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This ARSE is unusual in that I did not actually have a crush on the guy featured, nor did he ever express any romantic interest in me. Nevertheless, the story is awkward enough that I feel it should be told. At the end of sixth grade, when it came time to sign up for classes for seventh grade, I signed up for French since I had already had three years of it in elementary school. Regrettably, there were not enough students to make up a French class, so I instead enrolled in Spanish, albeit not without a fair amount of complaining. The first day of seventh grade arrived, and with it my first day of Spanish. I dragged myself into the dimly lit Spanish classroom, glanced around for familiar faces, saw none, scowled, and sat down. Determined to hate Spanish, I spent most of the first few weeks befuddled with the masculine and feminine articles. I knew that French was much the same, but Spanish for some reason didn't click for me. In retrospect, I know that Spanish is a much easier language than French since it's relatively phonetic and sans apostrophes and dashes. Still, it took a while for me to adjust. I eventually got the hang of it and became quite good at it. My teacher frequently complimented my accent, and my grades remained good. That proved a considerable relief, not just for my own sake, but in the context of this story. Our teacher assigned seats in class, which usually annoyed students since that meant they couldn't sit with their friends, which in turn was why teachers assigned seats. Personally, I didn't care since I didn't know anybody in that class anyway. However, it did not take long for me to regret the seating arrangement. I sat behind a boy who towered over most of the students in our year. Apparently his height went to his head, for he behaved like a jerk. He and I ignored each other quietly for most of the first semester, but all too soon, he struck. One day, during a dull class period when we were working on worksheets or something, Tall Guy turned around and wrote "HI" on my paper book cover. I would have none of it. I knew perfectly well that he did not like me and was just messing with me. I snatched the book away, leaving the bottom of the letter I a dragging trail of ink across my book cover. Our relationship never recovered. For the rest of the school year, Tall Guy would subtly torment me, usually by not passing papers back when the teacher left them on his desk to hand down the row, causing me to snatch them forcefully out of his grip and attempt to give him a paper cut in the process. Finally, the school year ended, and I reveled in the relief of not having to deal with Tall Guy at least until the following autumn. I prayed that we might not share any classes, and when eighth grade began, my wish was granted. I still, of course, saw Tall Guy in the hallways. We exchanged glancing glares but never communicated, though certainly we had opportunity. Sometime in the fall of eighth grade, a friend of mine told me about her crush on him. I mentally face palmed and prayed they would not get along. My wish was granted when she abruptly turned against him: He was in one of her classes, and he kept talking through a presentation she was giving one day, resulting in her returning to her seat while making a strangling gesture, which he caught. I asked her about it again a few times, but she insisted that not only did she no longer hate him, but she had moved on to somebody else. I didn't quite believe her but decided it wasn't worth pursuing. Naturally, that was not the end of it. Later that school year, the fateful NJHS incident occurred. After that, to my horror, his mother took a liking to me and addressed me by name when she saw me in the halls. I took to ducking out of her way, which was not easy since I had to pass her classroom when I left school for the day, which meant I would pass Tall Guy in the hallway on his way to his mother's classroom before going home. Once or twice his mother greeted me in front of him, to both his and my mortification. Finally, at the end of that school year, all of us eighth graders took the TAAS tests, as they were then called. The Texas Assessment of Academic Skills was previously called TEAMS and has since been renamed TAKS. The title makes no difference; the reality remains the same: Disrupt students' day-to-day lives by shuffling them randomly across the school in a schedule impossible to follow, and tell them that if they don't do well on the tests, they'll drop out and live in poverty and no one will ever love them. Fair enough, really: Texas's schools rank 49th out of 50 in the nation, and if you can't pass those tests and it's not because you have a learning disability, you really are a dumb shit. Anyway. Guess who sat five feet away from me during the eighth grade TAAS tests. Already stressed from the teachers' pressuring us to perform well so that we might earn gainful employment upon entry into the real world (the fact that they have to refer to it as "the real world" tells you how far removed academia is from the rest of existence), I freaked. I knew I would do well, but I hated knowing that Tall Guy was sitting just a few feet away, ready to mock me for any stupid questions or klutzy incidents—especially the latter since I had no doubt he had got wind of the NJHS incident just a few weeks previously. No, no—psyching myself out would only ensure disaster. I composed myself just as the teacher called for attention. At the front of the room, she read, in a rather bored tone, the standard instructions for standardized tests: Make sure you have two number two pencils. Fill in the oval of your answer evenly. Use the eraser end of your number two pencil to break the seal on your booklet, and ask if you need assistance in doing so. Everyone tittered. I placed my eraser tip under the perforated seal of the booklet and tore the cover. A guilty glance assured me that Tall Guy had not seen, and I opened my booklet without further problems. The test was not too difficult, and I noticed gleefully that I finished before Tall Guy. I hastily checked my work and handed in my test, returning to my desk to read in For Whom the Bell Tolls until class ended. I was always known for my mature taste in books, which I supposed would have been a touch more impressive to Tall Guy had I not overheard him talking about having recently finished Wuthering Heights. No matter. The following two days passed in much the same way. I arrived slightly late one day; I don't remember why. I had a pass which I presented to the teacher, who glanced at me strangely but said nothing. I sat down, catching my breath, and willing everyone—including Tall Guy—to stop looking at me. I was relieved that at least I had on a pretty shirt: It was dark green with lace trim and brought out the red in my hair to great effect. The TAAS tests ended without further calamity. Except for the math test, I finished my work before him each time and sat down to read until the end of class. Then the dreaded tests ended, and I didn't come close to him for the remainder of the school year. There was, however, still high school to come, and the ground work was well laid for further awkwardness. |