I had a love-hate relationship with the ‘cool skater’ guys at my high school. Although I did not fit into the typical cookie cutter ideal of a sexy girl, I never let it hinder my true personality... except with these jerks. When I was with my girlfriends, I was an extrovert, the joker, the center of most conversations and life of the party. All of my girlfriends were beautiful and thin; I never resented them for it, even though I was twice their size. I loved them for who they were, and they just all happened to be gorgeous as well. In turn, they loved me for who I was and we had great times together. It was only this particular group of guys that ever made me feel like total shit– like I was beneath them and not worthy of their attention.
These skater guys were our male counterparts in the chain of high school cliques, which is why I was logically attracted to some of them... we all liked the same type of music, fashion and lifestyle. My friends had had flings or long-term relationships with practically all of them and they never understood why I detested them so much. Although I loved my friends, they really had tunnel vision when it came to how things worked in high school. They didn’t need to see it from any other way – they were pretty and all the guys were always so nice to them – so what else did they need to know, right?
The worst was when one of them had a party. I usually tried to use some excuse not to go, but a few times I was convinced to attend. If it was on a Saturday night, that entire day I would physically feel sick with anxiety. What is worse than hate? I will tell you... It is complete indifference and that is what I got from these guys. The last party I subjected myself to I ended up playing with the family’s pet rabbit the entire night, while my friends all had a fabulous time getting drunk and hooking up with their guys. I left and no one even noticed; I cried the entire way home. The worst part was that I was crying because I was furious with myself for allowing these assholes to reduce me to be a withering wall flower reject. That was NOT who I was on any other day or with any other people. It sickened me that I gave these guys so much power over me. And why? Because they were cool and good looking? Probably. (Insert dry retch here)
It was so hard to contain my nature ability for sarcasm when one of my friends would reveal her latest crush on one of them and ask me, “What do you think of So-and-so? Isn’t he hot? He’s soooo sweet!”
I would raise one eyebrow and reply, “Ya, real sweet... like a fucking peach.” This was met with a defence like, “Oh, com'on! I don’t get why you don’t like him. He really is super nice... you just have to get to know him.”
“Yes, of course he’s nice to YOU– he wants to get into your pants!” This answer was always met with disbelief, even though it was the obvious truth. They didn’t WANT to get to know me because they didn’t want to get into MY pants. It was that simple, and that shallow, and that sad. They missed out on knowing a really cool and fun chick in me. I spent 4 years with these guys and I don’t think any of them said more to me than, “Got a light?”
About 3 years later, I was in line at the bank and I heard, “Stephanie! Hey Steph!” I saw the source of the voice and it was one of the hottest guys from that group of skaters and he was smiling... at me! I stared for a second and looked around. Perhaps there was another Julie that was skinnier and hotter than me standing behind me... but there wasn’t. I looked back at him, slowly waved in shock and forced a little grin. He waved back in affirmation and smiled again.
Wow! I never even thought he knew my name, even though we essentially hung out together for 4 years. It made me realise that some of those jerks from high school actually do manage to grow up, eventually.
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