Memoirs of an Insane Freshman Girl

Chapter 7: Homecoming

Chapter 7: Homecoming

Okay, so now that we have determined that I was a completely free woman for the Homecoming dance because of my abrupt dumping of my so-called date, it comes down to what actually happened at Homecoming. First of all, I’ll detail what happened during Spirit week. Monday was grade level colors. Freshmen were supposed to wear green, sophomores red, juniors blue, and the seniors wore togas. It turns out that in my entire vast wardrobe, I only have two green t-shirts; so, I chose to wear the one from the talent show performance that our eighth grade girls performed. Tuesday was twin day, and as previously stated, Mandi and I decided to be twins. That Monday night before twin day was the first time I had ever talked to Mandi on the phone. We had talked in Health, but we had never really hung out on our own. We still hadn’t really ever hung out until second semester, but this was our first time talking on the phone. It was a monumental step in our relationship. It was kind of awkward to talk to her on the phone, but I had needed to call her about what we were wearing for twin day. She ended up bringing me one of her shirts, and I changed into it that morning. Actually, that Tuesday was also another monumental day in my life because I had never gone into the annex bathroom before that day. In fact, Mandi had never gone into that bathroom before either. We shared that special moment together on that ever fateful Tuesday in October.

Wednesday was deemed “Way Back Wednesday”. I didn’t decide to participate in “Way Back Wednesday”, as Mandi didn’t’ either. There were definitely some interesting outfits for Way Back Wednesday, but one I can’t forget was this one white guy who dressed like a gangster. It definitely wasn’t “Way Back”, but it proved moderately hilarious watching him try to be gangster. Thursday was tacky day, and of course, I fully participated. I dressed awfully in a pink t-shirt over a white heart design long sleeved shirt with a red skirt and black and pink striped tights. Let’s not forget the one pink neon soccer sock and the one navy one. Oh yes, and my unmatching shoes were a must. My hair spoke for itself in all its sense of craziness more than tackiness, per se. Half of it was French braided up into a high ponytail, and the other half was down with crazy clips coming out everywhere. I swear, I don’t know who let me go out of the house looking like that that day. Luckily, I wasn’t alone in my tackiness that day because lots of other people decided to embrace their school spirit and dress completely awful—I must say that there were outfits much more horrible than mine, and that’s saying something. Of course, I didn’t have a problem with looking “tacky” because I didn’t get embarrassed. Tacky day was actually one of the most fun days I had had so far that year.

Friday was school colors day—basically school pride day. I must say that this day must go down in the history of my relationship with Chris because that was the first time I had ever seen Chris wear shorts to school. I was almost going to say that that was the first time I had ever seen Chris wear shorts, but I saw him wear shorts at Mud Volleyball, so I suppose that day would count as the second time. Of course, you must be wondering who would really care about whether a guy would wear shorts or not. Well, of course, before Chris and I started going out, I was obsessed with him; so, I would notice what he would wear to school every day. I swear, he wore the same pair of jeans to school for the first four months of school—okay, maybe not every day, but they were the same pair of jeans! Of course, I really didn’t care that he wore those jeans so much. His attire actually started conversations between us on more than one occasion. I decided that he had a lot of Coke shirts—which he did in fact, only have five. Which seems a little excessive, don’t you think? But then again, I’m not the one to talk about excessive wardrobe.

Within the first few months of knowing Chris, Chris had decided that I never wore an outfit to school that didn’t have pink, black, or white in it. Of course, he was completely right, but Chris felt it necessary to remind me of this every chance he got. That was ages before we officially went out—in fact, I can’t recall once when we were going out that he said that, but of course, by then, the phrase had been overused by a million times—and we were still in “flirting” mode. Also, that occurrence happened in “friend” mode. “Friend” mode occurred right after he broke up with his girlfriend, but I’m getting ahead of myself. This whole monologue all started with Chris wearing shorts and how it was such a surprise because he wore jeans to school every day—except on those rare days that he wore sweatpants, but he really only started wearing those until after Christmas break and come to think of it, when we started going out. In case you were wondering, they were navy McCluer North wrestling shorts—but I’m sure you weren’t really wondering, and you don’t care, but that’s okay.

