Song of a Sophomore

CHAPTER 15 - Gangsta's Paradise

With quiet courage (and the heavy weight of existential dread), I step off the school bus on the first day of school as the new me. The cheerleader chick. It is a role I will play and Meadow Wood High School is my stage. The cheerleader chick is fun and fashionable. She holds her head up high because the embarrassing locker room incident never happened to her. No one pushes her around, not even Bethany Grant.

I perfected the character in front of my mirror all weekend, channeling my inner Hollywood diva. I imagined I was walking the red carpet, standing up tall, posing with my hands on my hips, and, with a smile and a wink, flipping my newly cut hair. The lady at the salon said it was the cut all of the young girls asked for— the "Rachel" from Friends.

In the morning, I allowed myself a whole hour to blow-dry my hair for maximum volume, straightness and shine, and painstakingly apply shimmery eye shadow, liquid eyeliner and inky black mascara using a tutorial torn from the pages of Seventeen magazine. After trying on a few different outfits, I settled on the one Gloria said made me look like a "fashion plate," whatever that is. I look more like Catholic school girl breaking the dress code.

My pleated, plaid skirt bottoms out eight inches above my knees. It shows more leg than I'm comfortable with, but less than my new cheerleading skirt. Gloria says the tight, ribbed turtleneck tee I'm wearing makes me look busty, which is clearly an exaggeration. The top hits right above my skirt, giving a glimpse of my belly button when I raise my arms. On my legs, I wear black nylon socks which hit below the knee, like Cher in Clueless. Black patent leather Mary Jane's with chunky rubber soles two-inches thick adorn my feet.

When my shoes hit the pavement outside Meadow Wood High School, I look around, hoping Gloria's outfit selection won't miss the mark. I want to fit in, or better yet, be stylish. A group of boys dressed in baggy, wide-leg jean shorts big enough to fit two or three people inside block my path as they kick around a multi-colored crochet bag with their sneakered feet.

"Dude," a blond guy with dreadlocks calls out after his friend drops the ball. "That was bangin'."

Banging? If I'm going to fit in, I better start paying attention to the lingo.

On my left, a boy shuffles past, running his hand along the sliver of shaved scalp under his ponytail. Clad in black from head to toe, complete with black eyeliner and shiny Doc Marten boots, the only bright spot in his outfit is the long silver chain hanging from his back pocket. To my right, a cluster of guys greet each other with a complicated series of high-fives and handshakes, their free hands tugging up on their sagging, washed-out jeans which reveal a variety of cotton boxer shorts beneath button-up shirts, basketball jerseys and oversized t-shirts. The boys' footwear, mostly heavy work boots and expensive athletic shoes, aren't even laced up. 

They look a little sloppy, but who am I to judge?

A group of preppy boys with the same haircut, worn slicked down to their ears in a center part, gather near the entrance in their oversized polo shirts or button-down tees, and straight leg jeans. As I walk past, my nostrils burn from their mix of colognes. The smells remind me of those fancy fragrance samples like CK One, Cool Water, and Drakkar Noir stuffed inside my mom's fashion magazines.

"S'up girl," a random guy says as I pass. "How you doin'?"

"Oh, hey," I wave self-consciously, wondering if he saw me in my underwear. "I'm just, uh—banging."

"What's up, Jason?" says a girl standing behind me. "Did you have a good summer?"

Thoroughly embarrassed, I practically run away toward a cluster of girls gathered near the double doors at the school entrance. The sight of them triggers the heart-pounding anxiety I experience every cheer practice. As I walk by, I check out their clothes, spotting everything from Daisy Duke shorts to ripped straight leg jeans, denim overalls and wool skorts to floral maxi dresses over white cotton baby doll tees, oversized t-shirts and colorful striped tops. I spy another group of girls who must of raided their big brother's closet, wearing baggy flannel shirts and cut-off jean shorts.