Rude Cactus’s post today got me thinking about a lot of things. One being high school, which I could get nostalgic about all day but not because they were “the best years of my life.”  Two being secrets I don’t tell anyone. The two, I shall synthesize into one long ramble.

For starters, I moved from Hollywood, Florida to Orlando, Florida (specifically, Longwood) halfway through my freshman year of high school. This was rough for me because  I had gone to school with a lot of the same people ever since about 3rd grade. And Orlando was an entirely different world, though only four hours north. It was farther from the beach than Hollywood yet everyone was into surfing. And my high school, Lake Brantley, was ridiculously cliquey and snobbish. The majority of the kids were from well-to-do families and had easy access to cars and drugs. (I’d never even laid eyes on any kind of illegal substance until maybe junior year even.) I found some friends – Rachel, Kami, “Geppeto” (to protect the innocent asshole ), Jesse, and Mike – but I never felt “cool”. And I always wondered if the kids I thought were so cool – Myk, Jay, Jimmy, Marissa – did indeed feel as cool as they looked.

What did it mean to be the cool kid? Did you have to be a part of a particular group? I was definitely friends with people in different cliques. I knew the band geeks, the kids into the Mock UN, the emo kids in Environmental club… I knew them all. But I didn’t “belong” to any one gang. I thought if the skaters took me in, then I’d be a part of something. Hence how I met P, we shall call him. He lived down the street from me and we rode the bus together. At some point in 10th or 11th grade, I found myself sitting in the back of my car with him, doing things I had only ever dreamed about (No, I wasn’t THAT cool – I didn’t get laid until much later) and thinking how dreadfully wrong it all was. And yet, being young, I didn’t stop. This is one of those things I don’t eagerly speak of. I don’t brag about awkward fumblings on leather seats. But I felt compelled today.  I thought it might feel nice to just say it.

The question I kept asking myself after the breif stint with P was, “Did that make me cool?” Was I going to be more popular if I hooked up with some guy? The answer, of course, was no. So I floated along; joined clubs, made it into the Art Honors Society, played intramural softball. I was even in a band at one point with two of the Mikes I had idolized. The bad boys, the ones with guitars slung over their (well-formed) shoulder and a cigarette at the corner of their mouths, a hint of defiance gleaming in their eyes. Oh yeah, this was living. This was being someone. And then I fell for one of the other kids in the group – J. We stumbled our way through a phone conversation in which I admitted this to him and he then said back to me similar feelings. He once sang “Brown Eyed Girl” to me in my garage, right before borrowing my Chemistry notes. It was short lived and we didn’t do anything all that intimate but I still hold a special place in my heart for him.

By the end of Senior year, I had met D, a freshmen (hey I liked ’em young) who was on the football team (not really my type) but who was all about me. At first I was flattered and then sort of worried he was serious and being completely not confident in myself, I pulled away, then gave in because hey, I had some pretty low self-esteem back then. We fooled around in his room where he still had a Space Jam poster, right around the corner from his parents watching Jeopardy in the living room. No longer did I feel guilty, I sort of felt rebellious. Wait, wasn’t this what high school was about? Wasn’t this kind of cool? For a brief time, I definitely felt that I had achieved said goal.

Years later, I don’t really care that much about being “cool”. Now I’m a mom, a full-time employee and I hold a Masters degree. These are bigger achievements than I could have ever imagined way back when, in a time when I longed to be Angela from My So-Called Life. When I ached to be like them, like the ones who looked like they felt comfortable in their skin. And I wonder where they are now. I know that P married and recently his wife had twins. D is probably still working on computers somewhere and J, well, last I heard he was single and had been a crystal meth addict. It’s funny how people end up. But me? I think I turned out OK.