So I wore McCluer North colors proudly—navy and silver. That day does conjure a lot of memories of asking and being asked what my dress looks like. It’s an unwavering trait programmed into the female mind—that when such a big occasion comes around that requires formal wear, one must ask and be asked as much as possible of one what is going to wear to such said big occasion. It’s only natural. It was exactly the same way last year for my eighth grade graduation. I swear I described my dress so many times that I began to forget what it really looked like—just kidding. It was almost like a battle, a constant struggle of seeing who could ask and be asked the most times. Of course, all the Pre-Homecoming preparations were far more interesting than the real thing, if I do say so myself. Okay, so maybe not quite as fun as Homecoming, but my Homecoming is not everything I would have wanted it to be. Yes, it was fun, but there were flaws and empty spaces where I wanted people to be, and disappointment followed when they weren’t. But yet again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Friday went by quickly—everyone was excited for the Homecoming football game Saturday afternoon and the dance that night. Our school had two assemblies because our entire school body couldn’t possibly fit in our main gym at one time. My Spanish class was assigned the 2nd assembly, and it turns out that I got to be in it. Our step team performed a dance, and other sports teams were recognized. Our cross country team ran around the gym, and then Coach H. announced our names in recognition. I attended the Homecoming football game the next day against our rival, the McCluer Comets. Fortunately, our school won the game which boosted our already high school spirit even more. It also made me realize that I never really wanted to watch a football game because it took forever.

Actually, I had seen quite a few our of football teams’ games at our home stadium. I had attended mostly freshmen games—did I mention that Chris played freshmen football? Enough said—but I also went to some junior varsity and varsity games to support our school in morale. Mostly, I found the game of football boring, but I know Chris would kill me for that if I told him—of course, he probably already knows that, and it really doesn’t matter now that we’re broken up, but still. I still attended football games all through the season, even though I really didn’t see the enjoyment of sweating to death in the heat for three hours watching a bunch of guys grab at each other’s asses while chasing a ball up and down a field. Of course, I’m sure there is more skill and strength involved in it than that, but I’m just explaining it from my perspective. Really, the irony lies in how I went out with two freshmen football players.

Of course, when I ran by the freshmen football practice, I was looking to see Chris. Of course, with the guys in all their uniforms, it was basically impossible to tell them apart, but my hope was that maybe Chris would see me running. Why I wanted Chris to see me running, I don’t really know why. I think it was just something in my mind that I wanted that I really didn’t have a reason for wanting except because I just did—plain and simple. Well, Chris in and of himself was something I couldn’t have, but I wanted nonetheless. There were a million guys—okay, not a million, but a thousand—I could have gotten at school—okay, so probably not all of the thousand of guys wanted to be with me, but I’m sure a good percentage wouldn’t refuse, not to be arrogant or anything—but Chris, the dorky blonde boy I longed after in keyboarding, was the only one I wanted. Of course, the chase was really the most exciting part. Once I finally achieved my goal, fulfilled my mission, I seemed to like Chris less. It may seem strange that once Chris was finally mine—all mine and no one else’s—that I didn’t like him as much. Of course, we all know I still liked him. It’s not like I could deny that because anyone who knows me would call me a big fat liar because of course I liked him. Maybe it was because just after we started going out was when he decided to tell me the fact that was the major reason we broke up. Of course, you’re dying to know what he told me that made us break up, but I think I’ll just leave you on the edge of your seat, waiting for me to pour out my heart. Nice try because I’m reveling in this suspense and power right about now.

As I said how I described my dress about a million times, I must tell you the story of my dress. Our Homecoming dance wasn’t until the beginning of October, but I bought my dress one of the first few days of August. Why did you buy your dress so early? Of course, I’m not asking you, but I’m sure you are wondering. In fact, I had spotted this dress a good month and a half before I bought it—in June, actually. I saw it at my favorite dress-buying store, DEB. It had an amazing cut that landed the hem mid-thigh, the perfect party and dancing length for someone like me. Spaghetti straps held the dress up where the fabric crossed over in the front showing just the right amount of skin—not too much to be slutty but not completely prudish convent-like either. It was white with pink sparkly flowers covering the expanse of the dress. Of course, my favorite part of the dress was that it concealed my ever-protruding hips perfectly. It wasn’t completely fitted, but it was stretchy—just the way I like my dresses—and fit perfectly.

