When I was a student at New Trier High School in Winnetka, Illinois, I was popular.
Real popular.
Boys have always liked me. Even as far back as the third grade, most of my best friends batted for the other team- the Cub Scouts.
By fourteen, I was a fetching little thing. By fifteen, I was riding a popularity wave.
By sixteen, I was solidly enjoying my fun with the opposite sex. Never a Friday night or a Saturday night alone and dateless. My powder blue princess telephone was alive with one endless ring.
I was besieged with offers to dances, movies, football games, swim meets, parties, concerts, pizza dates at cool downtown Chicago restaurants.
By seventeen, I was a big selfish asshole. I thought nothing of breaking dates- and hearts- at will.
I had it all. The fistfights over me. The suicide threats if I wouldn’t go out with someone. The fun secret dates after the dates to official functions like prom.
And there were lots and lots of tears.
And they were never mine.
My four year high school social life was grand opera- with Clearasil.
I was an opportunist without a conscience. If a guy had a faster car or a bigger house, I was instantly ready to make a boyfriend swap.
And somewhere all this success turned my head and by senior year, I couldn’t get over myself. Just like Scarlett O’Hara, I fancied myself “the cutest little trick in shoe leather.”
I was used to playing with boys’ hearts as if they were cat toys. And woe unto him who really liked me. I was Ming the Merciless if I thought you were silly enough to fall for my bullshit.
One day, a boy in my history class approached me with a “problem.” I had known Frank since freshman year. He was from Glencoe, assistant sports editor for the New Trier News, smart, sweet, kind of shy- and a twin.
He had been in my English and history classes and we were both student tutors. I saw him at least once a day every day for four years.
Mobile Classroom Sidebar: We were the last undivided class before New Trier West was built. In 1967 we had forty-seven hundred students in the school. Our class alone had twelve hundred kids. Thus it was not always easy to know someone. You could go through all four years and never once meet a kid in your same year.
But as I explained, common classes threw us together, and one day, Frank took me aside and asked if I could give him some advice about his social life.
I was willing enough. What was the problem?
“Well, I like this girl and I don’t know if I should ask her out. I’m not sure if she’d date me and so I wanted to know what you thought I should do.”
Hmm, I thought smugly. That old chestnut. “Some girl.” I knew perfectly well that Frank meant me. After all, who wasn’t dying to ask me out?
But if that’s how he wanted to play it, I was willing to go along. I’d humor him.
“Who is she?” I asked innocently.
His eyes dropped and he mumbled, “I’d rather not say.”
Ha! Of course it was me. I knew it. Still, I wanted to be sure before I gave him dating advice about the perils of liking me. So it was on to “Twenty Questions” for the process of elimination. I’d get the truth out of him sooner or later.
“Is she in our year?”
“Yes.”
So me.
“Is she in one of our classes?”
“Yes.”
Me.
“Is she a brunette?”
“Yes.”
Me me me.
“Is she pretty?”
“Yes.”
What can I say? Me.
“Does her first name start with a letter in the first half of the alphabet?”
“Yes.”
Is there any question who he is talking about? Answer: Me.
“Does her last name start with a letter in the last half of the alphabet?”
“Yes.”
OMG! This girl was SOOOO me. But whoever doubted it for a second? Wasn’t I the genuine belle of Four Level? This was so cute. Frank was so shy. I just loved watching him get up his nerve to ask me out. But maybe he could used a little nudge…
“I’m sure whoever she is, the young lady in question would be happy if you spoke up. You’re a great guy, Frank, and I think anyone would be flattered if you liked them.” (Secret, conceited private little smile.)
“Wow! That’s great! Thank you so much, Ellen.
And do you really think that Barbara Rockelmann would go out with me?”
Oops.
Not me.
Pay back a Be-yatch. And I just met a girl thru our FB group who was in my year at NT for the first time and we have the same birthday.
Yup. The conventional wisdom says never tell a story against yourself. But all these years later, this comeuppance still makes me laugh.
And I believe it, Mitch. New Trier was a big place. But it’s a small world.
And now your friends with Frank’s brother. Small world indeed.
True. Neither twin has any idea that I wrote this. And I wonder if Frank even remembers asking me. But I bet he remembers Barbara Rockelmann. She was very cute.
