Like most young girls, I fell into the trap of wanting to grow up too fast. I gulped down hard cider and laughed with the boys, letting the fire heat me from the outside while the alcohol warmed me from within.
I wasn’t a victim. He didn’t coerce me into letting my guard down and ply me with glass after glass of alcohol. When the couples started breaking away from the crowd and disappearing into the darkness, searching for secluded spots to be alone, he’d kissed me before leading me away from the fire.
His mouth tasted like the bitterness of cheap beer he’d been drinking mixed with the heady flavor of teenage rebellion. When his hands grew bolder, I didn’t slap them away and run back to the bonfire.
When I emerged from the darkness twenty-some minutes later with wrinkled clothes and leaves in my hair, I didn’t harbor any illusions that I had undergone some great transition into womanhood. I liked the boy, but I didn’t think we’d be together forever. Virginity had just seemed like a bothersome invention of men that I was eager to be rid of.
The next day I walked into whispers and jeers, and I knew the boy had told everyone. No one laughed at him. No one judged him. Overnight I became something to be reviled. I could have tried to take the high road and ignore them, but I was never very good at turning the other cheek.
One too many people whispered insults under their breath as they passed me and I snapped. I didn’t even know the name of the guy I punched, just that he outweighed me by about fifty pounds. Those fifty pounds just made him fall faster when I hit him with a sucker punch to the jaw.
I didn’t get in trouble. The guy I dropped turned out to be the junior varsity running back, and getting knocked senseless by a girl wasn’t something he was eager to advertise. My hand ached for a week and I wore the purple bruises on my knuckles like a badge of honor.
I wasn’t suddenly welcomed into popularity. The cruel politics of high school were rarely as simple as the teen movies made them out to be. Instead I acquired a new label – crazy.
Crazy was fine by me. People gave crazy a wide berth. The prison metaphors for high school really did fit. Sometimes you have to take down the biggest, baddest person right upfront to gain respect. I wasn’t looking to run the school. I didn’t hold secret dreams of being the prom queen or class president.
The innocent version of Ember had wanted to enjoy all high school had to offer. This new tough girl I had become just wanted to do her time until graduation day brought freedom.
Where were my parents in all this? Blissfully unaware as most parents were when it came to the battles of adolescent life. My parents were the rare couple among my friends’ families that didn’t have a string of divorces behind them. My mother’s name was Veronica, and she’d been the shy girl working for the yearbook who fell for the quarterback. Jack Pierson could have had any of the gregarious cheerleaders that followed him like puppies with pom-poms, but he picked the girl hiding behind the camera instead. Twenty plus years of marriage, and they still danced to Elvis Costello in the kitchen, lost in each other.
From the time I’d been toddling around the living room, I’d seen love in my house, and I’d longed for that same kind of love for myself. I’d tried the high school idea of love and found it lacking, so I’d shoved that part of myself in a box and tossed away the key.
I certainly didn’t expect my English teacher to come by with bolt cutters and rip that lock off.
I’d finally reached my senior year. I’d been wearing blinders for almost two years. Tunnel vision had made everything so much easier. I wasn’t as much of a social pariah anymore. I had a few trusted friends, but that couldn’t take away the echo of those words that still sometimes followed me down the halls. I didn’t forgive and I never ever forgot.
I liked Mr. Edwards from that first
I wasn’t a victim. He didn’t coerce me into letting my guard down and ply me with glass after glass of alcohol. When the couples started breaking away from the crowd and disappearing into the darkness, searching for secluded spots to be alone, he’d kissed me before leading me away from the fire.
His mouth tasted like the bitterness of cheap beer he’d been drinking mixed with the heady flavor of teenage rebellion. When his hands grew bolder, I didn’t slap them away and run back to the bonfire.
When I emerged from the darkness twenty-some minutes later with wrinkled clothes and leaves in my hair, I didn’t harbor any illusions that I had undergone some great transition into womanhood. I liked the boy, but I didn’t think we’d be together forever. Virginity had just seemed like a bothersome invention of men that I was eager to be rid of.
The next day I walked into whispers and jeers, and I knew the boy had told everyone. No one laughed at him. No one judged him. Overnight I became something to be reviled. I could have tried to take the high road and ignore them, but I was never very good at turning the other cheek.
One too many people whispered insults under their breath as they passed me and I snapped. I didn’t even know the name of the guy I punched, just that he outweighed me by about fifty pounds. Those fifty pounds just made him fall faster when I hit him with a sucker punch to the jaw.
I didn’t get in trouble. The guy I dropped turned out to be the junior varsity running back, and getting knocked senseless by a girl wasn’t something he was eager to advertise. My hand ached for a week and I wore the purple bruises on my knuckles like a badge of honor.
I wasn’t suddenly welcomed into popularity. The cruel politics of high school were rarely as simple as the teen movies made them out to be. Instead I acquired a new label – crazy.
Crazy was fine by me. People gave crazy a wide berth. The prison metaphors for high school really did fit. Sometimes you have to take down the biggest, baddest person right upfront to gain respect. I wasn’t looking to run the school. I didn’t hold secret dreams of being the prom queen or class president.
The innocent version of Ember had wanted to enjoy all high school had to offer. This new tough girl I had become just wanted to do her time until graduation day brought freedom.
Where were my parents in all this? Blissfully unaware as most parents were when it came to the battles of adolescent life. My parents were the rare couple among my friends’ families that didn’t have a string of divorces behind them. My mother’s name was Veronica, and she’d been the shy girl working for the yearbook who fell for the quarterback. Jack Pierson could have had any of the gregarious cheerleaders that followed him like puppies with pom-poms, but he picked the girl hiding behind the camera instead. Twenty plus years of marriage, and they still danced to Elvis Costello in the kitchen, lost in each other.
From the time I’d been toddling around the living room, I’d seen love in my house, and I’d longed for that same kind of love for myself. I’d tried the high school idea of love and found it lacking, so I’d shoved that part of myself in a box and tossed away the key.
I certainly didn’t expect my English teacher to come by with bolt cutters and rip that lock off.
I’d finally reached my senior year. I’d been wearing blinders for almost two years. Tunnel vision had made everything so much easier. I wasn’t as much of a social pariah anymore. I had a few trusted friends, but that couldn’t take away the echo of those words that still sometimes followed me down the halls. I didn’t forgive and I never ever forgot.
I liked Mr. Edwards from that first
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