Surviving High School

by Lele Pons

  Ouch! Burn! Cold! I don’t know how it could be a burn and also be cold, but it is! It’s a freeze burn! Fine, Darcy, I don’t need you, I have other friends. I try to reassure myself, but I know if I lose Darcy it will be my first real failure as a human being. Gulp.

  • • •

  After calculus I skip lunch and gym. I’m too embarrassed to show my face, so I go around to the back of the language building, where there’s a hole in the chain-link fence big enough to climb through and sneak down the block to Starbucks, where I drink down a few caramel Frappuccinos to numb the pain. Is there any way I don’t have to ever go back? Go into the wild and live with wolves? Please, God, anything to forget what a lousy friend I’ve been and how self-centered I’ve become. Oh, I know—I’ll become a nun, repent for my sins. I can’t help wondering how things got so out of hand. I’m pushing Alexei away; I’m neglecting my friendship with Darcy—everything is a mess and it’s all my fault. Maybe fame really is changing me; it’s turning me into someone I don’t like. I don’t want to be the type of girl who lets fame get to her head, I just wanna be Lele from the block!

  As soon as the clock strikes 12:58, I hurry back into campus to find Darcy. By the time I get there I’m out of breath and sweaty, my hair is a mess but I don’t care: I know if I’m going to fix this, I’m going to have to make a big gesture—I’m going to need to put my dramatic disposition to good use.

  “Darcy,” I pant, grabbing her arm like I’m the walking dead. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. You’re right, you’re right about everything. Being famous is stupid; I don’t think I even want it. Especially if it’s going to get in the way of our friendship. Thank you for making me realize I’ve been acting weird; I’ve definitely been feeling weird, but I’m still the same old me. See, I’ll prove it!” I pull out a black marker from my backpack.

  “Lele, no, what are you doing?”

  “I’m showing you how I’m still the same old me and how I don’t care about fame or about being cool.” I take the marker and draw a circle around one of my eyes. For a second she seems like she’s going to try and stop me, but then she just stares, speechless, motionless, as I color in the circle until I have a scribbly, lopsided black eye. “See?” Darcy laughs.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Yes! That’s the point.”

  “Why a black circle though? Is that supposed to represent something?” Oh, intellectual Darcy, always looking for symbolism.

  “I’m a pirate! Remember? Like on the first day of school when I got a black eye and everyone made fun of me all day? Because I looked like a pirate?”

  “I vaguely remember.”

  “Really? I thought that was like a big important day that everyone remembered. Hm, maybe I really am self-obsessed.”

  “You’re not that bad.”

  “Does that mean you forgive me?!”

  “Yes.”

  “Yay!” I jump up and down and squeeze her until she says that she can’t breathe.

  “Wanna go to the bathroom and I’ll help you get that ink off your face?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I’m leaving it on for the day.”

  “To prove that you don’t care about being cool?”

  “To prove that I’m not cool.”

  “Well, I think you are,” she says.

  “Aaaawww, I think you are too! Now stop before I get emotional.”

  “Nick Kowel’s parents are out of town and he’s having a party tomorrow night, wanna go with me? Mingle with the little people?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Okay, I wouldn’t love to, but it will be nice to spend some quality time with Darcy after all we’ve been through.

  45

  How Kids Partied Then Versus Now

  (9,400,202 Followers)

  “Hey, Mom, what’s up?” I spring into the living room where she’s reading People. “How’s your evening so far?”

  “All right, Lele, what do you want?” She sets down her magazine and raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Want? Nothing, I don’t want anything!”

  “Great, so I can keep reading my magazine?”

  “Okay, fine. I want to go to a party with Darcy tonight.”

  “So? You go to parties all the time. I thought we—no, I thought you decided you don’t have to ask us for permission?”

  “I know, I know, but I was thinking. I’m sorry I’ve been so . . . reluctant to let you be parents lately. I just don’t want to let anything get in the way of my career, but I need to step back and realize that I really am still a kid, and my parents are still my parents. I have my whole life to be a grown-up.”