How naive I was!!!! Living right next door to you & never realizing your utmost power!!! I just saw lots of guys cars in and out of your driveway. There was the green car guy, the red car guy , & so on!!! Did Frank ever ask Barbara out? I know you were the first one married ….sophomore year of college???
The rest of the story…No, Frank JUST advised me that he never asked Barb out. But he did just fine. He’s been happily married to a Westport, Connecticut gal for the past 42 years.
And yes, I got married the summer after sophomore year. I was nineteen. What a baby- but I have no regrets. It’s all copy.
I too was mesmerized by those “hot” girls in high school. And no matter how fancy my slide rule and pocket protector were – it never impressed them. Then I became president of the chemistry club. Nothing worked!!!
You did okay for yourself, I notice. And haven’t you heard? Smart is the new sexy. You’re in the in crowd now, Doc.
I find it most telling that he was comfortable enough with your friendship to ask your advice in this way. Friendships with my sister’s friends and with other girls likely prepared me for adult relationships at least as much as dating did, perhaps more so. I remember two moments in particular, once when I was maybe 10, once when I was in college, sitting on a friend’s bed just talking.
You’re right, Jay. He was -and is- my friend. And to this day I am so lucky to have the friendship and support of lots of great guys. Liking girls as “friends” is probably the secret to great relationships later on.
Ellen, you describe a high school scene so anthithetical to my own experiences (at Stuyvesant in NYC) that I am at a loss as to how I can contribute to the conversation. I did find your story about Frank and Barbara to be funny and well told, even though the punchline was quite predictable.
If you’ll allow me to shift gears to a quick shill for my Enigma Variations metacrossword contest, I would be doubly grateful (the first dollop of gratitude was to you for having beta tested it to ensure overall fairness). I hope those of your readers who are cruciverbally inclined try it themselves (deadline midnight Sunday) or at least pass it along to others who might be in a position to appreciate it. A bonus prize if anyone can get it to the attention of either Jon Stewart and/or anyone with some clout in the Weinstein Brothers marketing department.
Nice one. Piggy-backing a semi-snarky comment just to get more exposure for your puzzle. This is exploitation, my friend! (But I’ve probably done it to you, so c’est la vie.)
I find it strange that after 50 years that I actually find it comforting that you recognize that having a conscience wasn’t your strong point.
It’s called “closure.” Or maybe love means always having to say you’re sorry.
So did you realize at the time that you were this haBITCHualy hard-hearted, heart breaking, haughty, horrible, hopeless, high school harlot? And if so, did you ever make meaningful momentous modifications to your maniacal methodical mischievous mindless modus operandi so you would never again hurt, harm, harass, hassle or harry a helpless but hopeful hunk?
Alliteratively awesome, Steve! And nope, I’m still the same brat. Love, Soulless Siren
Oh, I see. A soulless siren, sans scruples, seeking spurious solace on a scribe’s site. So sad. So Sad!!
Bravo, buddy.
Ellen:
That is one of the key lessons in all of life. Most times, our greatest downfalls derive from plain old fashioned ‘hubris’. It doesn’t always show up among the popular in high school (and I went to an all boys school of 5000, so there wasnt even a chance at heterosexual popularity), but it can show up many years later. It is usually the catalyst in mid-life business downfalls. It is in the recognizing of the hubris that the great life lesson is learned. And if you still show up everyday, you eventually get up from the fall (even if it lasts a decade) and now, shred of all traces of hubris, you live a life on a solid foundation.
You just ran into a small taste of it at an early age. If I had to guess, it’s come up and bit you in the ass since. (>:
Thanks for the reflections, Scott. As to the ass-biting, no, I never dated Marv Albert.
You cannot not love an obscure sports analogy like that one! But it doesn’t make it any less true. Your wit does not get you off the hook.
Scott
I never philosophize on an empty stomach. Let’s discuss this over a Wing Hoe egg roll, my friend,
Ha! I remember Barb Rockelmann! We palled around a little. Her father had a vibrating recliner. Cute girl. Lots of fun. Oh….Sorry.
Yes, you should be. My rival? How tactless.
Kidding, kidding.
Well….okay, I forgive you. Anyone who knows as much about cool cars as you has to be granted amnesty.
Whew!