up a rhyme for your name!”

“Okay,” I say, laughing.

She scrunches up her nose. “Um . . . There goes Maya Van Wagenen . . . rocking my socks . . . again!”

I laugh, and Ms. Charles, the choir director, pulls out a microphone. “Okay,” she says. “Who’s going to audition for the solo in the song?”

Eva grabs my hand and lifts it up, “Maya will!”

I feel my face go red. I’m okay at singing, but I definitely have more of a “group voice.”