When I tried it on that day in June, I had wanted it immediately. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t even thinking about it as a Homecoming dress. I just liked to buy dresses, and this one fit so perfectly that I couldn’t possibly say no. At the time, the dress cost thirty-five dollars. It was already on the clearance rack—there was no way I was buying a full-price dress. After much deliberation, I decided not to buy the dress. I figured I didn’t need to spend thirty-five dollars on a dress for no particular purpose. I could afford the thirty-five dollars, but I refrained myself from buying it—and I must say, it was quite a struggle, if I do say so myself. Every time I went back to the mall and looked inside DEB, I checked that dress—watching the price go down to thirty dollars and then twenty-five. Then finally on that fateful day in August, with the price dwindling at a solidly good deal of sixteen dollars, I bought it. I’m not what you’d call cheap, but I don’t like paying a lot of money for something you’re only going to wear once. Of course, with my dress obsession, I wore my homecoming dress at least twenty times or more during freshman year, but I still didn’t want to spend that much money.

I am what you would call a bargain shopper, an inexpensive consumer. My dress limit is usually around twenty-five dollars, and shirts shouldn’t cost more than fifteen dollars—that’s even pushing it a little. Twenty dollars for a pair of jeans is a splurge for me—once my mom bought me these amazing jeans for thirty dollars, but those are pretty much the most expensive things I own. Actually, once I bought a dress for fifty dollars because it looked amazing on it, but that was a special circumstance. Actually, I just wanted the dress. I didn’t even need it for anything special; I just wanted a new dress. I must say that I do have a dress-buying obsession—much alike to my shoe-buying obsession. I buy dresses and shoes like they’re going out of style. Sometimes I just can’t help it. Buying shoes and dresses makes me feel better. Even though this might sound really weird, it’s a kind of therapy for me.

Okay, so I found the perfect dress, and I just happened to have the perfect shoes to match. I wore silver strappy open-toed heels with gems on the toes. My sister, Megan, and I had bought them at DEB the summer before freshman year for a price of ten dollars, of which I only had to pay five dollars because Megan and I split the cost. Including the jewelry I bought at Claire’s for fifty cents a piece and tax, my entire Homecoming outfit cost a whopping twenty-three dollars. When I talked to other people about how much they spent, people told me they actually spent upwards of two hundred dollars on their outfits. Two hundred dollars? On something you’re never going to wear again? Once again, I must reiterate that I wore my dress again, but I’m sure most people never will wear their Homecoming dresses again—and if they do, it will be one or two times maximum. Some people really need to find better deals, and stop wasting their money.

As previously stated, Chelsea and I were to go to my Homecoming dance together. I showered after sweating profusely in the sun during the Homecoming football game and got all dolled up—even though that sounds completely old-fashioned and cliché. My hair was an issue in and of itself. It was of a semi-long length and completely straight. I had gotten a perm at the beginning of eighth grade year, and it still makes my hair semi-wavy when it’s wet before I brush through it. Of course, now that I started talking about my hair, I must talk about my various colors of my hair. It all started back at a festival during 6th grade. I had my hair sprayed with orange streaks with that cheap spray stuff that washes out in the shower with one shampoo. After the festival, I went over to my friend Mary’s house to spend the night. With the orange streaks in my hair faded to a dark red color, I looked at myself in the mirror at Mary’s. My naturally dark brunette hair had a tint of dark red in it. I liked it; so, from then on, I wanted to dye my hair auburn. During 7th grade, I finally did dye my hair auburn. It was really cute, and I dyed it auburn a couple of more times throughout seventh grade. Somewhere around the end of seventh grade and the summer before eighth grade, I had my mom highlight my hair with light reddish-brownish streaks. It looked semi-cute, but I would never let my mom do it again.

Then I was tired of my perfectly straight hair; so, I got a perm around the end of the fall soccer season. Around Christmas, I dyed my hair bright red. It was awesome, except that it faded really quickly. After that, I dyed my hair a brown-black color, which is the color it was for my eighth grade graduation. I didn’t dye my hair through the summer before freshmen year, but I knew I wanted to dye it brown-black before the school year started—which is what I did. Throughout freshmen year, my hair color didn’t change drastically because I liked the same dark color of my hair. I did dye it a dark brown mahogany once, but it was almost identical to my natural hair color. Then I dyed it natural blue black—that’s what it said on the box—which was pretty awesome, but not such a far stretch from my hair color because it had always been dark. Apparently, most guys thought my hair was already black, but that’s because they are just guys—a.k.a. complete, oblivious idiots when it comes to fashion or hair. I’ve been growing my hair out since 7th grade because I’ve never really had long hair because the ends have always been split, and I’ve had to cut them off. I was determined to have long hair, and I got it trimmed every month just to make sure that I could keep up with it. I must say that that is something I do love about myself, my hair. When I blow-dry it straight, people always compliment me on it and ask if that is my natural hair color. Of course, I wish I could tell them yes, but it is pretty close to my natural color. That is also something I love about dying my hair so close to my natural color—no ugly roots showing through when your hair grows.