  “Oh, Lele.” She jumps up and wraps her arms around me. “Thank goodness you have such a strong head on your shoulders. We’re not worried about you; you’ve always done things differently. You’re still that spirited little girl from Venezuela, making your own rules. We’re proud of you for that.”

  “Does that mean I don’t have to go to college?”

  “It means we trust you to make the decisions that are smartest for you, and not for anyone else.”

  “Okay, now pretend like I have to ask permission to go to the party.”

  “What? Why? Crazy girl.”

  “So that I can live like a regular kid!”

  “Lele”—she makes her voice really stern—“did you think you could go out without asking?”

  “No, I swear I was going to ask first! Mom! Can I please go to a party with Darcy? I’ll be home early!”

  “Fine.” Fake sigh. “All right. Have fun and be safe.”

  “Thanks, Mom, you’re the best!”

  “You’re the best.” She winks. We both laugh and I go upstairs to change, a significant weight lifted from my shoulders.

  • • •

  Darcy picks me up around eight and we head over to Nick Kowel’s house in a highly suburban part of town. I consider texting Alexei to invite him, but I don’t have the energy to risk another dramatic scene. Spending time with him used to be so fun and carefree, now it requires so much effort just to keep our conversations from going off the rails!

  When we show up, a bunch of jocks and sorority-types are gathered around a Ping-Pong table covered in red cups filled with beer arranged in the shape of a triangle. Oh no, it’s beer pong. The dreaded beer pong. I hate to be judgmental, but my general findings are that if you like to play beer pong, you don’t have much going on upstairs. Yvette and the Cliques (ugh, we still haven’t come up with a permanent name for them) are in the corner taking selfies, reapplying lip gloss in between shots.

  Is this really all there is to high school parties these days? I mean, not that the Mondrian event was much more spectacular. Maybe for Generation Z all parties are just a variation on a theme, the theme being “looking cute while letting loose!”

  It’s disappointing. Growing up I always got the idea from movies that parties were the one thing about growing up to really look forward to. The Prohibition Era parties of the Roaring Twenties celebrated excess and rebellion, the disco parties of the seventies celebrated modernity and inner rhythm—what are we celebrating now? Anything?

  Parties of today seem to be about nothing other than denying mortality. Or embracing it? It’s hard to tell. See, everyone drinks to excess and acts recklessly (jumping off stuff, hooking up with strangers, experimenting with anonymous pills from God knows where) as if they’re invincible, but all the while they claim to be doing it in the name of “only living once.” I hear a lot of “party like it’s your last night on earth,” but surely kids wouldn’t behave so recklessly if they actually considered that it could kill them.

  Sorry to get so dark, but I’m just trying to understand the limited minds of my peers. I guess at the end of the day, living like you’ll never die and living like you’ll die tomorrow actually look very similar. Long story short: of all the generations, I’m stuck with the one that’s all about bee
r pong. And what’s with the furry, neon-colored boots all the girls are wearing? It makes them look like Sully from Monsters, Inc.

  “Lele, hey!” My depressing reverie is interrupted by Alexei sidling up next to me and pinching my hip. “I didn’t know you were coming to this, I figured you were busy.”

  “No, uh, didn’t have any plans and Darcy convinced me to stop by so . . . here I am.”

  “Awesome. Was starting to think I’d never see you again.” Ha, very funny.

  “Hey, Alexei.” It’s Yvette calling from her little selfie corner. “That shirt looks really sexy on you. But of course— Oh my God, Lele, I didn’t see you there, I’m so sorry. My bad!” She laughs and brushes it off like it’s just a cute little mistake. Like, whoops.

  Alexei is white as a ghost, probably thinking I’m going to scold him. But it’s not his fault that she’s such a backstabbing flirt. And what’s weird is I don’t really care—I don’t know if it’s that I’m exhausted or that I’ve grown up in the past day and a half, but I suddenly understand that everyone is who they are, I know I can’t change anyone, and that’s okay.

  As a great, wise woman once said, shake it off, shake it off.

