Regan nodded, speechless, as Wyatt continued. “That’s how the end of she and me sort of started. I started thinking, with you it was easy. It made sense from the get-go.” He looked up toward Mandy’s floor. “She’s poison.”
Regan fiddled with paper, moving it from her desk to her lap and back again.
“But us? We’re good?” Wyatt asked.
“I, um,” Regan stuttered, tears pooling in her eyes before she could stop them. Wyatt grabbed a box of tissues. “I’m going to hate myself for saying this later, but it’s just that before, I couldn’t take you seriously when you were with her.”
They sat in silence, neither one making eye contact.
“I think I really needed to hear that,” Wyatt said. “Talking to you, I realize I should’ve come straight to the source all along, instead of listening to everyone else. Our department is messed up. It’s so divided.” Wyatt checked his watch and stood up. It was two minutes until the bell. “Hey, Davis,” he said before he left, “it was good talking to you. Oh, hey, are you friends with Cesar on Facebook?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he’s been Mandy’s source, just so you know, about stuff about you. Do you have naked pictures up there?”
“What? On Facebook? I’m friends with my dad on Facebook.”
He shrugged. “Well, that’s what I heard, that’s all. That’s what’s going around.” Wyatt closed the door.
BLUE, HAWAII | THE GAMER
Blue was more content than he could ever remember. Not only did he now have an interesting, playful, caring group of friends who liked spending time with him, but, more significantly, he had found his connection. Blue believed that Michael complemented him perfectly and Michael said he felt the same. Michael admired Blue’s edginess, innovation, calmness, dedication, optimism, and sense of fun. Blue admired Michael’s discipline, stability, aspirations, and focus.
One day when they were driving to the beach, Blue asked Michael, “Can you do me a massive favor?”
“Mmhmm, sure.”
“Can you bribe me somehow to do my homework?” Blue asked. He was a month behind in English. “I can’t bring myself to do any of it. I have no idea why.”
“Okay. What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. You choose.”
“I’m not good at choosing!” Michael protested. “You’re the fun person here, the idea guy, remember?”
“But I think it’d be better if you chose.”
“Fine. Let me think.” After a few minutes, Michael said, “How about this: I’ll take you out somewhere nice for dinner. Like a real date.”
Blue scrunched his face. “Lame. That kind of stuff isn’t important to me.”
“Ugh.” Michael was silent for another few minutes. “Okay, how about this: I’ll come out to AP Gov only if you do your homework.”
Blue leaned back in amazement. “Oh, oh, ohhh. You’re pretty slick. Pretty crafty. Wow, that’s a sick deal. Thanks.”
Blue pulled an all-nighter and nearly caught up on all of his homework. Homework felt like unimportant busywork compared to the hours he was putting into preparation for SCH. He savored the chance to share his perspectives, to connect the dots of politics, economics, social science, and abstract philosophy, to show that he was much more intelligent than his grades reflected.
Increasingly, “the smart kids” turned to him for help. Blue was able to grasp SCH’s complex concepts more instinctively than the valedictorians. Gradually, Blue’s paternal instinct kicked in. He soothed internal gripes among team members. When they tried to exclude a devout Christian teammate, Blue made them stop talking about her behind her back and welcomed her warmly to the team. The others followed suit. They constantly told him “You’re the only mature one of us” because he never gossiped, and they admired him for it. He emailed pep talks to bolster the team’s enthusiasm for nationals and organized meetings and deadlines for their preparation. He set up a Wiki and a Facebook page through which the group regularly shared ideas. He spent much of his free time reading works that would help their presentation, such as Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Zizek’s writings, the Federalist Papers, and notes on every major political debate of the 1850s.
Ms. Collins told Blue that she wanted the team to distinguish itself from those of other states by demonstrating that original, independent analysis was important for the health of the country. The team didn’t expect to place because it was so small. A win for Team Hawaii, she said, would entail upsetting some of the judges by challenging traditional thought, rather than telling them what they wanted to hear. She told Blue she was counting on him to make it happen.
Meanwhile Blue held weekly AP Gov parties at his house. As his friendships deepened, even Blue’s mother couldn’t lower his spirits. She didn’t talk about college anymore. She told him that he would work at McDonald’s and live on the streets. She didn’t believe that the Undergraduate Assistance Program was real. He hadn’t bothered to tell her he had made it to the final admissions round.
Blue was already skittish about the looming interview. “I’m so scared I won’t get into college,” he said. Except for English and French, he had As and Bs.
The night before the interview, Blue stayed up late reading political and philosophical books, taking notes for SCH arguments. Blue’s interview happened to be scheduled at the same time his teammates had a practice run-through with the state judges. He wanted to make sure they were ready. At 4 A.M., he noticed that three teammates were online. He asked them if they needed help, then guided them through their work. When one girl seemed to be struggling, he called her. She told him she was having family issues. He spent the rest of the night writing her answers so that she could get some sleep.
At 5 A.M., too excited to doze, Blue brewed coffee and finalized his UAP materials, printing extra copies of his financial forms and personal essay. At 7 A.M., he stopped by school to say hello to his teammates. He handed out $150 worth of social science books he had bought for them and explained how each book related to their units. They wished him luck, but nobody thought he needed it. Blue was now the team leader of a group of Kaloke’s smartest students.
