Surviving High School

by Lele Pons

  “Yes, Mrs. Lombardo. That was very helpful. You definitely made me feel less alone.”

  “Fantastic. Now, I’m going to send you back to class with a warning. I don’t want to hear about any more of this acting out, all right? I know you mean well and I know you can DO well, okay? Try applying yourself every once in a while.” She scribbles on a red slip and hands it to me, “Give this to Coach when you get back to class so she knows you’ve come to see me.”

  “I will. Thank you so much, Mrs. Lombardo.” I curtsy awkwardly as if she’s some sort of duchess or prime minister or . . . I don’t know, someone fancy.

  Phew, that was a close one. If I got expelled or arrested my parents would most likely disown me. Then I’d probably have to live on the streets as a beggar. Or I could ask each of my Vine followers to send me a dollar and then I’d be rich as f**k. Note to self: hmmm, interesting.

  But the hard part of the day isn’t over. I wait for Darcy at her locker after school and she is PISSED.

  “Lele, are you out of your goddamn mind? You could have hurt someone. And now I can’t even show my parents how well I did on that quiz.”

  “Eeesh, yes, that is uh, really hard, and I’m sorry.” I try to genuinely care that her parents will never see the results of this one particular pop quiz. “Look, I figured you’d be mad, and I would be too if I were you. What I did was really selfish. When you got an A I took it as a sign of my own incompetence . . . but your success isn’t about me, it’s about you, and I realize that now, and I’m happy for you! I know I can work harder and maybe one day we can both get A’s. But honestly, as I’m saying all this, I realize I don’t even care about getting good grades. Academics aren’t my passion in life, they’re yours, and clearly you excel at them—”

  “And you excel at what you do! You have over five million followers on Vine, do you know how rare that is? You’re a performer and a comedian and you’re doing astronomically well. You’re reaching more people than I ever will with my good grades.”

  Darcy is so right. But to be nice I say, “Nah, that’s not true. You’re going to become a scientist and cure AIDS probably.”

  “Probably, yeah.”

  “See? Love your confidence. I admire it.”

  “I think you’re more confident than you think you are.”

  “Oh, please. Wanna go see a movie?”

  “Yeah! I’m in the mood for something scary.”

  “Me too! I heard Oculus is scary as hell.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  • • •

  In the cool dark of the movie theater, Darcy and I sit with our feet up on the chairs in front of us. It’s 4:00 p.m. and the theater is practically empty. Darcy’s nibbling on popcorn and I’ve got a box of Red Vines, a bag of M&M’s, a bag of Sour Patch Kids, a giant soft pretzel, and a large Coke. See, I deal with fear by eating as much sugar as possible. One of the many differences between Darcy and me (which I am here to celebrate, not use as an excuse to feel bad about myself) is the way we deal with scary things.

  Darcy is fearless, while I am a scaredy-cat through and through. I spend the entire two hours shrieking and hiding my eyes and thrashing around in my chair while Darcy remains cool, calm, and collected. She even laughs a few times, which is absurd, because this movie is chilling. A mirror has been haunting these siblings for decades and it may have been the reason their father killed their mother and himself and stuff is always appearing in it and it’s always warping reality and I never know what kind of horrors are going to pop out at me and I wonder if I’ll ever feel safe again. But Darcy isn’t fazed. Note to self: Darcy is a true badass bitch.

  • • •

  This afternoon’s Vine, entitled “White Girls at the Movies / Darcy Is a Badass Bitch”:

  White girl Lele sees the grim reaper appear in her home and faints out of fear. Black girl Darcy walks into the room, sees the grim reaper, and beats the sh*t out of him without thinking twice. Terrified, the poor guy runs away down the street, never to return again.

  34

  When Two Boys Like the Same Girl Versus When Two Girls Like the Same Guy

  (6,266,200 Followers)

  Here we are again, tennis with Yvette. She always wins, because apparently she went to sports camp growing up or some preppy crap like that. Camp never worked out for me, personally. You all know about the time I gained twenty-five pounds at camp, and one year I went to sleep-away camp in Massachusetts and on the first day I broke my arm during ropes course and made my parents come pick me up. I’ve been a natural-born klutz since day one.