  True poetry, if I do say so myself. And I do.

  46

  When You Realize You Miss the Old Disney Channel

  (9,550,202 Followers)

  On the Uber ride home Alexei keeps glancing over at me nervously like he thinks I might be about to attack him. If I didn’t know any better I would think he was riding in a car with a ticking time bomb. Jeez, what’s he so scared of, it’s not like I’ve given him any reason to think I’m a dangerously dramatic psycho girlfriend or anything. Heh. Okay, so maybe I haven’t been the chillest lately, but he doesn’t know that I’m super mature and enlightened now! Once again, I am a whole new Lele . . . dare I say, Lele 10.0?

  “Alexei, I’m not mad that Yvette was flirting with you, you can stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what? I wasn’t . . .”

  “Like you think I’m going to yell at you. It’s not your fault she’s a flirt. I know what she’s like and I know I can’t change her. And I can’t change you either, sorry if I’ve been trying to.”

  “I don’t feel like you’ve been trying to change me. I just feel like you’re constantly expecting our relationship to implode. You don’t have any faith in us, and that ends up making me feel . . . disheartened.” Sound the alarms: it’s time for emotions! Being a girl, and a dramatic one at that, you’d think I’d be well versed in the art of emotional expression, but the truth is it terrifies me. I’ve never known how to honestly say how I feel without crying. And once I start crying it’s almost impossible for me to stop, so I try to avoid the whole thing altogether. I take a deep breath.

  “Well, listen—” The driver senses the seriousness of the situation and turns on the radio. In the days of taxis he would be able to just slide the partition in the window, but Uber drivers don’t have that luxury (LOL, as if I know anything about the days of taxis). He also puts on the radio, and of all the stations it’s RADIO DISNEY. There couldn’t possibly be a less appropriate station for the mood of this car right now. But God bless this Uber driver, because this is exactly what I needed. After all my talk about being a Nickelodeon girl, there is a very special place in my heart for all things Disney Channel. The theme song from That’s So Raven comes on and I pause, lift my head so I can soak in the lyrics as if they’re gospel—this is no doubt a religious experience. I don’t want Alexei to see me like this, but I have no choice, the spirit has taken over. I sing the whole theme song.

  That’s so Raven—it’s the future I can see.

  That’s so Raven—it’s so mysterious to me.

  Amen. A-men! Like, really, can I get an amen? Alexei stares, perplexed—maybe a little worried?

  By the end of the song I have tears streaming down my face. Having to face getting raw and honest with Alexei plus the reminder of simpler days really puts me over the edge. And on top of all that, Raven has such a way with words! She tries to save the situations but always ends up misbehaving . . . oh man, I feel you girl, I feel you.

  I haven’t heard this song since I was eleven years old. It triggers a wave of memories: eating vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles down by the beach, shopping for back-to-school clothes at Limited Too, looking forward to Disney World and then getting to Disney World and finding that it’s even more magical than I could have ever imagined. . . .

  The wave of nostalgia becomes a wave of sadness. The carefree part of my life is over and I’ll never get to go back to a time without boyfriends and mean girls and fame and pressure, now I can only go forward, fighting the uphill battle of life forever. Or until I die or whatever. Well, this got bleak. I apologize, but you have to understand, the moment you realize your childhood is over is never a happy one.

  I thought getting a boyfriend was the most exciting thing to ever happen to me—and the fact that it was a boy I wanted for so long made it even better. But maybe I’m just not ready. Maybe all of this is happening too fast. Yvette was my enemy and then she was my friend and now she’s a frenemy, which is basically a friend who you can’t trust and secretly hate. Do I want that in my life? Is that the type of person I want to be close to me? This school year raced forward and upward, dragging me with it, pushing me into new roles and experiences so quickly I didn’t have time to think any of it over. Everything that happened this year chose me, I didn’t choose it. I think I might need to slow it down, regain control of my life, reevaluate what I want and who I am and who I want to become. I can’t be a kid again, but that doesn’t mean I have to grow up right away.

