When I was ten years old, I think I realized for the first time who I was going to be. I was always told I was smart, I was beautiful, I was going places, but I was never told much about who I was. Of course I knew I was ten years old, I was starting fifth grade, I had glasses and braces and I knew I was a bit weirder than the other girls, but up until this point I hadn't any idea of who I was.
I was in math class. I had it after lunch, and my favorite teacher in the whole-wide-world taught it. We can call her "Ms. Casey", but that was most definitely not her name. I had a really good friends, named Shelby, Monique and Daniella, including a few others.
I was always attracted to the darker sides of shit. Darker colors, darker clothes, darker people and ideas. I don't know if I was that fucking impressionable in the second grade or if it was built into my DNA. I used to imagine the boy I liked wearing all black, with piercing and confidence and nothing like his real self, but that faded away once I met someone else. His name was John.
He was like a lot of boys I would come to meet in my future. I was young, yes, but I wasn't stupid. He was the typical "bad-boy" stereotype, and as he's grown he's kept pride in the name. He got in trouble a lot, he wasn't good at school work and was incredibly charming. He had dark brown hair with eyes to match and he wore all black. He sat behind me in math class.
I don't know why, but I used to catch boy's eyes, back when I had braces and glasses and was more projective of my quirks. For some reason now boys won't look me in the eye. This was no different for John, because I had his eye. He passed notes to me, he did the best flirting a fifth-grader could do, and one day he brought in some jewelry.
The jewelry was his mother's. He said she was fine with him giving it out (I wasn't convinced). Nonetheless, he said I could pick and choose what I wanted. So I picked a necklace and some unicorn figurine made of some nice metal. They looked expensive but slightly worn. They were the nicest things I've ever owned.
I wore the necklace every day to school. I always took it off when I was walking towards the gates at the end of school so my mother wouldn't ask questions. I put it in the pocket of this black jacket I wore every day and then took it out when I got home and examined it closely. It was a heart, with a purple gemstone in the center of the pendant.
The thing about John was, I knew his type. Read stories, had fantasies, he couldn't fool me. He had a soft spot. I saw it once when Ms. Casey had us do the "step up to the rope if you___" exercise after some intense bullying was going around. I forever remember this day as one of the most intense of my life. I've never seen so many of my peers crying at once, because of the deep and home-hitting questions she asked. I don't really know if I've ever felt that again, being on the same level as everyone else around me.
I saw John cry that day. We had gone out into the hallway, and I remember him grabbing the sides of his head and forcefully slamming it against a door, just once. Then he let it stay there. I never saw him cry again.
I knew I could lead John on. And I did. For three years. I flirted with him constantly, always pass g notes back to him in math class, accepting his compliments without reciprocating. Then sixth grade came along. I was still gross and nerdy, he was still in trouble. I sat across from him in my English class mid-way through the year. He was funny, I always had a smile on my face in his presence.
One of the most important memories from him that stick in my head is from that English class. I had taken off my glasses, pulled my hood up over my curly hair, looked him in the eyes and made a silly, yet flirty face. And I can remember him saying,"There. You look perfect right there."
I can't remember what happened after that.
That same year he dated Monique. He was her first kiss. I remember hearing about them making out in the band room despite them denying the story, even when there were witnesses. I never pursued anything because of Monique. Not that I really wanted to.
Seventh grade.
He went to a different school than I did, but one day I messaged him out of a desperate attempt for the much-craved attention. We talked all night, catching up on life and which schools he got kicked out of. But I knew, just as I knew two grades earlier, he was not what I wanted.
I lost the necklace one day as I was taking it off after school. It fell down a sewer pipe. But the unicorn figurine, you ask? That sits on my bookshelf. I can see it now.
I knew from those moments in fifth grade that I was much more than a smart, beautiful girl. You don't understand, that necklace meant a lot to me. It meant I was desirable. It meant I could be a player. I was a heart breaker. I loved attention more than I would love those giving me attention. And maybe that's when my tracks shifted steps and I was doomed from there on. Maybe that's when I caught on.
