Mean Girl
Forthe large part, I was a very good kid. In some ways, I was almost good to afault. I made straight A’s, rarely got in trouble and had more than a casualrelationship with the term “teacher’s pet.” I longed to be just a little bitbad—to watch R-rated movies without guilt, say the occasional bad word when nogrown-ups were around, make telephone calls after 9:00 p.m.—but I was far tooafraid of anyone’s disappointment, judgment or disapproval to strive foranything less than perfection.
Infourth grade, Bethanywas the new girl in class. Our school had small classes and little turnover, soa new kid was incredibly exciting. She’d also moved from the big city of Atlanta, so between the cosmopolitan background andnovelty factor, I liked Bethanyalmost immediately.
Shehad her own bathroom and a TV and VCR all to herself. When we had sleepovers,her mom drove us to the grocery story and video store, and we could pick outwhatever we wanted. We usually came back from the grocery with sour cream andonion potato chips, sour patch kids and a stack of Tiger Beat magazines.
(Bethany was also the onlygirl I knew to actually read Tiger Beat every week, and her closet was coveredin tear-out pages of pop stars and sitcom leads. I can’t quite remember if itwas Kirk Cameron or Johnny Depp’s poster that had worn lips from her goodnightkisses.)
Bethany sometimes called me LittleMiss Perfect, but it didn’t bother me too much, and it was pretty rare.
Byfifth grade, Bethany and I both loved to sing and perform. Fueled by too manypotato chips, we dressed up, staged photographs and choreographed dances duringmost of those sleepovers.
Theonly thing was that Bethanywas actually pretty good at singing, and I most definitely was not. (To loveBroadway musicals and be tone deaf is a burden I try to bear well.)
Oneday when we were in the hallway at school, some older kids overheard Bethany singing.
“That’sreally good,” one of them said. “Sing louder.”
“Yeah,”another seventh grader added, “You could totally be in the choir. Have you evertried out?”
Bethany was elated. “Can youbelieve they said that? I thought I was pretty good, but I didn’t know I wasthat good.”
I,on the other hand, was not. I’d lost a solo in our school’s holiday program tomy friend Leah years before, and I still wasn’t over it, and now Bethany was being praisedfor one of the talents I wanted most in the world.
“Icouldn’t actually join choir though. That’s too much, don’t you think? But, ifthey really thought I was that good, maybe I should give it a shot.”
Thirtyminutes later, in art class, when Bethanywas still going on and on about her great singing, I’d had enough.
“Ithink I’m going to do it. I think I’m going to try out for choir. What do youthink?”
“Ithink it’d be great,” I said. “Then you’d have something to do other than bragall the time.”
Bethany just stared back at me.Another friend at the same art table said, “Geez, Laurel. That was harsh.”
I’ddone it. The rule-abiding, sweet teacher’s pet had stepped outside her box andbeen sassy, confrontational—and mean. I felt guilty for days. As bad as it feltto have my voice ignored while Bethanywas praised and lavished with attention, it felt far worse to have been so rudeto a friend.
Myone flirtation with the dark side out of the way, I went right back to my goodgirl ways. For the time being, at least …