After about ten minutes, Gabriel, a boy from my health class, looks over at me. “So,” he says, “are you enjoying this?”
“The table? Well, this hasn’t been the most positive reaction I’ve gotten.”
He looks down.
“I try to be nice to people,” I say. “But sometimes, they just don’t understand that.”
He raises his gaze and looks me in the eyes. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t listen to what people say.”
I smile genuinely. “Thank you.”
Maya’s Popularity Tip
Not everyone is ready to accept a lone girl at a guys’ table. Recognize and accept this fact, understanding that you may see (and smell) much more than you ever wanted to.
Thursday, April 26
Today, I’m sitting with a couple of Football Faction members along with a few Volleyball Girls. They have decided to completely ignore my existence. I excuse myself and go to ask Kenzie advice.
On the way, Gabriel from another table shouts over to me. “Hey, Maya, aren’t you going to sit with us?”
“I’m booked today.” I find myself smiling, “But don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”
He gives me the funny look that people have started doing whenever they’re around me. I wish I could figure out what it means.
I get to our old table and see that someone’s missing.
“Francisco, where did Kenzie go?”
He fidgets and doesn’t meet my eyes. “She sits with Marissa now. Sorry.”
I turn around to see a crowded booth overflowing with laughter. Kenzie’s voice is, as always, louder than the rest. For some reason it makes me sad. I look down and sigh, realizing now how my friends might have felt when I left.
So I return to the social experiment that has become my life.
I pass by a table I sat at a couple weeks ago. One girl (a Band Geek) grabs my arm. Immediately her name jumps to mind—Lily. “Maya, you can sit with us. It’s just that the people you’re sitting with are mean.”
I am unbelievably touched, but am still determined not to be ignored. “Thank you so much. But I can’t today. Maybe later?”
She nods and the table resumes its conversation about a band trip.
I sit back down with the semi-populars but no matter how hard I try, they disregard my existence. I don’t let it get me down, though. I guess they’re just not willing to take a chance.
The bell rings and I walk to the door. Everyone pushes me against the glass. I’m almost sure to be crushed when 6’2” Gabriel from Monday reaches over the crowd and holds the door open for me. He smiles and I call out a thank you.
I will add him to that ever-growing list of people I’ve met and now consider friends.
. . . . . . .
Thursday, 3:46 p.m. Today, I’m talking to Betty.
The phone rings and I rush to answer it, heart pounding. What if she doesn’t like me? What if I say something wrong?
“Hello?”
“Hi, Maya, this is Mrs. Fadem. I’m going to put my mom on the other end, and then you two can chat. Is it okay if I listen in?”
“Of course,” I say.
There’s a pause, then an older woman’s voice comes on. “Hello?”
“Hi, this is Maya.”
“Hello, this is Betty Cornell. I think that what you did is just wonderful. I am very proud of you. So tell me a little about yourself and what you thought of my book.”
I hesitate, then begin. “This past year, I’ve been trying out the suggestions in your book. I think it’s really working.”
I tell her the positive highlights of each chapter. I’m pretty sure my phone etiquette sucks because I know I say “um,” “exactly,” and “like” way too many times.
Maya’s Popularity Tip
When you finally get to talk to your life teacher, mentor, and guru for the first time, try to make a good impression and refrain from squealing with joy.
I avoid telling her about all the bad things that have happened: being called names, being humiliated and mocked, and I sure as anything don’t mention the girdle. Instead, I talk about the pearls.
“Don’t you just love them?” she asks. “They look great on everyone. Go on, tell me more!”
I let her know that I’m sitting at different lunch tables.
“What an amazing opportunity to meet new people! Wasn’t it nice, though? Did you make new friends?”
I think of my experience today. “You know, for the first time, I feel like I’ve got people looking out for me.”
“Oh, how great! So what is coming up next?”
“Next month I’m going to go to the eighth-grade prom. Do you have any advice?”
“Is it a formal?” Mrs. Cornell asks.
“It’s more . . . semiformal.”
“Okay, so don’t overdress. Or wear too much makeup. That’s the problem. Girls try out strange hairdos and clothing that they don’t know how to work with. They don’t look like themselves at all. Let’s see, what’s your favorite color?”
“Blue,” I say.
“Then you should get yourself a nice blue dress.”
I smile. Her voice sounds just like I’d imagined it, gentle and matter-of-fact. I describe my family, leaving out Nat’s autism and our overall strangeness. She listens enthusiastically.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you wrote this book. Even though it was years ago, it still rings true. It still works. It’s changed my life. Suddenly I can make friends.”
“You’ve just made my day. More than that . . . you’ve made my month, my year, everything!”
I am on top of the world.
From now on, I not only get Betty’s advice from the book, but I can also get pearls of wisdom from the mouth of Mrs. Cornell herself.
Friday, April 27
Today is the day. I’ve been working up to this moment all month long. All year, for that matter. Today I sit with the jocks, the most popular people at our school: the highest of the Volleyball Girls and Football Faction all together at one table.