  Anyway, Yvette has just kicked my ass in tennis and we’re walking to the vending machines for some water.

  “So, any developments with Alexei?” she asks.

  “Not really. I mean, we had fun at Coachella.”

  “But he’s single now, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, why hasn’t anything happened? He’s single, you’re single, shouldn’t you be dating by now? Or at least hooking up?”

  “I dunno . . . I haven’t wanted to rush things. He just got out of a long relationship.”

  “But you still like him, don’t you?”

  “Duh.”

  “And he likes you?”

  “He said he did. I don’t know. What are you getting at?”

  “I’m not getting at anything. I’m just trying to get a better understanding of the situation.” She presses A1 for her bottle of water, retrieves it, and casually walks away.

  “ ‘Trying to get a better understanding of the situation’ my ass,” I mutter to myself, then press D7 for a Coke because f**k it.

  What was that all about? Does Yvette like Alexei? Is she trying to swoop in on him? I swear to God I will cut a bitch. I know I’m supposed to be enlightened now and celebrate all my female friends instead of competing with them, but if one of my friends OR ANYONE tries to take Alexei from me there is no telling what I will do. Sure, Alexei isn’t my boyfriend, but he’s the one that I want. And he better shape up, ’cause I need a man, and my heart is set on him, woohoo. Sing it, Olivia Newton-John as badass bitch Sandy in black latex.

  Oh wait, I forgot that it’s the twenty-first century and I don’t actually need a man. At least that’s what my head tells me . . . other parts of my body don’t seem to be in agreement.

  • • •

  Here is another instance where guys have it much easier than girls. When two guy friends like the same girl, they actually bond over it. They’re all like, “Hey, check out that ass, yeah, high five, we both agree that ass is cute!” Such simpletons. Sometimes they’ll go as far as to say things to each other like, “You deserve her, man, I’ll step down this time,” or “Let’s just say this one’s off-limits. Wouldn’t want to let a girl get in the way of our friendship. Bros over hoes, man, bros over hoes.”

  Do you like my impersonation of a guy? I think I’ve nailed it.

  But when two girl friends like the same guy, however, it’s total bedlam. All vows of loyalty and friendship forever are thrown aggressively out the window and the fierce competition begins. Okay, yeah, there’s girl code, but that’s only if one of you has already dated him. With new guys, all is fair, because this is war. It’s hard to believe, but we will actually end friendships over liking the same guy. Granted, we normally will refriend each other after a short amount of time once we realize that said guy was completely and 100 percent not worth it, but still.

  The concept of avoiding a guy because our friend likes him is quite foreign to us and difficult to comprehend. It’s weird, you would think guys would be the more competitive ones, what with all that testosterone and all, but no, it’s girls who fight each other to the death in the name of lust.

  What’s that even about? Evolutionarily speaking, I mean. Because, if there’s anything I’ve learned in biology it’s that everything about us is the way it is because of evolution (quite different from what I learned at my previous, Catholic school). Maybe it has something to do wi
th how men don’t need a particular woman to reproduce, but for women to reproduce they need the right man to help feed them and provide shelter so they whack the bad guys over the head like a carnival game. Sounds like some antiquated gender norm bullshit to me.

  See? I know some things.

  Take that, Darcy, I can be smart too.

  35

  Flirting Gone Wrong or Right?

  (6,388,991 Followers)

  Alexei comes over after school in his bro tank top and hipster Converse. I’m waiting for the day he shows up with ironic glasses and a leather satchel. We watch some Jon Stewart off my DVR and all I want is to ask him if he likes Yvette. No big deal, but do you have a thing for Yvette? ’Cause I think she has a thing for you. I try it out over and over in my head but it sounds clunky and obvious. So Yvette was asking me some weird questions today . . . What do you think of Yvette? Is she your type? . . . Soooo who would you rather date, me or Yvette? Ugh, is there no winning this?

