she came down the slide the next day at recess, interrupting her game of tag. She walked over, sweating and panting, and asked what was up. Before I could answer, someone ran up behind her and slapped her on the back.
“TAG! LIZZ IS IT!” the little twerp screamed. Lizz rolled her eyes and ignored him, but I couldn’t help feeling like my proposal was already off to a terrible start.
“Hey Lizz, I know this might be weird, but would you want to go out with me? I really like you.” Boom. No beating around the bush, no small talk, just a giant question, presented with as much confidence as a fifth grade boy could have.
No hesitation on her part, “I like you a lot, too, but I just want to be friends!” she said, before smiling like an actual princess, then turning around and sprinting back to her game of tag.
My ego apparently refused to accept that answer, because instead of sulking away to cry behind the giant oak tree, I followed her.
“Lizz, wait!” I yelled, “seriously, I really like you!”
She paused her game again to give me the same answer as before. My mind didn’t understand. Boys I knew had no trouble getting girls to go out with them. In fact, many of my guy friends had been asked out by girls. There had to be a reason why she only wanted to be friends. Deep down I knew the reason, but again, my stupid fifth grade self didn’t feel like facing this reality, so I continued to follow her throughout the playground.
“Why?” I asked her when I was close enough for her to hear me. No response. I asked again, this time yelling to her as she swung across the monkey bars. Still no answer. For the rest of our twenty-minute recess period, I continued to follow her like a lunatic around the playground, accosting her whenever I got close enough.
Lizz and I never dated.
However, there was a brief period later in fifth grade when I hung out with the same girl at recess for a few days in a row. She shared her lollipop with me once and I thought things were getting pretty serious; I woke up the next morning with strep throat and that was pretty much the end of that. It wasn’t until two years later when this girl told me she had considered us to be “together” during those few days that I realized she was my first girlfriend. Romantic, I know.
Pickup Line: Hey do you want to make out with me? You do?! Great! I’m just going to need you to fill out this quick medical questionnaire. Have you experienced any coughing, wheezing, sore throat, watery eyes, headaches, stomach pains, runny nose, or fevers within the last week? I’m sorry, I just really can’t afford to get sick.
chapter 15
middle school madness
The end of fifth grade meant the end of elementary school and a transition into a much larger middle school. The middle school you attended was determined by the location of your house, which led to the reluctant severing of many friendships (except for the kids with parents who provided false addresses to send their bratty children to whichever middle school they wanted). Middle school means many different things depending where you live, but in Bethlehem and surrounding areas, it refers to grades six through eight, which meant I had to reassume my position at the bottom of the totem pole. The adults in my life teased me that middle school was a big, scary place from hell, but during my first week of sixth grade, I was alarmed to discover that they kind of weren’t teasing after all. Middle school was terrifying.
Please don’t attempt to shake my hand. I know it’s tempting; my severely atrophied arms are really sexy, but literally the only possible outcome of trying to shake my hand is an extremely awkward situation. I will chuckle and say something like, “I … uh … can’t really … uhh…” and you will realize that I can’t even extend my arm, let alone shake back, forcing you to pretend that you had meant to pat me on the head all along, like I’m a cute, little wheelchair
“TAG! LIZZ IS IT!” the little twerp screamed. Lizz rolled her eyes and ignored him, but I couldn’t help feeling like my proposal was already off to a terrible start.
“Hey Lizz, I know this might be weird, but would you want to go out with me? I really like you.” Boom. No beating around the bush, no small talk, just a giant question, presented with as much confidence as a fifth grade boy could have.
No hesitation on her part, “I like you a lot, too, but I just want to be friends!” she said, before smiling like an actual princess, then turning around and sprinting back to her game of tag.
My ego apparently refused to accept that answer, because instead of sulking away to cry behind the giant oak tree, I followed her.
“Lizz, wait!” I yelled, “seriously, I really like you!”
She paused her game again to give me the same answer as before. My mind didn’t understand. Boys I knew had no trouble getting girls to go out with them. In fact, many of my guy friends had been asked out by girls. There had to be a reason why she only wanted to be friends. Deep down I knew the reason, but again, my stupid fifth grade self didn’t feel like facing this reality, so I continued to follow her throughout the playground.
“Why?” I asked her when I was close enough for her to hear me. No response. I asked again, this time yelling to her as she swung across the monkey bars. Still no answer. For the rest of our twenty-minute recess period, I continued to follow her like a lunatic around the playground, accosting her whenever I got close enough.
Lizz and I never dated.
However, there was a brief period later in fifth grade when I hung out with the same girl at recess for a few days in a row. She shared her lollipop with me once and I thought things were getting pretty serious; I woke up the next morning with strep throat and that was pretty much the end of that. It wasn’t until two years later when this girl told me she had considered us to be “together” during those few days that I realized she was my first girlfriend. Romantic, I know.
Pickup Line: Hey do you want to make out with me? You do?! Great! I’m just going to need you to fill out this quick medical questionnaire. Have you experienced any coughing, wheezing, sore throat, watery eyes, headaches, stomach pains, runny nose, or fevers within the last week? I’m sorry, I just really can’t afford to get sick.
chapter 15
middle school madness
The end of fifth grade meant the end of elementary school and a transition into a much larger middle school. The middle school you attended was determined by the location of your house, which led to the reluctant severing of many friendships (except for the kids with parents who provided false addresses to send their bratty children to whichever middle school they wanted). Middle school means many different things depending where you live, but in Bethlehem and surrounding areas, it refers to grades six through eight, which meant I had to reassume my position at the bottom of the totem pole. The adults in my life teased me that middle school was a big, scary place from hell, but during my first week of sixth grade, I was alarmed to discover that they kind of weren’t teasing after all. Middle school was terrifying.
Please don’t attempt to shake my hand. I know it’s tempting; my severely atrophied arms are really sexy, but literally the only possible outcome of trying to shake my hand is an extremely awkward situation. I will chuckle and say something like, “I … uh … can’t really … uhh…” and you will realize that I can’t even extend my arm, let alone shake back, forcing you to pretend that you had meant to pat me on the head all along, like I’m a cute, little wheelchair
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