Surviving High School

by Lele Pons

  I decide on a black corduroy skirt from American Apparel over a slate-gray leotard, kitten heels, and a white blazer. Do I look dope? Yes, I do.

  The doorbell rings. Christ, he’s early. Does he want to come in? Holy Christ, I hadn’t thought of that. After a day of reorganizing, this place is no place for a love interest: childhood stuffed animals and baby dolls and princess dress-up gowns and board games litter the floor. I frantically shove them all in a closet as fast as is humanly possible (I probably look like I’m on crack), then hurry to the front door. On my way, I pass Mom, and can’t help but shove her into the nearest closet as well.

  Quick mirror check—hair, eyes, lips, boobs, fleek, fleek, fleek, and fleek—then open the door like the cool, calm, collected, easy, breezy, beautiful girl that I am.

  “Hey, Alexei,” I say. “Wanna come in?”

  “Oh, thanks, but we gotta go. I made a reservation for eight.”

  “Lovely,” I say, and step outside. I can vaguely make out the sound of my mom butting up against the closet door.

  #ZEROTOHERO

  May to June

  37

  Guys Change When in Front of Their Friends / When Bae Embarrasses You

  (7,700,502 Followers)

  Alexei is proving to be quite a romantic. And a gentleman. He opens doors for me, he pulls out chairs—I honestly thought chivalry was long dead, but I guess I was wrong.

  After sharing tiramisu on Friday at the Cheesecake Factory (he’s seventeen after all, not Bill Gates), we rent a paddle boat and paddle around the marina like a couple of ducks in love.

  On Saturday we pack a picnic and go to the beach. He rubs sunblock on my back and lets me win at beach volleyball and tries to teach me how to surf but I keep freaking out as the waves get close and I always topple over, my life flashing before my eyes each time.

  On that note, let’s talk about the ocean for a second. Can you believe people still go in there? I can’t believe it. The whole thing is so unpredictable and aggressive. The riptide can just pull you under whenever it decides to get strong, and waves can get huge out of nowhere and sharks live in there and decomposing bodies from the Titanic probably. I know the ocean is supposed to be this beautiful, majestic, God-created masterpiece, but it really gives me the creeps.

  “Okay, the sun is setting, I’m getting out of here before I get eaten by a night creature,” I say, dragging myself out of the water and onto the sand like a dying whale.

  “A night creature?”

  “Yeah, you know, like a sea monster. You know, if they exist they gotta come out at night.”

  “Ummmm, I don’t think those are real,” he says.

  “I’m not taking my chances.”

  “You’re adorable.”

  “I know.”

  He tackles me and pins me onto my towel. He tries to tickle me but I’m strong and I ram my body into him and knock him over so that I’m the one pinning him down. He’s caught off guard, for sure, probably really impressed that his girlfriend could potentially be a professional wrestler.

  He starts kissing me passionately and then we’re side by side and the sun is setting and everyone’s gone home and we’re the only people on the beach. He starts to peel the bathing suit off my shoulders and I almost want to let him but something doesn’t feel entirely right. Have I known him long enough to let him see me naked? If I get closer with him now and then he breaks up with me, I’ll be extra devastated. I want to be naked with him right here and now but I can’t ignore the instinct to protect myself.

  “Not yet,” I say, stopping his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, babe.” He props himself up on one elbow and kisses my ear. “We can wait as long as you want, I don’t mind.”

  “Whoa, really?”

  “Yes! Of course, what do you think I am, some kind of animal?”

  “I don’t know . . . you hear a lot about teenage boys being so . . . you know.”

  “Horny? Desperate for sex? Yeah, we get a bad rap.”

  “So really then, you can wait? Won’t you get frustrated?”

  He laughs. “Probably, but I can wait.”

  “Wait a second, are you just saying this because you’ll secretly be sleeping around behind my back?”

  “What?! No! Of course not. You’re my girl.”

  Oh my God, he said I’m his girl! In a simpler time he would have given me a bracelet with his initials and we’d be going steady.