  “I’m gonna grab a soda,” Alexei says. “Want something?”

  “Yvette loves you!” I blurt.

  “What?”

  “I mean she likes you. I mean I think she likes you.”

  “What?” He laughs. “Where is this coming from?”

  “She kept asking me questions about you during gym today. It sounded like she wants to make a move.”

  “Lele, Yvette is a big flirt. She likes everyone. She tried to kiss me at her party back in September but I pulled away. She’s just not my type. I mean, she’s a cute girl, for sure, but I don’t feel anything for her.”

  “Oh.” YVETTE TRIED TO KISS ALEXEI!!!! RAGE!!!

  “Did you really think I would date Yvette Amparo?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “Eww, why do you think so low of me?” He lightly punches my shoulder.

  “Because you’re gross and a weirdo.” I lightly punch him back. Even though Yvette and I are frenemies now, I still don’t trust her. Wait a minute. I don’t trust her because she’s a frenemy.

  “Um wow, look who’s talking.” He punches again, this time a little harder, but still friendly, maybe even flirty? Then, out of left field, seized by my subconscious mind, I punch him back, but this time it’s aggressive, and in his face.

  I see the pain flash across his eyes.

  “What the hell? What did you do that for?”

  “You only hurt the ones you love!” Another terrible thing to blurt out. Dammit, I am out of control today. “I mean, I’m sorry! I mean, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Oh my God, oh my God, did I just tell him I love him? He’s going to laugh at me now, isn’t he? Or worse, he’s going to leave. I just know it, he’s going to turn around and leave. No, he’ll laugh at me and then leave.

  But I’m wrong. He doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t leave. He’s quiet for a second, and then inches slightly closer to me. He puts his hands on my cheeks and pulls my face toward his and I swear I can hear music playing. Loud, victorious music, fireworks bursting all around while his soft lips are pressed against mine.

  He’s kissing me.

  THIS IS WHAT I’VE WAITED FOR ALL MY LIFE!!!!

  This kiss. Oh my God. He’s an amazing kisser. It’s like I can feel the entire world through my lips. Is that weird? That’s how awesome it is.

  Then it gets even better.

  “So you love me?” he says, so close to my face that I can smell the Winterfresh on his breath.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe I love you too.”

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the end of our story, because at this point Lele dies of happiness . . . she lived a good, good life indeed.

  36

  Crushes Always Call at the Worst Moments / When Your Crush Comes to Your House

  (6,900,000 Followers)

  Sadly, I did not die in that moment that was quite possibly the high point of my life. I continued to live and rode out the excitement of being loved until Alexei had to go home for dinner and the excitement of being loved was replaced by a feeling of longing and anxiety. Does this mean he’s my boyfriend now? He told me that maybe he loves me! When is he going to call me? How am I supposed to act when I see him at school tomorrow? These are the types of neurotic questions that raced through my mind.

  But now it’s the next day after school and I’m feeling nice and satisfied after a day of the two of us note-passing in English and hand-holding at lunch and tongue-kissing in the hallways.

  Life would be perfect if it weren’t for the fact that Mom has just called me into the kitchen and has a very angry face on. It’s that face she gets whenever she’s decided to read me the riot act.

  “Uh-oh,” I say. “This doesn’t seem good.”

  “You bet it’s not good, Eleonora Pons.” I cringe at the harsh sound of my birth name. “I just got a phone call from your guidance counselor saying that you’ve been skipping school not just for Coachella, and failing tests left and right, and set a girl’s math test on fire? Is this true?”

  “Who the hell is my guidance counselor? I’ve never met such a person.”

  “Well, she exists, and her name is Mrs. Morgan, and she is very concerned about you. Do you know where D’s and F’s are going to get you? Community college, that’s where. Or some state school—is that what you want? I thought you wanted to go to a rigorous university where you could be with people who challenge you and motivate you to learn. You think you can get that by failing eleventh grade?” She’s practically red in the face and her voice is about a hundred notches louder than it needs to be.