Blue walked into the interview room. The woman who had passed him through to this round wasn’t there. He sat in front of a conservatively dressed middle-aged woman, a twentysomething woman, and a burly man. After they read his essay, they fired questions at him: “What is UAP?” “Name the three requirements a student agrees to in the program.” He nailed these.
Then the younger woman asked, “Do you have a significant other?”
How is this relevant? Blue decided to be honest. “Yes,” he answered.
“What’s her name?”
Blue paused. “Uhh . . .”
“You don’t need to give me her name if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s just . . .” Blue took a breath. “Well, his name is Michael.”
All three interviewers raised their eyebrows. “Is he okay with coed dorms?” one asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you guys talked about it? There’s no issue with that at all?”
“No, it’s a total non-issue,” Blue said, laughing mildly to show he was comfortable.
Then they asked bland questions that anyone could have answered. Blue had been prepared for challenging inquiries that would give him a chance to let these interviewers into his mind. He grew antsy as they reread his essays and asked him questions only about his mother. In answer to the essay prompt, “Explain how your family will support your participation in UAP,” Blue had written that his mother wanted him to join the military. Blue’s essays were completely candid, at the advice of his guidance counselor. Ms. Pierce had told him to explain how he was different from other students as well as the reasons behind his predicament. He wrote about his mother’s refusal to pay for his schooling, and his peace with that. Emotionally, he wrote, “the support will come from my own personal support group I have surrounded myself with. People who
bring me up in life, and not down. These people include Ms. Collins and my newfound circle of friends from AP Gov.”
“Does your mother want you to go to college or not?” the older woman asked.
“She’s all for it, as long as I can pay for it myself.”
The interviewers seemed to think this was an impossible task. They asked him which scholarships he was applying for, and drilled him on how he would survive college without a supportive parent. The man asked blunt questions about the nature of the $200,000 in investments listed on Blue’s financial forms, which suggested that Blue’s mother could afford to pay for college; she simply didn’t want to.
“You do understand that we need full parental support on this, don’t you?” the man asked.
“Yes, I do, but my mom—”
“Well, I don’t know,” the man interrupted. “Your mom needs to get on board with this for it to work out.”
Hopeless, Blue began to shut down. They hadn’t even cared about his essay. When the man handed him the yellow piece of paper, Blue forced himself to say “Thank you,” and left the room, numb. In the bathroom, he splashed cold water onto his face, trying to ward off tears.
On the drive back to school, Blue thought about getting into a car accident, hunting for an excuse for his inability to get into college. He felt the shadow of his dark period from earlier in the year creep over him.
He called Ms. Collins, who answered her phone, excited. “How was it?” she asked.
“I, uh . . .” Blue’s voice cracked. “I didn’t make it.”
Ms. Collins’ voice changed instantly. “Oh my God. I didn’t expect that. Are you okay?”
In the background, Blue could hear his AP Gov classmates reacting with surprise.
“I don’t know,” Blue said.
“Okay, just come here and we can talk about it.”
When he walked into the classroom, his eyes were moist. Everyone else looked sad. Michael looked like he had been crying. Blue lay his head on a desk. He felt like his only chance at college—and the rest of his life—was gone. Leilani and Kaia hugged him tightly.
On the way to Ms. Pierce’s office, Blue stopped by the lunchroom to see Ty and Stewart. As soon as he approached, they made fun of him.
“How’s the butt sex?!” Stewart called out.
“Ew, don’t touch me; you’re gay,” said Ty.
Blue did an about-face and walked away.
After meeting with his counselor, who was baffled as to why he had been rejected, Blue returned to Ms. Collins’ classroom. He sat there, head down, and slept through the rest of his classes, tallying his first unexcused absences of the semester.
Late Spring to Early Summer
Popular vs. Outcast
Chapter 12
POPULARITY DOESN’T LEAD TO HAPPINESS
WHITNEY, NEW YORK | THE POPULAR BITCH
Whitney was sitting next to the preps when Chelsea said loudly to Bianca, “Hey, Bianca, I have some new information for you.”
“Yeah, I got your message last night. That’s some juicy stuff,” Bianca replied.
“I know. I had to do some research before I found out it was true, but it totally is.”
“I can always count on you as my little source of gossip about everything,” Bianca said.
Madison leaned over. “Giselle, we have to talk to you about something later.”
As Whitney watched her former friends talk over her, she realized that by befriending non-preps, she had become one. Until now, she had been optimistic enough to believe that she could become a floater yet still maintain her ties to the preps. Later that day, Whitney tried one more time to sit with the preps, who discussed Seth’s and Spencer’s prom after-party. “Too many people want to come,” Seth said. “It has to be totally exclusive and only people who are invited can be let in. I made a guest list.” He tossed the list onto the table and the preps looked it over. Everyone at the table was invited except for Whitney. The group continued to talk about the party in front of her.