  “Well that is all I needed to hear. And I mean, you know, it’s not that I, uh, don’t want to. I do want to. I just want it to be right. When it feels right.”

  “I totally get it. I don’t want to rush things either.”

  “That’s grea— Wait a second, you’ve, like, done it before though, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “What?” I sit up. “But you seem so . . . confident. Plus, you were with Nina for so long.”

  “I seem confident? That’s ridiculous. I mean, I’m not unconfident, but I’m definitely not experienced. Nina was a year younger; she wasn’t ready either. I mean, we did other stuff, don’t get me wrong, but I wasn’t going to pressure her into something she wasn’t comfortable with.”

  “Wow, so we’re both . . .”

  “Yeah. For now.” He raises his eyebrows at me like a lecherous predator and we laugh. Then I tap his shoulder.

  “Tag, you’re it,” I say, before running away across the sand.

  Fun: check.

  Funny: check.

  Gets me: check.

  Good kisser: check.

  Hot: double check.

  Chivalrous: check.

  Respectful of me and of women in general: check.

  Is a mature adult: zero checks. D minus, at best. Ugh.

  What happened, you ask? I’ll tell you what happened. After that lovely and romantic day at the beach, we got hamburgers from Jack in the Box and walked through Acadia Park, some sappy 1950s love song playing in my mind (probably “Earth Angel”). We sat down on a park bench, perched on top of the bench so that our legs dangled over the backboard, his arm around my shoulder.

  Just then, Jake and Brian walk up, smoking a joint and looking all bro, no hipster.

  “Oh, hey, guys,” I say, seeing them before Alexei does.

  When he looks up and sees his bro buddies approaching he suddenly gets panicky and twitchy like he’s been possessed and abruptly pulls his arm off me so that I have no support and fall off the bench in a backward somersault. But not a cool backward somersault, I’m talking graceless and embarrassing backward somersault.

  “Hey, guys, what’s up?” Alexei stands to give them high fives like he’s some tough, big man on campus who don’t need no lady holding him back. Gasp! He’s Danny Zuko! He wishes.

  “Uh,” Brian says, “is that Lele? Did she just fall?”

  I stand up, brush leaves out of my hair.

  “Yep, it’s me. I’m fine though. Thanks for asking. I don’t think I broke anything. I guess that’s to be determined though.” I glare at Alexei.

  “Well, we were just thinking of going to see a movie, you guys interested?” Brian asks.

  “Sounds great guys,” I say, “but I have to be up early tomorrow for a . . . for a thing. An important thing. So, see ya later.” I sling my purse over my shoulder and start to walk away.

  “Lele, wait!” Alexei calls. “I have to give you a ride home! Where the hell are you going?” He catches up to me, grabs my hand. I pull it away.

  “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me or something?” I snap.

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “You practically pushed me off a bench when your friends walked over.”

  “I was just caught off guard. It didn’t mean anything. I swear to God!”

  I believe him and forgive him but don’t tell him so. It’s much more fun to watch him squirm all the way home.

  • • •

  I freeze him out all of Sunday, during which he leaves me five voice mai
ls, each one a long apology speckled with corny jokes and even the occasional awkward song. It’s delightful.

  On Monday he shows up to English with a dozen roses and the whole class thinks it’s so romantic. Okay, I think it’s a little romantic too, but I don’t make a huge deal about it because, let’s be real, this is how I’m gonna expect him to treat me regularly, whether he has messed up or not.

  “Please forgive me,” he says.

  “I do, I forgive you.” The class goes awwwwwwwww and I lean in closer so only he can hear me. “But if you ever drop me again you’ll barely live to regret it.” He gulps.

  • • •

  Coach Washington is absent today, so we have a substitute gym teacher who throws us a bunch of handballs and leaves us unattended. An hour to do whatever we want; I’m not complaining.

  “So, I hear you and Alexei are finally a thing,” Yvette says as we take a slow stroll around the track field.

  “Yeah, it’s hard to believe it’s actually happening. But it is.”

  “Have you done it yet?!”

  “Ugh, grow up, Yvette,” I say. “But no, no we haven’t.”

  “Why not?! Oh my God, you have to.”