Basically, my point was that after getting a perm, I had to blow-dry my hair to have it completely straight because the perm still hadn’t completely gone out after two years. Also, my hair could never keep a curl; so, curling my hair was out of the question. Sure, I could have asked my sister to curl it for me, and she would have, but it would have taken a grueling hour or more and a gallon of hair spray. Let’s just say that I’m more of a natural-look girl when it comes to hair—as in, no hairspray, I hate the stuff because it makes my hair all sticky, greasy, and hard. Ew. That’s why I pulled my hair half up off my face and secured it with a pretty clip. Of course, at some point in the night, I just took it all down just like I did at my eighth grade graduation when I sported the same simple hairstyle. In fact, I plan on doing my hair the same way for next year’s Homecoming.

So I blew-dry my hair to straight perfection and applied the perfect understated make-up that complimented me. Slipping on my shoes, my sister drove me over to Chelsea’s house to pick her up for the dance. After a few pictures from Chelsea’s mom, we were on our way to school. The lines were impossibly long, but eventually, we got in to the dance. I quickly found my group of friends and started dancing. I must say that I have a love for dancing. It’s just something that I love to do. The only class I’ve ever taken on dance was for a couple of weeks one summer at Florissant Valley Community College, but I love it anyway. And of course, dancing is very good exercise. I know my friends would kill me for saying that because I’m always mentioning how something is good exercise—like jumping on the trampolines at Sky Zone for my friend Ashley’s birthday.

I must say that I’m an exercise-aholic. I’m not completely obsessed, but I suppose I think about exercise a lot more than the average human being. I can’t help it. Of course, as being of the female species, I have a desire to be thin. Of course, girls decide just not to eat that much—I’ve learned that barely any girls eat anything for lunch, which I used to participate in between the end of cross country and the beginning of soccer, not eating, I mean—but I didn’t want to starve myself. During cross country season, I had to eat lunch, or else I would pass out during practice. After cross country, I didn’t normally eat lunch. In fact, Carla, Sarah, and I skipped many a lunch in the library, but we’ll get to that later. Back to exercising, my game plan not for necessarily being thin, but staying at a reasonable, satisfying weight was to eat normally but then exercise it off. I wouldn’t say I exercised excessively; I just thought about it a lot, and I had to run if I felt like I ate too much.

Back to dancing at Homecoming, I couldn’t help but notice that David—the guy I supposedly went out with for almost two weeks and who asked me to Homecoming, and I said yes, but then coldheartedly dumped his ass five days before the dance—was dancing very very close to one girl. I didn’t know her name at the time, and I didn’t really care either. The thought I remember going through my head was Thank God I dumped him because I wouldn’t want that to be me. Let’s just say his hands were sliding down a little farther than her hips. Also, speaking of guys at Homecoming, I couldn’t help but notice that Chris came without a date. Of course, at this point, Chris technically had a girlfriend who went to Hazelwood West. I couldn’t help but notice him standing in line at the doors of school, looking so out of place in his black pants and white long-sleeved dress shirt. I don’t know why, but it still makes me smile to this day thinking of Chris all dressed up like that. Let’s just say that Chris was more of a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy. The only time he ever wore a polo was because I asked him to wear one during finals at the end of the year when we were going out. In fact, I had seen Chris look all dressed up before, but it didn’t detract anything from that moment when I went up to him and said hi. Of course, I looked sexy in my dress, and not to be arrogant, but you can tell when a guy notices that, too. For football games, the football team was supposed to dress up the day of the game. Chris had worn his black pants and white dress shirt—his only dressing-up outfit, as far as I knew—for his team, but I’m sure it was a struggle for him with his usual laid back attire. He still didn’t wear a tie, but I wouldn’t have expected that from Chris. It makes me laugh thinking about Chris in his black dress shoes. I don’t know why, but I know how much Chris must have hated wearing them. If he didn’t, they still just looked so out of place on Chris. He was a sneakers kind of guy. He just looked so out of place standing in that line all by himself in all his finery.

Before I knew it, some random guy who I had never met before that turned out to be a junior asked me to dance, and I couldn’t refuse, now could I? Even though I wouldn’t admit it at the time, Homecoming was definitely a mission. It was a mission to make Chris jealous. When going out with another guy, David, didn’t seem to do the trick, I was determined to look amazing and dance with other guys while he watched enviously. Of course, that didn’t really work either. It turned out that I danced with a bunch of guys I didn’t know, and I really wasn’t that happy. Sure, I was having fun dancing, but it was more fun when I was dancing with my girls—which of course, I made a point of doing way more than dancing with other guys I had never met before.

