Popular: Vintage Wisdom for a Modern Geek (21 page)

I think about everyone I danced with. All the guys and girls I pulled out onto the floor, making them part of one big group.

“Fun . . .” I say.

But then I remember all the people I invited who never showed up. I find myself missing them, wishing they’d shared in the magic.

“. . . And sad.” I look out the window at the passing cars.

When I get home, I brush out my curls and take off my makeup. Surprisingly, I still feel pretty. Not enchanting, but pretty.

I’m about to turn off the bathroom light, when suddenly I catch sight of my eyes in the mirror. A few hours ago, I had no idea what it was that made them look different. Now it’s undeniable. Deep within their dark brown depths I see something I never have before—strength, bravery, confidence . . . and fire.

No matter what happens from here on out, there will be no more fear.

Thursday, May 31

It’s the afternoon of the last day of school. I sit next to Kenzie as we ride the bus home together one final time. The heat and humidity are almost unbearable.

She smiles at me, but I can see there are tears in her eyes. I speak the words on both our minds: “Gosh, it’s gone by fast.”

She laughs humorlessly and bites her lip. “Hey,” she says. “Let me see what everyone wrote in your yearbook.”

I open it up. There are signatures on every page, crammed for space in the margins. Kenzie whistles, impressed.

“Kenzie, do you ever feel like you’ll be forgotten?” I ask. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking, hoping that I did more than just survive middle school, but somehow left a mark.”

Her eyes open quickly. “You got a pen?”

“Yeah,” I say, pulling one from my backpack. She snatches it from my hands and leans over the seat in front of us. I watch her, openmouthed.

“Look away, Maya, stop making it so obvious!” She purses her lips and concentrates. “There!” She sits back, admiring her handiwork. “I’m done. . . .”

I lean over and see what she’s written.

M. V. & K. H.
BFFL

I laugh. “You’re not the only one who wrote on school property.”

She raises her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I wrote on the wall in the girls’ bathroom. In one of the stalls. My message is somewhere above ‘Screw You, Britney.’”

“Nice. What did you say exactly?”

“Something I hope is worth remembering.”

Kenzie rests her head on my shoulder as we look out the window at the cars going by. We both smile.

“We did it,” she says.

“Yes, we did
,”
I whisper, thinking back to the message I left in the bathroom stall—small and insignificant, yet the summation of the lessons I learned this year:

Real popularity is taking the time to love others, reaching out, and never being afraid to be the first one dancing.

REMEMBER THE GIRL IN PEARLS

What began as a quirky social experiment taught me more than I ever thought possible.

All the times that I felt popular were because I had reached out to other people. I remember helping Isabella on the choir trip, Valentine’s Day, sitting at all the different lunch tables, and the prom. If we forget that connection, we forget what it truly means to be popular.

Do I think anyone can do it? Absolutely.

But it’s not easy. You have to be strong. You have to love people for who they are. After you move beyond the girdle, the white gloves, and pearls, Betty Cornell really understood this principle.

Maybe you ask, what has this all got to do with popularity? The answer is that popularity depends on your ability to get along with people, all kinds of people, and the better you learn to adjust to each situation the more easily you will make friends. You will find that you can make those adjustments more successfully if you have yourself well in hand. And the only way to get yourself in hand is to know yourself, to analyze yourself, to turn yourself inside and out as you would an old pocketbook—shake out the dust and tidy up the contents.

We can bring about a lot of change on this planet (and in our s

chools) by digging deep, finding our best selves, and shining that light of compassion. If we become afraid of what may happen or worry what others may think, it’s easy to forget what’s most important.

The world is a very big place that needs more caring. Imagine what would happen if we were all
truly
popular. If we all
truly
loved.

This year I was laughed at, I was praised. I was ridiculed, I was complimented. I was left out, I was included. But through it all, I was fortunate enough to learn and experience the real definition of that all-elusive word.

I, Maya Van Wagenen, became popular.

Wednesday, August 1

There they are, the pearls, thumping against my neck as I hurry up the stairs. My knee screams in protest, and I can’t help wondering what kind of person builds a high school on a hill. I’m grateful not to be wearing my girdle anymore. Imagine the chafing.

It’s lunchtime already on the first day of my new school in Georgia, and I wave at a friend I met this morning, a senior named Esme.

“You can sit with me, if you like . . .” she says when I walk over to her.

“I’d love that, thank you.”

She smiles and we sit down at a table. I pull out my lunch, a cheese sandwich on whole wheat bread with a bag of grapes. I think about my diet almost a year ago. This would have been very appropriate.

My hair is cut shorter now, and hardly reaches my shoulders. It’s still long enough to pull back into a stubby ponytail, but when it’s down (like it is today) I don’t mind it as much as I used to.

I sit up straight as Esme tells me about herself and the school. Posture is not as hard as it was in November, but I still have to think about it.

