The Becoming (Of Everything)
Who feels this way--the misfits, the geeks, the loners who want to come out on top for once?
Okay. Okay. Deep breath. Okay.
I'm pushing open the big, double front doors. Okay, I got this. I'm striding in with long steps, smiling at the guys and girls, my hair flying behind me.
Seriously, with my bag and my notebook and everything, I could've just walked out of a movie or something.
In fact, I did feel like I was in one. A movie, I mean. Everyone was nodding at me like I was wanted, and I was smiling and waving, taking these expert long steps with care--
My ankle wobbles on the first step down the stairs. Then it happens--I go tumbling down the staircase, hitting every single step with humiliation. Pain shoots up my calf as I hit the carpeted bottom.
"Oh my God!" Someone squeals, and seniors are staring me like I'm some clumsy girl who forgot to eat breakfast this morning or something. I guess I was.
"Are you okay?" Someone asks but I just quickly jump up and smile, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I walk in like a movie star and what exactly happens? I fall down the stairs? Yeah, great start to your first day, girl.
Rushing to our section of lockers I spot my best friend, Haley. She smiles but all I can do is frown.
"What? Your five minutes into your day and your frowning?" she comes up to me. I nod. How could I not frown when...when...
I look down at my leg. There's this cut thats bleeding all over. Crap. I think I just left a little trail of blood all over the hallway.
"I fell down the stairs. The stairs. I felt so confident," I couldn't keep the whine out of my voice.
She looks at me in pity. In pity! My own best friend. Like I'm some kind of stray puppy in a cardboard box on the side of the road.
"Come," she bellows, like some drama queen and drags me into the girl's restroom, where, unfortunately, she cleans up my leg. She opens a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from her purse. Who carries that in their purses?
The next five minutes I yell out and scream, but only once. If you were a passerbyer,you would probably think I was getting tortured.
"Um, Kait, are you and Haley the only ones in there?" A familiar masculine voice bounces off the shiny bathroom walls. I grimace as Haley dabs something on my cut.
"Yeah, come on in, Will," Haley says. My other best friend, Will, comes in, looking behind him. He sees me and my leg and winces.
"Ouch. I saw your tumble. It was hilar--I mean, horrible. Are you okay?"
I scowled because I knew he was going to say hilarious. Give it up to Will to laugh at my pain.
"Yes, she is. But not her social reputation. Nor mine. This has cost us a major downage."
I don't think downage is a word. All Haley cares about is socialness anyway. Okay, so I might, but not as much as her, who practically keeps track on every social mistake she makes. Her dream in life: popularity.
Except, I am afraid that won't ever happen. Let's just say Haley is different. She's like a siren in fashion. Like I know anything in that category. But still, I know not to wear things that look like they came out of the 80's. Fishnets. Half tops. Plastic red zip-up boots, the kind you see on barbie dolls. A lime green skirt. But still, I think it's pretty cool, the way she doesn't care about what people think. Well, sometimes.
Now, I know I shouldn't be talking about my friend's unbelievable and awesome dress choices when I am the actual let-down of my class. I'm the piece of gum you step on, and you trip because it sticks to the floor and you can't get it off. I'm the piece of lint in your hair that actually looks like you have this weird bug crawling all over you that makes girls scream. I'm the piece of bread that you take an enormous bite out of but then your find out it's actually moldy, so you spit it out and wipe out your mouth, like a billion times.
All I can say? Oh well. Or that's what I've been telling myself.
Will isn't some feeling-sorry-for-geeks-so-I'll-try-to-make-friends type of dude either. He has huge glasses, acne, and this black hair that isn't frizzy, not curly, but some kind of in-between. But we love him anyway, since he's part of our group. It reminds me of the last sleepover we all had together:
(Will, raising his champagne glass full of sparkling grape juice, the tart kind) "We, the geeks, are the lowest on the totem poll...but..."
(Haley, raising her glass, but I think she has actual champagne because it smells a little like alcohol) "...we will conquer those who are snotty, perverted, and weird, aka Will--
(Will) "Hey!"
(Me, who raises her glass like a proud champion, but actually spills a quarter of it down her shirt) "...she doesn't mean it, Dear Will. What WE mean, is that, actually, us three--we WILL conquer the popular, the jocks, and the rest of those stuck-up jerks--and we WILL come up on top, and WE WILL WIN!"
We all cheered, clinking glasses, chugging our pretend champagne (or real champagne?) and making weird faces because its really tart.
We were going to make a revolution.
It's just...we didn't exactly know how...yet. Yet.