  “Slow your roll, bb, I’m not in a rush. Oh hey, look, there he is!”

  Alexei bounds toward us diagonally across the field, zigzagging through girls playing soccer, approaching the giant game of Connect Four (imagine it: the game Connect Four except it’s three feet tall), and keeps on running, gaining speed so he can jump over it. He runs, he jumps, he lands straddling it like a bull and the whole thing goes down, Alexei and all. Frisbee-size chips go flying. I cringe, hide my face.

  “Well”—Yvette smirks—“you might have missed your chance now. I do hope it’s not broken.”

  “Bite me,” I say. But secretly I’m pleased: now Alexei and I have both fallen over in front of each other’s friends. The score has officially been evened.

  38

  Don’t Believe What You See in Magazines . . . Sometimes / When You Have the Worst Luck

  (7,980,000 Followers)

  “Why were you running across the track field in the first place?” It’s after school and I’m brushing my hair in front of the mirror. Alexei is sitting on my bed with an ice pack on his crotch.

  “Hm?”

  “When you and that Connect Four set got intimate, you were running over to me; it seemed like you wanted to tell me something.”

  “Oh yeah! I completely forgot. You’re the first Vine user to reach one billion loops.” The brush drops from my hand.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Yeah, look.” He pulls up my Vine on his phone to show me. It’s true: I’ve reached one billion loops. That means my videos have been viewed a total of one billion times. And I’m the first person on Vine to reach it. I stare at the numbers trying to digest them, make them feel real. But it won’t sink in. This must be a dream.

  “Alexei, is this real life? I’ve had dreams like this before.”

  “You’re not dreaming, this is real life.”

  “Ugh, people say that in dreams all the time, it’s lost all meaning.”

  “Lele, you’re being ridiculous, look.” He pinches me on the arm, hard.

  “Good God, was that necessary?”

  “Yes, it was. You’re tripping. Just open your eyes and acknowledge that you’re absolutely slaying on Vine. You broke a record, Lele, you’re frickin’ awesome.”

  I pause for a moment, stare into space. I can feel the information finally soaking through my muscles into my blood and straight to my brain.

  “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” I shriek at the top of my lungs, jumping up onto the bed like I’m five years old again and have the capacity to get excited about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and ice-cream sundaes. I bounce around, dance with my arms flailing—I don’t care who sees, even Alexei, who, in fact, can see me.

  “Dance with me!” I pull him by his hands. “This is a cause for celebration! Pop the champagne! Hold the phones! Alert the press!” With my help he hoists himself up so that he’s standing next to me, and for one happy moment I’m the belle of the ball holding hands with my prince.

  “Aghhhhh,” he groans, putting his hands to his crotch. “The pain!” And he collapses back onto the bed. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

  • • •

  While Alexei nurses his own wounded testicles (sorry for TMI, but it’s not my fault he’s a moron), Yvette, Darcy, and I head out to our second Steve Tao show. Yvette heard he was playing downtown, and asked if I could possibly get us into the VIP section again. I said, “Let me check. Your question has been submitted for review and the answer is DUH, because I’m mega famous now and can have whatever I want!”

  Yvette just glares at me, utterly repulsed.

  But now we’re hanging backstage and her tune has changed to one of gratitude. We’re sitting on a white leather couch drinking gin and tonics (mine is just tonic) as roadies set up for the show and randos mull about trying to look important.

  “Congrats on the one billion views, by the way,” she says, trying to make it sound casual. But she can’t, there’s no way to make it sound casual; I have gone where no girl has gone before. I’m expecting a phone call from the president any minute now. He’s so cute.

  “Oh, thanks, it’s no big deal.” I shrug, picking up a nearby issue of Teen Vogue.

  “You’re so weird,” she says. “You swing from arrogant to modest every five minutes.”

  “Hey”—I take on a fake-pretentious theater-snob voice—“it’s hard being famous, all right? I’m trying to find the perfect balance.” She rolls her eyes and we laugh.

