I am a tall girl. I have always been tall. I was that girl in middle school. The one that towered over all the other girls, having hit my growth spurt before anyone else in my peer group. Strike one. I also wore glasses and had braces. Strikes two and three. I wasn't the most coordinated person and I certainly wasn't the most fashionable. I would probably describe myself as that kid that got picked for all the make-overs. You know the type.
So I was willing to do pretty much anything to fit in. So when my best friend Nichole's gym locker wouldn't open that fateful day in eighth grade, what is a girl to do? We skipped class. She was too scared to tell our male gym teacher that she couldn't get her locker open as he had a bit of an anger problem. I mean he would have to track down the one female gym teacher, who was never around, get her to go in the girls locker room to help the poor female student, all while his class was left to their own devices in the gym. Pretty much a recipe for disaster. The nerve of that poor female student.
We pretended to change using the stuff from my locker, which opened just fine. I don't have to explain myself here. My friend was having a major life crisis and I wasn't about to don some smelly gym outfit and ditch her. Once the locker room cleared out, we headed back across campus where we hung out in the girls bathroom. This bathroom, you should know, was across the hall from the front office. I'm not kidding. That was best spot we could think of to hide out while breaking the rules. So smart, I know.
While we were hiding out in the bathroom, the school counselor came into the bathroom to do her thing. Nichole and I hid in the stall next to her, crouching on the toilet together to prevent her from seeing our shoes, of course - I mean, come on, we weren't stupid! I heard things. Frightening things. I heard sounds and smelled smells that should only come out a man from south of the border who spent the previous night drinking heavily and eating burritos. I'm not kidding. This is the stuff that movies are made out of. We witnessed soething that no one should ever have to suffer through in silence. But we bore our burden. What else were we to do?
The worst wasn't over yet though, I had to tell my dad. I can distinctly remember sitting in chair from the moment I got home from school, waiting for my dad to come home from work, so I could tell him what I did. I don't remember if I was grounded or not, but I do remember the overwhelming sense of disappointment. The worst feeling ever.
My story doesn't end here though. You see, my mom was so flustered by the fact her daughter was now delinquent youth, she accidentally left the car door ajar. All night. So when we got in the car to drive to Saturday school the next morning, the car battery was dead. SHE HAD TO CALL MY GRANDMA TO COME GET ME. That's right. Now my Grandma knew the terrible truth about me. I wanted to die. By the time I got to school to serve my time, I was fifteen minutes late, which meant I had to stay fifteen minutes longer and pick up trash IN FRONT OF THE SCHOOL.
|That's me, there in the middle. A tall, dorky eighth grader.|
Let 's just say, I got a lot better at hiding while skipping school. What? Did you think this was enough to make me never skip class again? Well, I won't lie, it worked for awhile, but then I got my driver's license and the game changed. Oh well, you live and you learn!