I’m thirteen.
I’m running through the sprinkler.
I’m holding something in my hand; I have no idea what.
Because of the spray of the water, I’m making the sneery face that’s an expression I share with my brother.
My sister doesn’t make the sneery face.
I’m wearing the 52 jersey that I took from Lynne.
It belongs to her sister.
But I wear it because it’s David R’s football number.
I have a crazy mad crush on David R, even though he’s three years older than me, which is like a million in angsty teen years.
My sister has a gold bracelet with a single gold charm: the letter “D.” For Debby, of course. Sometimes if I ask, she lets me wear it, because to me the “D” is for David R, my secret crush who ONLY Lynne knows about. And maybe her sister. And her other sister, who’s actually related to David R by marriage (he’s her husband’s brother). I’m only a few degrees from David R, and he doesn’t even know I’m alive.
I’m standing in line in the lunch room when one of the Mean Girls comes up. She reaches for my arm, lifts it, points to the “D” on my wrist.
“Why are you wearing this?”
“It’s my sister’s.” I shrug. “I wear it because I like it.”
She laughs at me and says, “You wear it because of David R_____. Everybody knows you like him. He has a GIRLFRIEND. Stop making a fool of yourself, or we’ll tell her.”
What makes girls be mean to other girls? I don’t think I’d ever exchanged a dozen words with Mean Girl before that point.
Anyway, she was wrong. The time came when he did notice me and was nice to me. He was a good guy. I’ll never be sorry for the brief period of time that I wore his football number–or his initial–and adored him from afar.
I choose to hold onto the girl who runs through sprinklers, not the girl who quakes at unkind words from a Mean Girl.
I don’t understand Mean Girls. That characteristic just isn’t in me.
I’ve probably had some mean moments, but I hope I was never a Mean Girl.
Ditto here. And I very much doubt you were ever a Mean Girl!
I think that is one of those koolaide popsicles mother use to make us cause we never had enough money for real ones. They were better anyway. You should have told me about mean girl I would have kicked her butt. You never utilized me the way you should have.
I know! I had a big sister who…wait a minute. Clearly I need to do a future post on how you, your friend Jerry, and Lynne conspired to torment me one time in study hall…
Ah, the Kool-Aid Popsicles. I always sucked the flavorful part out of mine and just had some grayish ice left.
This may sound weird, but I always liked the gray ice.
Clearly, it’s destiny. I get the flavor, you get the gray ice, everybody’s happy.
I used to love sucking all the kool-aide out of a popsicle. As for Mean Girls, I’ve known a few of them.
Probably none of us get through adolescence without some Mean Girl interaction. Do you think most Mean Girls grow into Mean Women, or do they get better?
They go to work as a cashier at the Walmart while I go to college and get a degree.
Then you need to shop at Walmart because you’re underpaid, and they’re mean to you there, too! It never ends!
My Mean Girl went to the same college as me. She was even nice to me there a few times, which I regarded with distrust and kept my distance. It was that “fool me once…” mentality, I guess.
I think MOST mean girls grow up to be okay. I doubt that my mean girl even remembers the things that she said to me – and looking back, I think she was going through a tough time of her own. Sometimes I think mean girls have a lot of stuff in their life they can’t deal with – maybe they feel bad, and when you think about how mean girls are, you know they can’t trust their friends. It’s not an excuse, but it makes things maybe a little understandable. Having said that I will never ever have tea with my mean girl … Anyway, I think mean girls mostly turn out okay – but when you see a mean woman, I think if you look closely you can see the mean girl she was.