How You Get the Girl

I'm Not Actually One of the Mean Girls, Am I?

Game design had been as bad as I thought it would be. It had only been the first day and I had not understood half of what the teacher was saying. I was so dead. At least when the teacher had given us work time at the end of class, the freshman boys who were sitting around me had been really nice about helping me get started on the first project. If they kept being so helpful, I might be okay. Maybe.

I sat down at my usual lunch table. My friends were already there. Sasha and Julia were both holding court in their blue and white cheerleader uniforms. Sasha was a tiny brunette who loved being the center of attention and heaven help the girl who tried to upstage her. She had been cheer captain since junior year, so no one had tried to cross her in a long time. Frida, Beth and Maria were all looking perfectly put together, as usual. I managed to meet the acceptable standard of my clique in my skinny jeans and blue top. I never got up early enough to do much with my hair but natural blond waves hid the fact that I had not gotten up at the crack of dawn to do my hair and makeup.

My friend's current guys were also sprinkled around our table in their letter jackets. There were also the guys who had always been part of our group, Seth, Michael, and Royce. Seth and Royce weren't jocks but their parent's money and their good looks meant they would never have to worry about their popularity.

There was not a single person at the table I had not known since elementary school. We had taken tennis lessons, golf lessons and swimming lessons together. We had gone to each other's birthday parties and on playdates. Our friendships had been inescapable.

My mother had been a cheerleader and prom queen. My two older sisters had happily followed in her footsteps. There was no way my mother was going to leave my being popular up to chance or my own inclinations. She had always bought me the right clothes and taken me to the right activities so that I would fit in. Even after I had failed at cheer camp because I could not do a cartwheel let alone anything more complicated, she had not let me escape. She had made sure I would blend into the rich, popular crowd at my school. When everyone knew your parents and had known you since birth, you were part of the group. Only five-month left, I reminded myself. Five months and then you get to leave all of this behind. No more Tory Burch and Hunter boots. You can wear all black or pierce your nose, or just go to class in sweats. Whatever you want.

To make things even more complicated, my school was small. There were only 250 kids in each class. In a school that size, you could not reinvent yourself. You just had to suck it up, pretend things were just fine and count the days until graduation. I was counting.

As usual, Sasha and Julia were picking at their salads while having fun critiquing half the lunchroom. Frida chimed in from time to time.

"Look at those three, could they be trying any harder? It's like a Vineyard Vines party over there. I just want to tell them that Vineyard Vines is not the look anymore," Sasha, told all of us.

"Oh, and look, she's actually wearing UGGs," said Julia, tossing her perfect blond ponytail. "I think my mom used to wear those." We all used to wear those, I thought. You had pink ones that you loved more than oxygen. I hated it when they did this.

Then Sasha's eyes fell on Amy Swenson, a junior who had made the truly unfortunate mistake of starting to date Sasha's ex just a week after they had broken up. Sasha was not about to forgive a slip-up like that. Amy had committed social suicide at Westbrook High School. I felt sorry for her.

"What a slut," Julia said. "I heard she slept with four other guys before Sean."

Frida was not to be outdone, "Well, I heard that she and Sean slept together after they had only been together for two days."