I'm pushing open the big, double front doors. Okay, I got this. I'm striding in with long steps, smiling at the guys and girls, my hair flying behind me.
Seriously, with my bag and my notebook and everything, I could've just walked out of a movie or something.
In fact, I did feel like I was in one. A movie, I mean. Everyone was nodding at me like I was wanted, and I was smiling and waving, taking these expert long steps with care--
My ankle wobbles on the first step down the stairs. Then it happens--I go tumbling down the staircase, hitting every single step with humiliation. Pain shoots up my calf as I hit the carpeted bottom.
"Oh my God!" Someone squeals, and seniors are staring me like I'm some clumsy girl who forgot to eat breakfast this morning or something. I guess I was.
"Are you okay?" Someone asks but I just quickly jump up and smile, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I walk in like a movie star and what exactly happens? I fall down the stairs? Yeah, great start to your first day, girl.
Rushing to our section of lockers I spot my best friend, Haley. She smiles but all I can do is frown.
"What? Your five minutes into your day and your frowning?" she comes up to me. I nod. How could I not frown when...when...
I look down at my leg. There's this cut thats bleeding all over. Crap. I think I just left a little trail of blood all over the hallway.
"I fell down the stairs. The stairs. I felt so confident," I couldn't keep the whine out of my voice.
She looks at me in pity. In pity! My own best friend. Like I'm some kind of stray puppy in a cardboard box on the side of the road.
"Come," she bellows, like some drama queen and drags me into the girl's restroom, where, unfortunately, she cleans up my leg. She opens a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from her purse. Who carries that in their purses?
The next five minutes I yell out and scream, but only once. If you were a passerbyer,you would probably think I was getting tortured.
"Um, Kait, are you and Haley the only ones in there?" A familiar masculine voice bounces off the shiny bathroom walls. I grimace as Haley dabs something on my cut.
"Yeah, come on in, Will," Haley says. My other best friend, Will, comes in, looking behind him. He sees me and my leg and winces.
"Ouch. I saw your tumble. It was hilar--I mean, horrible. Are you okay?"
I scowled because I knew he was going to say hilarious. Give it up to Will to laugh at my pain.
"Yes, she is. But not her social reputation. Nor mine. This has cost us a major downage."
I don't think downage is a word. All Haley cares about is socialness anyway. Okay, so I might, but not as much as her, who practically keeps track on every social mistake she makes. Her dream in life: popularity.
Except, I am afraid that won't ever happen. Let's just say Haley is different. She's like a siren in fashion. Like I know anything in that category. But still, I know not to wear things that look like they came out of the 80's. Fishnets. Half tops. Plastic red zip-up boots, the kind you see on barbie dolls. A lime green skirt. But still, I think it's pretty cool, the way she doesn't care about what people think. Well, sometimes.
Now, I know I shouldn't be talking about my friend's unbelievable and awesome dress choices when I am the actual let-down of my class. I'm the piece of gum you step on, and you trip because it sticks to the floor and you can't get it off. I'm the piece of lint in your hair that actually looks like you have this weird bug crawling all over you that makes girls scream. I'm the piece of bread that you take an enormous bite out of but then your find out it's actually moldy, so you spit it out and wipe out your mouth, like a billion times.
All I can say? Oh well. Or that's what I've been telling myself.
Will isn't some feeling-sorry-for-geeks-so-I'll-try-to-make-friends type of dude either. He has huge glasses, acne, and this black hair that isn't frizzy, not curly, but some kind of in-between. But we love him anyway, since he's part of our group. It reminds me of the last sleepover we all had together:
(Will, raising his champagne glass full of sparkling grape juice, the tart kind) "We, the geeks, are the lowest on the totem poll...but..."
(Haley, raising her glass, but I think she has actual champagne because it smells a little like alcohol) "...we will conquer those who are snotty, perverted, and weird, aka Will--
(Will) "Hey!"
(Me, who raises her glass like a proud champion, but actually spills a quarter of it down her shirt) "...she doesn't mean it, Dear Will. What WE mean, is that, actually, us three--we WILL conquer the popular, the jocks, and the rest of those stuck-up jerks--and we WILL come up on top, and WE WILL WIN!"
We all cheered, clinking glasses, chugging our pretend champagne (or real champagne?) and making weird faces because its really tart.
We were going to make a revolution.
It's just...we didn't exactly know how...yet. Yet.
2 Comments
Wow.
We have alot in commen!
"snotty, perverted, and weird, aka.." cough cough
"Tim, an underestimated trumpet player" hhahahha!
& And IDK if the bff is based off of me at all, but if so, thanks! haha :)