I’m wearing makeup today. I’ve almost run out of the original stuff Mom and I bought at the grocery store at the beginning of December, but I managed to scrape the last bit of powder out of the container this morning, after I’d put on my clothes. Freed from the constraints of a school uniform, I’m wearing a knee-length skirt with a blue blouse and a black sweater, along with my ballet flats. My whole outfit is tidy, and I’ve sprayed on some perfume.

Suddenly, I notice a girl who sits by herself at a table, looking completely out of place. She leans over her lunch tray and stirs her mashed potatoes. Without hesitation I excuse myself and walk over.

In that moment I don’t know about all the people I’m still going to meet this year. I don’t know about the girl in my drama class whose laid-back sense of humor and child-like excitement remind me of a certain best friend. I haven’t yet introduced myself to the boy whose intelligent wit and impeccable manners are comparable to that of a certain crush who sat next to me in algebra. I haven’t heard the words “Hey, Maya” come from the basketball player who is unmistakably similar to a certain guy who wanted to read a book about gay pigeons.

The only thing I know right now as I walk up to this girl sitting alone in the cafeteria of my new school is what Betty Cornell taught me to say last year:

“Hi, I’m Maya.”

My family in Georgia

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am infinitely grateful for all of the wonderful people i have had the opportunity to meet and work with during the course of writing and publishing this book. The journey from rant-filled journal to polished manuscript was a powerful one, and i couldn’t imagine making it without the assistance and support of so many.

I would like to thank Margaret Stohl—for her constant willingness to help, her advice, and her friendship—as well as Stephan Pastis, for reading that original manuscript and thinking enough of it to pass it on. Also, I owe a lot to Nick Staller and Ryan Hermosura, who believed in the message of the book strongly enough to drop everything and promote it. Shout out to the Hardys and Montoyas for their encouragement and for keeping the secret.

Then of course, I must mention my outstanding publishing people. I would like to thank Dani Calotta, for creating such a beautiful book design and allowing me to be part of the process that breathed life into the pages. Deborah Kaplan was a spectacular, fun, and generous art director (thank you for the clothes!). Rosanne Lauer saved my (four) bum(s) with her mad copyediting skills by catching mistakes many sets of eyes had missed. I am extremely grateful for Elyse Marshall who kept me from getting lost, rocks high heels, is an amazing friend, and still finds time to be the world’s best publicist. Julie Strauss-Gabel did breathtaking work as editor, sent me books (yay books!), and helped me grow as a writer. It was so much fun to work with her and see her vision for the manuscript from the very beginning. And she was right, Penguin does have the cutest logo. Thank you to my entire kick-butt Penguin family (which is pretty much the coolest bunch of people ever).

Lucy Stille helped to bring the story to a whole new audience, and Cecilia de la Campa is working to get Popular all over the globe. It’s been a dream come true seeing that my work will be published in places I have always dreamed of visiting. Daniel Lazar, my phenomenal agent, deserves a standing ovation for always going above and beyond, replying to e-mails and phone calls pretty much 24/7, and being there for me every step of the process. Plus he’s a great editor and an awesome person.

I am so grateful for all the teachers who pushed me to be better, helped me to improve, and inspired me to dream. This started early with Ms. Hunter, the elementary school teacher who taught me how much fun literature could be. Ms. Corbeil helped me survive those last two years of middle school. Librarians do change the world, one book recommendation at a time. And of course Mr. Lawrence who gave his best to me and all of his students. Every time I sit down at my computer, I strive to prove him right.

The Statesboro community has been overflowing in their support and enthusiasm. Although I am not a Georgia girl by birth, they have made me feel incredibly welcome and loved. I would also like to voice my appreciation for my fantastic uncle Eric Van Wagenen, who was always just a phone call away. Without him, I never would have had the courage to go about getting this published. My grandparents Richard and Sherry Van Wagenen were also incredibly helpful, by taking me out of the will every time I failed to produce the next chapter. It was their impatient phone calls, loving threats, and phenomenal pep talks that kept me writing in my most frustrated moments. My love goes out to all of my glorious aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and great-grandparents who read the manuscript, sent pictures, and shared in this part of my life. My heart is full of appreciation for Betsy and Bruce Fadem, as well, who welcomed me as part of their family.

I appreciate my wonderful siblings: loving Brodie, funny Natalia, and sweet Ariana, for their profound influence on my life. I am indebted to Michael Scott Van Wagenen, my father, for finding the book and never getting rid of it, for locating Betty, and for being there with support and advice whenever I needed it. Thanks to Monica Delgado Van Wagenen, my mother, for coming up with the idea and spending so many hours reading and discussing with me (even at three o’clock in the morning). I am truly blessed with a wonderful set of parents.

I am so grateful to the many students at my school, who are the very real characters behind this story. I am so happy to have had that time in Brownsville, Texas. This adventure couldn’t have unfolded like it did anywhere else.

And thank you, Betty Cornell.
Thank you for everything.