What the fuck?! Whitney thought, stricken. I used to be like that?! She could understand now where Caroline was coming from. The preps were annoying. Still, she remained at the table as her friends discussed the party. She couldn’t believe that her group was so obviously rejecting her. “I’m used to being a co-queen bee of the clique and I’m used to doing this to other girls,” she said later. “It’s eye-opening. They’re notorious for blatantly talking about an outing in front of you even if you weren’t invited. I de-cliqued myself from that group. I’m just another one of their victims now. I didn’t realize how shitty-like we treat people until I’m being treated like that.”
Outside of school, Whitney was again spending time with Dirk, who had introduced her to a bunch of his friends. Even Giselle had started going with Whitney to punk parties. In the cafeteria, Whitney usually sat with Shay, Grace, and the other band kids. She often talked to Fern, who had undergone a significant transformation.
In Spanish class, when Fern cracked a loud, sarcastic joke, students were surprised.
“Whoa, Fern!” said Shay. “You’re totally coming out of your shell!”
“You say what you think now!” added Grace. “We like this new Fern!” Other classmates agreed.
As Fern giggled, Whitney realized that Fern had changed people’s perception of her. Only a couple of months ago, she was seen as a loser who sat alone in corners. Then Whitney was her only friend for a time. Now Fern was interacting with people, making witty remarks to teachers, and sitting with the rest of the group at honor society meetings. People knew she existed.
A few days later, in speech class, Caroline suddenly stood up and ran out of the room. The preps in the class laughed at the emo.
That afternoon, Whitney saw Caroline in the hall. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“No.” Caroline buried her head in her locker.
“I’m sorry,” Whitney said.
Caroline sighed. She told Whitney about her awful home life.
Whitney tried to console her. “Well, you know my mom deals with that kind of stuff, so you might want to go talk to her,” Whitney said.
“Thanks, Whitney.” Caroline smiled gratefully. Whitney again couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to someone who used to hate her.
In seventh period, Whitney, Giselle, and Bianca finished their work early and wandered around the building. On the way to the library, Whitney saw Dirk walking upstairs. Before Giselle and Bianca noticed, she slipped away and followed him to the senior lounge.
At first, she and Dirk were the only ones in the room. Eventually a crowd of punks, badasses, and losers streamed in. When the room filled, Whitney was intimidated. She wondered if the others were thinking, “What is she doing here?!” Gradually, Whitney realized that they were funny and nice and laughed at her jokes. She had a much better time than she would have had with Bianca and Giselle, especially now that Bianca realized that she had no control over Whitney anymore. Whitney spent seventh period with that group for the rest of the school year.
Whitney was sure “the old Whitney” was gone. She considered herself officially de-cliqued. She felt more independent. She wore hippie clothes to school without worrying about what other people said. She talked to whomever she pleased. “I’m just myself now,” she said later. “It feels so good!”
She enjoyed her friendship with Dirk, which garnered her an unexpected benefit: Because she had more fun in advertising, she had done extra work and landed a major advertising internship. “This is making me a better person,” she said. “I don’t feel confined anymore. I have one best friend, Luke, one really close friend, Giselle, and then a huge variety of different kinds of friends. And I’m learning things from all of them in different ways.” Shay had taught her to relax and to be less dramatic, Dirk had taught her that even the most mundane things could be fun, and Fern was teaching Whitney to be grateful. “I always thought my littlest problems were the biggest things ever,” Whitney said, “but s
he helped me to stop taking the things I have for granted.”
______
IS POPULARITY WORTH IT?
The first week I started following Whitney, she mentioned that when it came to popularity, “you need to know how to play the game.” When I asked her how to play, she rattled off four steps to gaining and retaining popularity.
1) Befriend the “right” people. Whitney explained, “To be popular, you have to make the right friends early because it’s so hard to transition friends. The game is basically do whatever it takes, deal with the bullshit and pain, and in the end you’ll feel like it was all worth it when you’re popular.”
2) Do what the popular kids do. “I followed a role model. When I was in eighth grade, she was a senior and the most popular girl in school. I joined all of the clubs and sports she did. I tried to live my high school years like she did.”
3) Conform. “To remain popular, you have to lose all your individuality. Individuals are ‘weird’ in high school. Every clique has a leader. Your job is to do everything the leader wants. I know from being a past leader that we thrive [on] worshipping. It makes our egos huge and [makes us] feel like we own the other people in the group. Don’t disagree with the leader, don’t reprimand them, and just do what they want. And do not, by any means, do something to make them mad.”
4) Sacrifice. “In cliques, it’s all about sucking up to the selfish people. I volunteer to be the driver because when I’m not the driver, I’m usually forgotten about. If you don’t put yourself out there to the queen bee, you won’t go anywhere unless she has a reason to take you. You need to be willing to sacrifice a lot to fit in and be accepted.”
At the time, Whitney was blinded by the superficial perks of popularity. She couldn’t see that each of the aspects of her social life that made her unhappy—distancing from Luke, being prohibited from befriending punks, wearing clothes that reflected her clique instead of herself—corresponded to the rules she insisted were worth following in order to be popular.
The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth: Popularity, Quirk Theory, and Why Outsiders Thrive After High School Page 37