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Not
anywhere near the Prom Queen or Princess or a runner up. There were no house
parties I’d heard of nor went to. I
didn’t have a car. I never wore makeup until junior year. My first boyfriend
came about in freshman year of college. I hated trendy brands like Hollister or
Abercrombe & Fitch. I never heard any rumors or spread any because I’d
simply been bored.
What
I was really was:
With
plenty of friends. Christy, Sharon, Liza, Alyssa, Mary, Emily, Claire, Sarah,
and Billy. I’d met Jenny and Katie and Cassandra and Cat and Valerie somewhere
in those four years.
I
failed the women’s tennis tryouts that summer in ’06, my sophomore year.
Had
a decent sense of scarves, big shoulder bags, and bohemian prints in nearly
every blouse. If not floral there were stripes. H&M just opened in the Bay
Area. I wore jeans again, as long as they were skinnies. Girls admired me for
wearing high heels since middle school, always figuring it was me making the
synchronized patter down those halls. Junior year was when I appeared in the
yearbook for the best-dressed feature. When my dad had gone to Clayton Valley,
he was in the same feature too—in 1980.
I
got my braces going into freshman year. They were removed my junior year at the
University of San Francisco.
I
stayed at home on weekends.
I
sat against my locker in C Hall sometimes to read a book during lunchtime.
I
was an editor on the yearbook staff, for the clubs and organizations. After
getting rosters of each club from the presidents for group pictures, I remembered
so many faces that I was able to say “hey” to during breaks and lunch. They knew
me. I was also the treasurer and secretary for the senior class, though I hated
finances. The mom in charge of executing Senior Ball breathed down my neck
about spreadsheets and what hors d’oeurves would be served that whole evening. In
spite of pressure I led some student council meetings and had answers to most
spirit day and fundraising questions peers had. On spirit days I wore my best
colors or costume coinciding with the day’s theme. It was inspiring, not damning.
Had
to get up every rally day at five in the morning and arrive to set up the gym
with balloons and signs and tarp on the wooden floors by six. During the Battle
of the Sexes rally I drank three Rock Stars out of the surplus that student
council had bought the year before for no solid reason. By noon I was awake, but
shaking uncontrollably. To that point I had never needed to pee so badly in my
life.
There
was Senior Ditch Day in April and I ditched on Tuesday when almost everyone did
it on Thursday. I slept in. The more outgoing girls drove down to Capitola and
judging from Facebook pictures the weather by the beach was very clear and
warm.
I
got a Facebook after I graduated from Clayton Valley High.
I
was Asian. And yes an Honor Student. I was always asked if I’d join people’s
group for class projects in English or History. Never heard rumors about me
outside the classroom.
I
remember I’d gotten a D three different times for my progress report in math.
I
was in French Club. I started their rival the British Club. I started the
environmental-awareness club Green People. It felt revolutionary. We raised
money for a porpoise with the Marin Marine Mammal Center. I forgot how we did
it. I made it into Senior Women because of all the clubs I’d joined, the first
round pick of junior girls who would be the leaders in the fall and add more
senior women. Only Alyssa and I made this round out of all our friends.
In
being part of Senior Women I tried out and made the cut for being one of the
three Master of Ceremonies at the annual spring charity fashion show. I also
joined with Emily in coordinating the collection from the store Buckle.
I
wasn’t attracted to any boys. The one I did like I invited to Jessica’s Sweet
16 dance party. He said yes but he never showed up. He became one of my closest
friends in senior year.
It
didn’t bother me that I never had a date for Junior Prom or Senior Ball.
Daddy
always dropped me off and picked me and Milan up. Then Milan started driving
us. After she graduated, Christy would give me a ride home. Sometimes we made a
Jamba Juice stop or get coffee Frappuccinos at Starbucks. She’ll still come and
pick me when we’re craving those things.
I
was voted by my class as Most Likely to Succeed. The same title I won in middle
school.
One
Halloween night at Sarah’s house we went Trick-O-Treating but eagerly came back
to her house to get sugared up and dance for two hours straight. I forgot the
songs but I remember they were ones I hated.
I
was dancing because weeks before I remembered how I finally started dancing in
public, at the Homecoming dance. It was exalting and fantastic but not as
memorable as avoiding that one boy who wanted so badly to dance with me.
Everyone I knew was on board to shroud me away and safely enjoy the last few
hours. But my red dress was a traitor—he found me minutes before the last song
but thankfully it was the last song that was fast-pasted for anything serious.
Milan
took me shopping one afternoon the day after my birthday. I wore a basic
sweater and jeans; she got mad at me for half-assing myself. She was a bit
dressed up, wearing heels and a cute coat to the mall. I was teary that I
couldn’t just be casual, but reluctantly changed to a new blue blouse and the
brown faux suede boots she’d sent from San Francisco. At the mall I got a cream
duffel coat from Papaya that was too thick and warm to wear but I put on
anyways. When I got home it was warm inside the house but that wasn’t what
thrilled me. I saw familiar faces of Christy and Katie and Cat and Alyssa and
Claire and every other face from five days a week and there they were lined
along the railing overlooking the living room and cheering with hands running
wild and balloons tied to the banister. I thought I was still casually dressed
in that moment, but I looked down for a second and saw my brown boots.
I
spent the last day in high school at a live gig for friends in a band. They
were pretty cute. The singer was cute to me and I was really anxious about
asking him to sushi that night for another evening later in the summer. I never
spoke to the more outgoing girls that were there but they smiled at me. With
some of my friends, I was in the front row, and the girls weren’t too nice when
they saw where we stood. I wore a black top with slits down the sleeves of the
shoulders and arms and my hair was hair sprayed and puffed to rock star
perfection. Some regulars noticed and said nice things to me. I only wanted to
hear nice things from the singer. I did, when he agreed to dinner for two. The
evening got colder and I grew flushed in the face with heat and disbelief.
I
was sick for next four days with fever. He went out of town on family vacation.
The dinner never happened.
I
was really those things.
And
I didn’t know any of our vice principals personally because I never got in
trouble. Didn’t sign up for all the AP courses and their following tests. Didn’t
make it into UC Berkeley. I’m the only person in the family without glasses. No
clue on what my shadow project really concluded in the science fair. Never got
into a physical fight. Never ditched classes up until senior year. I seldom
hung out with my teachers in their classrooms for lunch. I still don’t know how
to play any instruments nor do I go to a college with a prominent marching
band. I wasn’t alone. I made it past my teen years without bearing any
children. I didn’t know any rumors nor spread any because I wasn’t jealous of
anyone.
image courtesy of DSquared2
image courtesy of DSquared2