Here goes.
The bell for lunch rings, and I slowly pull myself out of my desk and drag my feet down the hall toward the cafeteria. I can hear the blood pounding against the inside of my skull. My fingers shake as I try to remember everything I’ve learned, what’s truly important in making friends.
I sit down across from a Volleyball Girl.
“Hey, Maya, what’s up?” she asks, smacking her neon-pink chewing gum.
“Hi, Cristine, can I sit here today?”
“I guess.”
“Thanks.”
Carlos Sanchez stumbles in with his buddy Pablo, singing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” Badly. An onlooker would describe them as drunk, but they did the same thing during third period, so I’m not surprised.
He glances at me. I freeze and force myself to smile, even though I think I’m going to be sick.
“What’s up, Maya?” He rejoins the song, then jumps back. “Holy crap! Since when do you sit with us?”
I try to stop my voice from shaking.
“I’ve sat with tons of people.” I point to the tables around the lunchroom. The group seems impressed.
A football guy at the end of the table leans forward to see me. “Why?”
I relax a little. “For fun. Anyway, I’m moving to Georgia and—”
“WHAT! YOU’RE MOVING?!” Carlos Sanchez shouts loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear.
“My dad got a job at a university there.”
“But, you make our school look all smart and stuff. And, and now we’re just gonna look dumb!”
Carlos Sanchez will miss me, too! Am I dreaming?
Some of the boys get into an argument over who will miss me most.
“No, I want
to sit next to Maya.”
“Too late, I was here first!”
I’m floating, honest to goodness floating! My head has to be fifty feet above the earth!
Someone from the nearby Choir Geek table hears the commotion, looks up, and sees me sitting at the most popular table at school. Her eyes widen, and she pokes one of her friends. They both gawk. One of them mouths, “What the hell?!”
I smile. Soon all the choir girls are staring at me.
I feel like a princess on a float. So I just smile and wave. The whole Popular Table is talking to me, competing, even, for my attention.
As the bell rings on another successful lunch, I get up. One of the Football Faction members leans over to me.
“Don’t sit at the gangster table. They’re scary.”
I’m shocked at his warning. “I already sat with them. They were really nice. They just don’t speak much English.”
He shakes his head and disappears. When I get into the hall, all the choir girls surround me. “What were you doing?” they ask.
“I’ve sat with everyone. They weren’t too bad.”
“But the jocks are terrifying!”
“Maya, you’re amazing!”
“You are so brave!”
“You’ve got some serious balls, man.”
Wow, I mean . . . Wow. I’ve never been considered brave, or even bold. Now, I have “serious balls.”
I practically soar down the hall to my next class, but a question keeps bringing me back to reality: Why is everyone so scared of one another?
. . . . . . .
Still feeling the high from the cafeteria earlier today, I’m positively glowing when I arrive at a church potluck. I sit down next to Ethan, who is alone.
“Hello there,” I offer.
“Hey,” he murmurs. He doesn’t look at me.
“Are you against being social?” I ask, teasing.
“Yeah,” he remarks, sarcastically. I laugh.
I talk to him for a little while about my day, and ask about his. Then he looks at me, eye contact and everything. “Am I immature?”
“What?” I’m floored.
“Really, am I immature? Some girl told me so today, and I’ve never been made fun of before in my life. So, am I immature?”
I laugh. “You’ve never been made fun of?”
“Nope.”
I pause a moment. “Then I think it’s supposed to be some humbling experience sent by something greater. That, or she likes you.” I smile as he blushes. “I mean it’s obvious you can’t get her out of your head. Sure you can be immature, but so can everyone else. I think it’s good you got called out on it before you left for high school. Middle school is supposed to be a time of growth, a time to realize that you’re not the only person on the planet. Sometimes it’s hard to do that until someone comes along and makes you deeply ponder who you are.”
“Oh. I thought everyone just respected me because I have a girlfriend.”
I take a deep breath, and it’s like the tension is released.
And just like that, I realize that it doesn’t hurt. The crush is gone. I’m free to connect with anyone and everyone. I’m free to give honest advice from my heart.
Glory be, I am free!
“Well maybe you’ve got to think more about re-creating yourself,” I say. “I have.”
“I know. People at my school talk about you all the time. Everyone knows your name. Well, they call you ‘Maya Van Woogen.’” He laughs. “They say mean things, actually: that you dress like a grandma and talk to people who don’t know you. All in all you come off pretty crazy.”
Ethan goes to the elite, expensive private school miles away from mine. I’m not sure how to take this. Four months ago this would’ve crushed me, but now, I’m more intrigued than hurt. Everyone knows my name.
Monday, April 30
Here I am again.
The lunchroom.
This is where my month first started, and this is where I choose to end it. I walk to my own Social Outcast table and sit down.
Betty Cornell says that “Your first dance is obviously reserved for your date, as is the last.” I came with my group, and I intend to leave with them. It’s almost like everything’s back to normal. But not entirely. There are some key differences:
Kenzie now sits at another table with a new friend. I suppose this is a good thing, but it makes me ache on the inside. She and I ride the bus together, though, so that’s still something we share.
