Status: On Hiatus
Social Suicide
one
First, a list of things I love, so you don’t find me completely pessimistic: running long distances at dusk, the rush of adrenaline during a soccer game, Christmastime at the inner harbor, eating cereal and watching TV on my couch, bitter coffee in the morning, driving with the windows down, fresh sheets on a bed, reading in a hammock, the smell of pavement after it rains, blasting music and singing along.
And now a list of things I hate: crumbs left in butter, when I miss that last step on the staircase, rainstorms when I don’t have an umbrella, my weekly visit to the principal’s office, cafeteria food, and most of all: every single person that attends Dulaney High School.
Luckily for me, I only have one more year at said school, and then I can get the hell out of dodge and hopefully move on with my life. One more year here: only 180 more days that I will be forced to spend time with these people who hate and ridicule me, only 180 more days that I will have to listen to teachers and bite my tongue, only a minimum of 180 times I can be sent to detention or to the principal. Only 180 more days until I can take a deep breath and finally feel free.
I wasn’t always so cynical.
It’s a shame really. I used to be such a nice and respected person. Think back to your time in High School and picture the kids that ruled the schools, be they cheerleaders, or football players or just the devastatingly cool kids that everyone wanted to be. I used to be one of them. I used to belong to that elite crowd, I considered all of them my best friends. Life was so amazing back then: an endless gallery of parties, homecoming court, expendable boyfriends right within my grasp.
And then I did the worst thing possible: I accidently destroyed my own social life. I guess I overestimated the power of my own popularity; I thought that despite anything I did, these people would have my back. But as you will inevitably learn someday, the cold hard truth is that what people love more than friends, more than anything in the world is watching someone fall, watching someone become the scapegoat. It didn’t take long; within a week, I was kicked off the cheerleading squad and the soccer team based on some bullshit technicalities, I was banished from my lunch table and I was the laughing stock, the scorned, the scarlet letter.
What do you do when you find out you’ve fallen out of grace?
You grow a pair and nut up. After groveling for a week, and sulking and hoping I’d be forgiven, I suddenly stopped caring anymore. I stopped caring about almost everything.
That kind of scared the crap out of everyone. Even myself.
I keep hoping, despite myself, that one summer I will walk back into Dulaney and I will find that everyone has grown the fuck up.
No such luck. Even as I walk through the crowds I can feel the looks and hear the poorly concealed whispers. Not to mention, the jammed locker. People find it hilarious to constantly fuck with my locker: jam it with gum, write graffiti, try and slip drugs in (I almost got suspended for that). As I was struggling to open it, I heard a slight commotion a couple lockers down. It was Ramsey Gorden and his fellow football crew, hitting on a terrified looking brunette girl. She couldn’t have been a freshman, she was holding an AP Biology book, but I had never seen her before I was sure of it. “Come on baby,” Rams was saying to her, leering at her, while people looked on laughing. “It’s a simple little question.”
I rolled my eyes, turning back to my locker and pounded it once, hard, with my fist. It sprung open and five or six condoms fell out. How fucking clever. I shoved the books I didn’t need inside and then slammed it shut.
“Honey, all I’m asking is if you like your sundaes with or without a cherry,” Rams said, people all around him were snickering.
“I don’t understand,” the girl was saying. “Please, I’ve got to get to class…” she tried to side step them, but Ram’s leaned in closer, still smirking horribly.
I walked over, shoving his arm off the locker. “Leave her alone Rams.” I said.
The group around us laughed.
“Or what?” Rams said, turning his wrath on me. “What the hell are you going to do Cooper?”
` I didn’t waver. “I’ll make sure you fail your drug test and never be allowed on the football team again.”
Rams turned towards me entirely; ignoring the girl he had been torturing. “Are you threatening me?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” I said evenly. I turned to the girl. “He’s asking if you’re a virgin by the way. He thinks he’s being cute. Do you want to have sex with him?”
“No,” she squeaked.
“Looks like you’re out of luck, Rams.” I said. “You want to keep trying to convince her?”
He glared at me. “This isn’t over, Cooper.”
“I’m terrified,” I deadpanned. I looked over at the group of kids who were still watching the confrontation. “Don’t you all have something to be doing? Class? Sex in the bathroom? Suicide?” They started grumbling but slowly started dispersing. Ramsey glared at me for a few seconds more, then turned on his heel, his fellow jocks following. I hitched my bag up on my shoulder and started walking towards my classroom. I was going to be late. No thanks to Ramsey Fucking Gorden.
“Hey! Hey! Wait up!” The girl yelled, running after me.
“What?” I asked, irritated.
“I just…well, thanks, that was really cool of you…”
“Don’t you have class? It’s your first day, I wouldn’t think you’d want to be late.” I said and I strode off, just as the bell rang for first period.
Perfect.
“Well, well, well, Miss Cooper,” Mr. Hoffman said as I walked in. “Starting the year off on the wrong foot, I see.”
I rolled my eyes and started to walk to the back to grab a desk.
“Do you have a late slip, Waverly?” He continued.
“Does it look like I have a damn late slip?” I shot back, tossing my bag on the floor.
Mr. Hoffman frowned. “See me after class, Waverly. I won’t tolerate your cheek this year.”
I slumped in my seat and glanced out the window.
“Do you hear me Miss Cooper?” He demanded.
“Loud and clear,” I shot back as sarcastically as I could, throwing in a demeaning little salute in his direction. There were some nervous twitters of laughter in the opposite corner. Holly Jenkins and her crew, not like they would get in trouble for waltzing in late.
