The "Brian", the Snitch, and the War zone

There was something always magically delicious about a new school year for me. Every September always gave me a sense of self-renewal. I felt like giddy little Lucy Pevensie, discovering the land of Narnia once again. And like in Narnia, there were always so many different types of interesting creatures in the land of high school.  

Each new school year I would optimistically march onward with my sharpened pencils, new backpack, unblemished notebooks, pristine planner, ink-filled pens and crisp, new jeans, excited to begin a fresh, unmarred school year.

It was a beautiful September day when we returned to Narnia high school for the first week of school. Birds were still chirping their summer songs and we were being teased with sporadic days of crisper, cooler, apple-picking weather. I was 15. You know the age. You’ve probably even been there before. It was the beginning of my sophomore year of high school. The year that really mattered. And for me, this year would be marked as one I would never forget.

You see, where I grew up, sophomore year marked the beginning of the end. We would take some of our hardest classes this year in preparation for college applications and the multiple standardized tests. I was very focused on my academics, demure one would even say, as I sat in my history class pondering the upcoming events that would lead to my escape from this beloved, yet wretched high school war-zone. But then…I saw him.

Have you ever seen the Sound of Music when Maria sings at the top of the hill? This was my Maria “the-hills-are-alive-with-the-sound-of-music moment”. The moment I saw Brian. (Name has been changed to protect the innocent). My first history class crush. He sat across from me and I would intently watch as he would toss his 90’s bowl hair cut in slow motion. He played soccer. He was smart. He had a high GPA. He was cool. I mean uber-cool. Of course, he didn’t notice me. Nor did he care when I tossed my 90’s big hair right back at him (imagine Sandra Bullock's hair, like from The Net hair).

I tried to be a ninja and sit close to him. But the teacher made a seating chart. Darn! I casually raised my hand to be in the same group as him for the first history group project of the year, but in the last minute, he was assigned a different group. Yeesh.

In my attempt to vent my frustrations, I carefully tore a piece of paper out of my notebook and started to write a note to my friend to tell her about my new found crush. With hearts around his name, I quickly signed my name (with another heart, of course) and put it back into my notebook. The bell rang. I shut my notebook, shoved it into my backpack, and left for lunch.

But this was not the end of the tale.

As I plopped myself down to eat my lunch with my friends. I noticed a group of boys looking my way and laughing.

“Oh my…is that Brian?” I asked my friend.

“Yeah, he’s staring at you! Why is he staring at you?” my friend asked.

I looked down at my clothes. No mustard stains. Check.

I pulled out my mirror to look at my face. No weird lipstick stains on face or food in my teeth. Double check.

Why is he looking at me like that? Why are they ALL looking at me?

I was beginning to feel my face get flushed with embarrassment. Then, I saw the Snitch, another boy from my history class who sat close to me. He was holding a crumpled piece of paper in his sneaky little hands. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Hey, you dropped this note. But don’t worry I gave it to “Brian” for you,” he said.

A gurgling sound started to form in the back of my throat and with a ROAR as loud as Aslan the lion’s, I growled:

“You did what?!”

The snitch looked smugly at me, laughed and turned around. I wanted to turn him into stone. If I was a dragon I would breathe fire.

At this time I think one of my friends reminded me to breathe. How could this happen? All I wanted to do was scream…and then cry. As composed as possible, I looked around at the high school war zone and felt a sense annoyance I had never felt before. I looked at the school’s Welcome back to school sign. Another lovely start to the school year, I thought.

As I think back to those memories, I have to laugh. Memories like those make up the story of a life well-lived and full of character-building experiences. Someday I’m sure my girls will have similar (although, hopefully not too similar) experiences. And hopefully they will have the wisdom to laugh at themselves and know that with every brand new beginning to each school year they are in control of how their story unravels. I hope I can teach them that as they look back at the denouement of their new school year experiences, they can enjoy the rising and the falling parts of every year and learn from them.