Adriano deliberately avoids my gaze. I got asked out by a Football Faction member and now he won’t talk to me. But I don’t care.
I know so many more people. People I never would have spoken to if this whole experiment had never happened. It’s as if there’s a magnetic pull inside me toward all of humanity. It’s a love that I never thought I could feel for the students I go to school with.
But there’s one change that catches me off guard more than anything else. I watch as a girl tugs at her boyfriend’s sleeve. He’s sitting with his friends at an all-guy table, but she wants him to sit with her. It’s a usual sight, but this time it plays out differently.
The boyfriend refuses, and I watch as she lets out a determined sigh. She sets down her tray among all the guys and sits down with them.
The boys look at her funny for a moment, but then just shake their heads and lower their eyes. One glances up at me.
Suddenly, I have the strangest feeling. What I did made a big difference in the smallest of ways. I opened doors. I changed what was socially acceptable, just a little bit.
I’ve never felt quite so powerful.
May
IT’S A DATE
& BE A HOSTESS
Here we are. The last month of this social experiment that came to be all because of a sixty-year-old book at the back of a closet.
I am a changed person. As I walk through the halls today, I notice how people look at me. Like I’m actually a human being, a friend even. But the biggest difference is the way I see them. I’m not scared of everybody else. For the first time in my life, I feel happy and safe at school.
But it isn’t over yet. There are still two more chapters to cover in the stained pages of Betty’s book: “It’s a Date” and “Be a Hostess.” What better way to end this year than the two hardest tasks in the book?
While we’re on the subject of dating, let’s discuss the history of my crushes:
My first crush was Tyler, my neighbor when my dad was in graduate school. We walked together to first grade every day. One time, he invited me over, and we played a board game in his basement.
“You’re my friend, right?” he asked me.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I don’t want to be your friend anymore. The only way I’ll talk to you ever again is if you kiss me.”
I didn’t want to make any hasty decisions. So, I went home and told my parents. From that day forward, Tyler had an irrational (or perhaps rational) fear of my father. Sometimes I’d throw a basketball over the fence, just so he’d throw it back. That crush lasted until third grade, when he moved away.
My next heartthrob was Blake. He was the smartest kid in the class, working on his own advanced math packets while we were still learning multiplication tables. I daydreamed about him until he started bragging to everyone that he was “so much” smarter than they were. Even back then I didn’t find that attractive.
Then came Jason. Jason was in love with Vanessa, the girl who was my first encounter with real popularity. He was the most sought-after guy in our grade. Jason had a big smile, wavy brown hair, and he was picked first in every sport. I spoke to Jason one last time before we moved to Brownsville when I told him I was leaving for good. He shrugged and said, “Good-bye, Mia.” He almost remembered my name. I was so happy!
My most recent and lo
ngest crush was, of course, Ethan.
I’ve always wondered how it must feel to like someone and have them like you back just as much. It’s never happened to me (except for kiss-happy Tyler, which doesn’t count). But this month the school is hosting an eighth-grade prom, and my goal is to go. With a boy. And not just any boy—someone nice. Not an Adriano.
And hopefully once I accomplish this task, I’ll move into the “Be a Hostess” chapter. I have never hosted a party, but seeing that we’re moving soon, it seems appropriate.
Responsibility is the secret of any hostess’ success. By that I mean thinking ahead and planning. A party just doesn’t run itself. It has to have refreshments and some sort of general scheme. And it has to have people.
I’m going to use the fifty dollars I made during my financial month along with other money I’ve saved up to pay for the party. I can do refreshments. I can create a scheme. Maybe, just maybe, I can get people there, too.
Wednesday, May 2
I get moved next to a shy boy in algebra today. His name is Nicolas. He kind of looks like an extremely awkward Clark Kent: big square glasses, black hair, and beautiful brown eyes.
I smile at him as I drop my backpack and sit down. He lifts the corners of his mouth then turns around and begins talking to a friend. He has a very quiet voice and always looks faintly surprised when he’s speaking.
On the way out of class, he does something few guys ever do anymore. He holds the door open and lets me pass in front of him.
There it is again, the effervescent burbling of a crush, rising to the surface. I glide to second period.
That is, until I almost crash into a couple making out.
No one wants to go to the movies and observe the antics of a loving couple in the row ahead. No one wants to go to a diner and eat a hamburger seasoned with the simpering goings-on of two moonstruck youth. The minute you go beyond holding hands in public you have gone too far. Embraces and kisses which are carried on for all the world to see are in poor taste.
I laugh. Oh, Betty, if you only knew then what the future would hold.
Thursday, May 3
“All right, boys and girls! Welcome to your first day of sex education. Today we will be going over the male and female reproductive systems. I don’t want any of you to shy away from the proper anatomical terms. After that we’ll watch a video on STDs. Trust me, you’ll never be the same.”
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