  “I don’t know, Mom, I think that’s always been what you want for me. I’ve never been particularly good at school, and I used to feel bad about it, but I’m trying to embrace who I am. I’m not academic smart, I’m Lele smart and I’m creative, and funny; the world thinks I’m funny. Did you know I have almost seven million followers on Vine now? I have a huge fan base and I’m only sixteen; to be entirely honest I don’t think I need to go to college, at least not right away. I want to take some time off to focus on . . . myself. College isn’t going to make me happy . . . you know how I am, Mom, listen to me, college will be oppressive and it will keep me from developing my career. As an actress. Maybe even as a singer.”

  “Your career? You can’t make a career out of little internet videos! You need an education in this world. Good God, Lele, you’re letting fame get to your head. You can’t get by on temporary popularity, Lele, you can’t—”

  That’s when my phone lights up and I see that Alexei is calling. Oh God, I want to answer it so badly—I can’t even begin to explain how much I long to answer the phone and end this unexpected bombardment of emotion and hysteria that is, quite frankly, detrimental to my delicate little psyche—but I know I can’t. I bite my lip and nod along to the tirade.

  Mom isn’t done, not by a long shot. “You can’t think you’re special just because people like you on the internet right now. What about tomorrow? What about in a few years when this whole thing blows over and you’re left with nothing to fall back on because you haven’t been educated? What then?”

  Call from . . . Alexei , Call from . . . Alexei .

  “You think you’ll be able to just come crawling back to your dad and me? Well, you’re dead wrong, because that won’t be an option. I suggest you take a good hard look in the mirror and start to turn this around; if you don’t have the grades to start applying to colleges in November, then you won’t be welcome in this home, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I say hurriedly. “I definitely understand. I hear you loud and clear.”

  The call goes to voice mail. Dammit.

  “Really? I thought you were going to have a lot to say about this.” Mom frowns.

  “Not today, Mom. You’re the parent and I respect your wishes. Talk later!” I run back into my room and hit CALL BACK.

  “Hey, you’ve reached Alexei, a.k.a. A-list, a.k.a. Axxy. Just kidding, don’t call me those things. But you can leave a message and I’ll pr
obably call you back.” Beeeeeeeeep.

  Nooooooooo! I’m too late! I’ve lost him forever!

  My phone dings.

  Ooh, a text from Alexei:

  Hey, taking care of Aya now, can’t talk. I was just calling to see if I could take you out tomorrow. Like on a date.

  Whhhaaatt? Is he for real? Of course he can take me on a date, that’s all I’ve ever wanted! I write back:

  Yes!

  I instantly regret the winky face, but it’s too late.

  • • •

  Psh, it’s all going to blow over, yeah right, what does my mom know anyway? It’s so not fair: one second she’s my champion cheerleader, swearing she’ll have my back no matter what, and the next she’s switching into her “overprotective mother” persona in overdrive to make up for time spent being easygoing. I have a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation on my hands and it can be very disorienting. I just need to remember that I’ll never be able to make everyone happy: at the end of the day I need to make decisions based on what I know I need. And I know I need to act.

  This is what I find myself thinking as I’m tearing through my closet looking for the perfect first-date dress, tripping over all the new shoes I’ve bought. I can build a career off this moment in my life if I want, I’m a highly capable young lady. If I go to college I’ll just be wasting valuable time! Right? Do I want to go with a classic little black dress or is that too funereal? Electric-blue cocktail dress or is that too slutty? Pale pink bell-skirt dress with one off-the-shoulder sleeve or is that too childish? Do I own nothing appropriate for a first date? Where is he even taking me? What if it’s not that fancy and I’m overdressed? What if after thinking this I decide to wear something casual and I end up being underdressed?! This is how my train of thought goes and soon I’ve forgotten all about my mom and her antiquated opinions.