Here You Go: A Collection of Garbage and Other Things

Diana, A Dark Alley, and I

"I have only ever hated two things in this world—Diana Peterson, and carrots. Both were vile, disgusting, and made me want to puke up my guts.

I remember when we first met in the good old days of first grade. I was so proud of my new dinosaur lunch-bag, and this girl with curly brown hair and a posse of other little girls with Letterman jackets and shiny hair barrettes passes by as I was showing it off to my best friend Jake, and she says, "Ewww. That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

It was hate at first sight.

During class time, there was a certain amount of subtlety required to do battle. She accidentally spilled glue all over my homework. My foot just happened to be there to trip her whenever she went to sharpen her pencil.

But during recess, it was all-out war.

First grade ended and I prayed fervently that she wouldn't be in the same class as me next year. One the first day of second grade, she sat glaring at me from the other side of our table.

Second grade gave way to third and then fourth grade, and every year—there she was—a malevolent witch dressed in Converse shoes and black leggings, created by God just to annoy me.

Of course, we didn't rub dirt into each other's hair anymore, but that didn't mean she didn't find other creative ways to torture me.

April fool's day was the worst, because I couldn't do anything to her that she hadn't already thought of. I tried the classic whoopee cushion on her chair, but she just sneered contemptuously and threw it away before sitting down. Meanwhile, my notebooks ended up mysteriously covered in purple slime. My pencils were glued together and she had covered my desk with post-it notes that had taken hours to take down.

Grade school gave way to middle school, and I had hope that I wouldn't be seeing her every day. There was no way Diana was in every one of my periods and electives, so I remained optimistic when I saw her glaring at me in homeroom. My enthusiasm began to drop when I saw her come through the door in Pre-AP History. She had taken over a table with her clique of girls that followed her like sheep in Pre-AP ELA. Chinese 1, Pre-AP Natural Science, Computer Coding, Math 1 Enhanced, and even fucking PE, I saw her sneering, judgmental face.

It was statistically impossible that she was in the exact same order, in the exact same classes as I was—but there she was—my personal demon sent from the Underworld to torment me.

Seventh grade—my main enemies were acne, body odor, and Diana. They were relentless and impossible to defend against. I had my group of friends as pitiful and very inefficient protection, but they did cheer me up with immature jokes after she completely destroyed me verbally and physically.

Then in eighth grade—she did the unimaginable. Diana got hot.

Whatever shred of dignity I had left crumbled away like dust before a wrecking ball. Before, in our fierce competition to completely humiliate the other, I had always clung to the fact that this nerdy girl with her cool clothes and retro shoes and mature mindset was also the girl with braces and dandruff and acne.

Sure, whenever she scored higher than me (and the rest of the class) in whatever subject, or whenever she destroyed everyone in volleyball, I could still attempt to pump up my flattened ego by yelling petty insults that mocked her physical flaws. Immature, I know, but somehow Diana always brought out my extremes.

When I did scored higher, or beat her mile time, she always mocked me with subtle, passive-aggressive insults, and I always responded with a shot at her pimples, or her hair, or her braces. We fought like an old, married couple who wanted to murder each other and then raise them from the dead and kill each other again.