  Flipping through the glossy pages of Teen Vogue, an endless array of airbrushed faces pop out at us. Enhanced lips and contoured cheekbones and extended eyelashes galore. It’s practically like watching a cartoon. A cartoon where everyone is more attractive than you are. One male model with abs so chiseled they create shadows on themselves has sparkling green eyes that look too good to be true.

  “Everyone in these magazines is so fake,” I say, thinking of all the work they’ll have to do on me if I’m ever in a magazine.

  “I know, right?” Yvette says, then gasps. She grabs my arm. “Lele, look.” She points straight ahead.

  “What am I looking at?” I look up from the magazine at the growing crowd.

  “Right there, next to the girl with the yellow dress. That’s him!” She can’t believe it; neither can I. And yet, it’s true: the male model we were just objectifying is off the pages and standing before us. No, I’m not forcing you, reader, into some mystical magical fantasy world where images come to life, I’m saying that the guy who modeled for this Tommy Hilfiger shoot in Teen Vogue is now, today, hanging out backstage at the Steve Tao show.

  And guess what? He’s just as gorgeous in real life. Damn.

  “Whoa, I guess that’s one man who doesn’t need airbrushing,” she says.

  “Ehhh, I don’t see it.” I grab the magazine and hold it close to my face in an attempt to conceal how unbelievably hot I think this guy is. What if Yvette sees me blushing and tells Alexei about it as a ploy to steal him for herself? Does she still secretly want him? I never did get to the bottom of that.

  “Come on, let’s go talk to him.”

  “Nah, I’m good. But you go. You should talk to him.”

  “Fine, I will,” she says. “Catch ya later.” And she’s off to the races. Wow, look at her go, that girl knows how to flirt! Maybe she doesn’t have a thing for Alexei after all. Or maybe that’s what she wants me to think.

  • • •

  I don’t really get how DJ-ing works exactly. Like, this is a music show but he’s not really playing any songs, he’s just mixing other people’s songs together. What I’m trying to say is that there’s no opportunity for that “Hey, I know this song!” feeling—or, there is, but when it hits it has nothing to do with the artist you are here to see. Basically, the purpose of a DJ
is to play for people who really wanna get pumped up. Or, “turnt up,” as the kids are saying these days.

  So, I stand in the front row happy to be in my own company, bumping along to the multitude of rhythms and cheering whenever a song I love splices into another song I love in perfect harmony. Which, I admit, is pretty dope.

  At one point, Steve brings out a birthday cake, and starts balancing it on his head. The crowd goes wild. I don’t totally understand, but hey, that’s rock ‘n’ roll. Oh, no, wait, it’s not rock ‘n’ roll, it’s . . . DJ-ing culture?

  “Who wants cake?” he calls out, causing the crowd to cheer even louder. Then, without warning, he hurls the cake into the audience—Lord knows why. Lord knows why Steve does half the bizzarro things he does—and I can see it heading straight for me. Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, my mind races; I’m frozen in place and can’t think to jump out of the way. Plus, I could go for some cake.

  SMASH! It hits me right in the face. Mmm, vanilla icing. With cake in my ears I can hear the muffled sounds of laughter and applause. I could be embarrassed but suddenly I’m too hungry to care. Plus, this will make for a super-dope Vine. I’m so glad Darcy’s there with the camera, just as long as Steve is willing to play himself and we’re able to get it all in one take—actually, scratch that: we’ll film as many takes as we need to get it right, even if it means I have to take seventeen cakes to the head. #DoItForTheVine!

  I wipe cake from my eyelids and see Yvette making out with model boy. Luck is a weird thing, isn’t it? Some people have it; other people get hit in the face with cake in front of hundreds of people.

  39

  School Is Fun / When You Hear an Old Song That Everyone Knows the Dance To / When You Forget It’s Not Friday

  (8,189,000 Followers)

  Okay, so I may not excel at academics, but I pretty much dominate the part of school that happens in between classes. The hallway high fives, the lunchtime shenanigans—I lead it all. Just being my weird self has finally translated into universal respect from my peers. They look to me for the fun; they look to me for validation. I didn’t ask for this, but I have gradually become the queen bee of Miami High.