Once Upon a Time: True Stories of an Aspiring Writer

20: How to be Popular

Every teen girl knows the story: Cady, a girl who you'd think would be a complete outsider given her love of math and her African culture, moves to the States and fast befriends the evil, "popular" girls. Of course everything falls apart at the end when Cady attempts to date the group leader's ex, but you know what? She still ends up pretty darn well liked at the end. Very unrealistic. Or was it?

Don't get me wrong: the ideas of popularity were not unappealing at the time. I had plans to talk to everyone and become well-liked, thus becoming famous and then popular throughout the process. I had even read a chick-lit piece by Meg Cabot entitled How to be Popular. I don't remember much about this novel, but I do remember how a teenage girl makes a mistake that ruins her social career: she spills a drink on a popular girl. Boom, social life over. Then she finds a book, also titled How to be Popular, which lets her in on some secrets that propel her to the top of the social ladder. She even---*gasp!*--- meets some close friends along the way! I don't remember how it ended, but you get the idea. It was inspiring at the time. I had even picked up some cool tips and comeback lines from the Clique series that I could try out. (Did I invite you to my barbecue? Then why are you all up in my grill?-type things.)

This plan to be popular failed epically when: 1) I ended up at a school with about 70 students where everyone knew each other, and 2) I realized I sucked at talking to people. I went in with the notion that I would just go start talking to others.

But when it was time for orientation activities to begin, I realized I was kind of doing my own thing and not talking to anyone. When we had hall meetings in the lounge each night, everyone would sit around talking with one another while ignoring me completely. Somehow, I was fine with this and didn't do a thing about it. I guess I figured that I'd make friends eventually; that I could make them any time I wanted to and just didn't feel like talking to anyone right then.

So much for that theory. Besides, I didn't click with the people there. 

Anyway, Felton Academy, which I discussed earlier, was a fleeting time in my life. Even to think of it now, it seems like someone else's life. Parkington was a whole new adventure that had a bit more influence. 

But don't be jealous of the author who has this cool, posh experience. Think of every boarding school story trope you know. Then, throw most of them out the window. 

First of all, there were few girly girls here. Nobody much cared about what they wore---boxer shorts under the navy blue school sweatpants was the popular look. The ideas of school dances were shot down hard when they were brought up. Some girls were troublemakers. Others just didn't care about or struggled with academics. Cliques weren't a huge thing, though some groups were tighter than others. While the real estate on our street was quite expensive, we were largely surrounded by dairy farms and golf courses. 

 It wasn't hard to be intimidated by groups of girls running to greet each other after a long winter break. The second I stepped into my new dorm, I was met by three girls walking arm-in-arm. One was an African American girl named Steffy, and another was a South American from Bolivia called Rina, with somewhat of an accent. The girl in the middle was the one that originally said hello to me. Her name was Chelsea and she was the epitome of popularity: small brown eyes, long blonde hair, and coming straight from Greenwich, Connecticut. Somehow, she actually seemed interested in talking to me. 

We began talking on a somewhat regular basis. When I was still in the friend-finding stage, sometimes I would sit with them at breakfast, although awkwardly as I wasn't always sure they wanted me there. I mean, I was the weird new girl.

 Alas, sometimes they would turn me away. I have one horrible memory of them asking me to leave when nobody else I knew was around one evening at dinner. I got up from the table, looking around for anyone I knew, to no avail. What was I supposed to do? Sit alone like a weirdo? Join a table of girls who I didn't know and who were in the middle of a conversation? They eventually took pity on me and let me sit down after standing there for about three minutes. I still cringe thinking about that.