High School: Not That Bad

I don't know if it's just because I'm naturally introverted, very cautious, terrified beyond words of the unknown, and generally grateful for authority and rules, but high school was not such a bad time for me. My overall goal was to get good grades and fly beneath the radar, for the most part. These traits seemed to help me stay clear of the stereotypical high school problems you hear about or see in movies: teenage love/heartbreak, rebelliousness, drug taking and alcohol drinking, bullying, crushing isolation, what have you, to the point where the high school the media keeps moaning about doesn't even seem like a real thing. High school for me was kind of nice, really; a place to organize your time around, that gives you an excuse to read a lot.

I realize that I am probably incredibly fortunate to have had this experience, because I do know of people that had a rougher time of it, but then they had a rougher time in general life; family problems are a big part of it. If you think high school messes you up, girl please, try a dysfunctional family. Anyway, I kept pretty quiet and didn't have much drama because people make me nervous and I dislike intensely problems of any kind, social especially, so I didn't have too many friends and didn't talk much to people who weren't my friends.

Except there was this one girl in my gym and shop classes. I'll call her Erin. I'd known Erin since grade school, because everyone knew her. Well, everyone knew her sisters and her cousins, because they were all brilliant. Extroverted, friendly, genuinely talented at everything. And then there was Erin. Absolutely nuts she was, a pothead, drank alcohol every night, whatever else it was she wanted me to believe, and alarmingly, seemed to like me quite a lot.

She would slouch around the field with me while we were warming up for soccer or whatever the hell in gym, and tell me how hung over she was from the intense partying she had done the night before. I never knew what to say, so I'd just offer obvious advice, like "Well, maybe you shouldn't party on a school night." Erin would look at me for a long time, and laugh, hard, before wincing because hangover. Or she and her similarly potheaded boyfriend would sit and watch me struggle with screwdrivers in shop class while telling me about the awesomeness of marijuana.

That was a weird time. I don't know why Erin talked to me so, except I guess she knew I wouldn't tell anyone and didn't seem to judge her.