  “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel disheartened,” I say as the Uber pulls up to my house. “I’ve never doubted our friendship. Not for one second.”

  47

  Queen Bully

  (9,661,000 Followers)

  Remember at the end of Mean Girls when Lindsey Lohan’s character talks about the next generation of mean girls? The freshmen mean girls in training who will inevitably grow up to be junior and senior mean girls? Well, she wasn’t making that up. Mean girls in training are not just a myth, they are a reality, and now I know it for sure.

  It’s Monday (again. Ugh, why is Monday always coming back? Monday is like a disease you can’t get rid of. Just when you think you’re in the clear, there it is again.) and I’m strolling leisurely in between third and fourth periods. Strolling leisurely is a part of my new plan to take it slow, smell the roses, live life on my own terms etc. As I pass through the main quad I see a group of freshmen girls—all with impeccably straightened hair and wearing various shades of skintight pink—gathered around a table like a gaggle of baby prostitutes (yet another Mean Girls reference, get with the program).

  “Like, really though,” one of them is saying, obviously the queen bee with her golden hair and espadrille wedges sitting on the tabletop. “Who still wears glasses in this day and age? I mean come on, get yourself some contacts! Make the effort, have some self-respect! I’m telling you guys, Morgan Blanchard is seriously the biggest loser at this school.” The other girls giggle, nodding along. Ew. Where does this cruelty even come from? I walk by and the gaggle goes quiet.

  “Oh my God, Lele, wait up,” Queen Bee says, hopping off the table to follow me. “You’re Lele Pons, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “I just have to tell you, you’re literally my hero, I can’t tell you how much I love your videos. I can’t believe you go to my school!” I’m about to just thank her and be on my way, but then I have another idea.

  “Yeah? What’s your name?”

  “It’s Brooklyn,” she chirps. “Brooklyn Miller.”

  “Of course it is. Listen, Brooklyn, if you look up to me you should know I would never talk badly about someone behind their back. What you were just doing to Morgan, saying she’s a loser, that’s really mean. Not everyone has to be preppy and pretty and rich like you and your friends; w
hen people are different, it doesn’t mean you have a right to try to put them down. If anything, that just shows your weaknesses and insecurities. If you felt good about yourself, you wouldn’t have to pick on other people. Not so long ago I was a ‘loser’ like Morgan. Kids here were mean to me, constantly, and it was really hurtful. I’m kind of famous now or whatever, so people here respect me, but I haven’t changed, and I wouldn’t want to. I’m dorky, I’m seriously awkward, and I’d rather be friends with the nerdy outcast girl than the girls making fun behind her back. Those girls are the real losers, and I think you’re better than that.”

  Brooklyn is stunned; she presses her lips together until they disappear into a thin line. Her girl-squad looks terrified, staring at her intently to see how she’ll react, what she’ll do next. I didn’t mean to embarrass her in front of her friends, but girls really need to hear this.

  “I uh— Wow, I never thought of it that way.”

  “Well, just something to think about,” I say. Then, channeling Darcy: “I have to get to class. And you probably should too.”

  • • •

  Yvette keeps her face practically buried in her locker as she gets dressed. Anything to avoid talking to me.

  “Yvette, you’re my tennis partner, you won’t be able to avoid me forever.”

  “I’m not trying to avoid you, don’t be so self-involved.”

  “Okay, then let’s talk.”

  “I didn’t realize there was anything to talk about.”

  “You were blatantly flirting with my boyfriend.”

  “Just because he’s your boyfriend doesn’t mean you own him.”

  “Are you serious? You’re my friend, you can’t hit on my boyfriend!”

  “You don’t own me either.”

  “So that’s how you want it to be? You want to go back to us hating each other?”

  “Ugh.” Yvette sighs deeply. “No. No, that’s not what I want. Look, I’m sorry. The truth is I’ve liked Alexei for a long time, since before you and I were friends. I could always tell he had a little thing for you and that’s what made me so jealous. Well, that and it was clear from day one that you’re the coolest girl in school. So—”