Mr. Hoffman frowned at me and then continued on handing out his syllabus. I didn’t even bother opening mine. I spent the rest of the period looking out the window, daydreaming about random things, more specifically about how after today, I only had 179 more days until freedom.
And now a list of things I hate: crumbs left in butter, when I miss that last step on the staircase, rainstorms when I don’t have an umbrella, my weekly visit to the principal’s office, cafeteria food, and most of all: every single person that attends Dulaney High School.
Luckily for me, I only have one more year at said school, and then I can get the hell out of dodge and hopefully move on with my life. One more year here: only 180 more days that I will be forced to spend time with these people who hate and ridicule me, only 180 more days that I will have to listen to teachers and bite my tongue, only a minimum of 180 times I can be sent to detention or to the principal. Only 180 more days until I can take a deep breath and finally feel free.
I wasn’t always so cynical.
It’s a shame really. I used to be such a nice and respected person. Think back to your time in High School and picture the kids that ruled the schools, be they cheerleaders, or football players or just the devastatingly cool kids that everyone wanted to be. I used to be one of them. I used to belong to that elite crowd, I considered all of them my best friends. Life was so amazing back then: an endless gallery of parties, homecoming court, expendable boyfriends right within my grasp.
And then I did the worst thing possible: I accidently destroyed my own social life. I guess I overestimated the power of my own popularity; I thought that despite anything I did, these people would have my back. But as you will inevitably learn someday, the cold hard truth is that what people love more than friends, more than anything in the world is watching someone fall, watching someone become the scapegoat. It didn’t take long; within a week, I was kicked off the cheerleading squad and the soccer team based on some bullshit technicalities, I was banished from my lunch table and I was the laughing stock, the scorned, the scarlet letter.
What do you do when you find out you’ve fallen out of grace?
You grow a pair and nut up. After groveling for a week, and sulking and hoping I’d be forgiven, I suddenly stopped caring anymore. I stopped caring about almost everything.
That kind of scared the crap out of everyone. Even myself.
I keep hoping, despite myself, that one summer I will walk back into Dulaney and I will find that everyone has grown the fuck up.
No such luck. Even as I walk through the crowds I can feel the looks and hear the poorly concealed whispers. Not to mention, the jammed locker. People find it hilarious to constantly fuck with my locker: jam it with gum, write graffiti, try and slip drugs in (I almost got suspended for that). As I was struggling to open it, I heard a slight commotion a couple lockers down. It was Ramsey Gorden and his fellow football crew, hitting on a terrified looking brunette girl. She couldn’t have been a freshman, she was holding an AP Biology book, but I had never seen her before I was sure of it. “Come on baby,” Rams was saying to her, leering at her, while people looked on laughing. “It’s a simple little question.”
I rolled my eyes, turning back to my locker and pounded it once, hard, with my fist. It sprung open and five or six condoms fell out. How fucking clever. I shoved the books I didn’t need inside and then slammed it shut.
“Honey, all I’m asking is if you like your sundaes with or without a cherry,” Rams said, people all around him were snickering.
“I don’t understand,” the girl was saying. “Please, I’ve got to get to class…” she tried to side step them, but Ram’s leaned in closer, still smirking horribly.
I walked over, shoving his arm off the locker. “Leave her alone Rams.” I said.
The group around us laughed.
“Or what?” Rams said, turning his wrath on me. “What the hell are you going to do Cooper?”
` I didn’t waver. “I’ll make sure you fail your drug test and never be allowed on the football team again.”
Rams turned towards me entirely; ignoring the girl he had been torturing. “Are you threatening me?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” I said evenly. I turned to the girl. “He’s asking if you’re a virgin by the way. He thinks he’s being cute. Do you want to have sex with him?”
“No,” she squeaked.
“Looks like you’re out of luck, Rams.” I said. “You want to keep trying to convince her?”
He glared at me. “This isn’t over, Cooper.”
“I’m terrified,” I deadpanned. I looked over at the group of kids who were still watching the confrontation. “Don’t you all have something to be doing? Class? Sex in the bathroom? Suicide?” They started grumbling but slowly started dispersing. Ramsey glared at me for a few seconds more, then turned on his heel, his fellow jocks following. I hitched my bag up on my shoulder and started walking towards my classroom. I was going to be late. No thanks to Ramsey Fucking Gorden.
“Hey! Hey! Wait up!” The girl yelled, running after me.
“What?” I asked, irritated.
“I just…well, thanks, that was really cool of you…”
“Don’t you have class? It’s your first day, I wouldn’t think you’d want to be late.” I said and I strode off, just as the bell rang for first period.
Perfect.
“Well, well, well, Miss Cooper,” Mr. Hoffman said as I walked in. “Starting the year off on the wrong foot, I see.”
I rolled my eyes and started to walk to the back to grab a desk.
“Do you have a late slip, Waverly?” He continued.
“Does it look like I have a damn late slip?” I shot back, tossing my bag on the floor.
Mr. Hoffman frowned. “See me after class, Waverly. I won’t tolerate your cheek this year.”
I slumped in my seat and glanced out the window.
“Do you hear me Miss Cooper?” He demanded.
“Loud and clear,” I shot back as sarcastically as I could, throwing in a demeaning little salute in his direction. There were some nervous twitters of laughter in the opposite corner. Holly Jenkins and her crew, not like they would get in trouble for waltzing in late.
Mr. Hoffman frowned at me and then continued on handing out his syllabus. I didn’t even bother opening mine. I spent the rest of the period looking out the window, daydreaming about random things, more specifically about how after today, I only had 179 more days until freedom.
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Just starting out. :)comments?
<3 Sophie