I don’t like to regret things, but I have to say that I kind of regret the Homecoming dance as a whole. I regret saying yes to David when I was just using him to make Chris jealous. I regret never asking Chris to dance because I was too shy, and I convinced myself that he wouldn’t even want to because he had a girlfriend. To this day, I’ll never know because I didn’t have the guts to go up to him and ask him. Of course, he was shy, too, about dancing because he didn’t really like dancing, and I don’t think he even asked anyone to dance. He did dance with at least one girl that know of, but I’m not sure of anyone else. Okay, so maybe I was spying on him just a little bit during Homecoming. I was allowed to look, wasn’t I? I had tried to talk to Chris earlier when he was walking around aimlessly by himself looking bored, but he hadn’t really responded. When I had just finished dancing with another guy, Chris was walking by, and I instinctively grabbed his arm and asked him about having fun and dancing. Chris only said that that dancing didn’t impress me. Even though I want to say that his comment didn’t affect me, it did. It kind of put a damper on the evening.

The whole thing was that I really didn’t want to dance with any of the guys I danced with, especially Ryan. There was one guy I knew who I danced with, and that dance was one of major things I regretted from Homecoming. Ryan was also in my keyboarding class. He was a sophomore, and he apparently liked me. Chris sat on my left, and Ryan sat on Chris’s left in keyboarding class, and Ryan was always making comments about how Chris and I should just go out already. I didn’t really think Ryan liked me for me. I figured he just supposedly liked me because I was “hot” in his eyes, or whatever guys call me. Even though Ryan told me he didn’t like me just for that, I never believed him. Ryan was what I would call a player—a.k.a. cheating asshole. Sure, I didn’t really know if he cheated on anyone he went out with, but the whole point was that he didn’t care who he was going out with as long as she was “hot” and he was going out with someone—a girl, I’m assuming, preferably, but you never know. No, I’m totally kidding. I’m pretty sure he’s not gay. Well, if the way he grinded me at Homecoming has any influence on his sexuality, then I don’t know what does. Basically, in a moment of weakness when Chris had a girlfriend in keyboarding class, I gave Ryan my phone number—which I can see now was a BIG mistake. He kept calling me, but I just ignored his calls. Sure, that sounds bitchy and stuck-up, but I didn’t want to talk to him. The only guy I wanted to talk to was Chris. So then Ryan began texting me, and texting me, and texting me. He just would never stop. He texted me that I had pretty eyes. I gagged, mock threw-up over the phone. Yes, I know that sounds extremely bitter and bitchy again, but I’m not going to lie and pretend I’m a completely nice person. In fact, it sounds totally bitchy to say that I didn’t want to talk to other guys because I only wanted to talk to Chris. The thing was that I didn’t want to talk to other guys that were interested in me and tried to flirt with me when while I wasn’t actually taken, my heart was taken. For Chris, and only Chris.

So in another moment of weakness, I agreed to dance with Ryan, and apparently, I perfectly remember the song being “Hey There Delilah” as we slow-danced ever too closely. I can’t even remember why I did. I didn’t want to; I really wanted to dance with Chris, but I couldn’t. Yes, of the course, the most logical thing would have been to just ask Chris to dance, but I wasn’t logical in my moments of fury and weakness after being rejected by Chris. Well, technically Chris didn’t reject me, but I’ll explain that later. Apparently Ryan took that slow-dance ever too the wrong way and relentlessly texted me endlessly even though I made it perfectly clear that I wanted Chris, not him, Ryan, for weeks after Homecoming, but I’m getting ahead of myself again.

As I previously stated that I was kind of spying on Chris during Homecoming, I knew that Chris was watching me, too. I could feel his eyes on me the whole night, and I caught him staring on more than one occasion. Of course, I wasn’t completely innocent because I had been watching him with a close eye all night. In the back of my head as I danced way too closely to Ryan, I knew that Chris was watching. It almost made me sick to my stomach, but I wasn’t backing out because I was in that bitch-revenge mode where all I wanted was to make Chris jealous and hurt the way that he had hurt me. Of course, it probably didn’t work, but I will never know if it actually made Chris jealous or hurt him because he would never admit it to me if I asked him. I think I’m going to vomit right now when I think of what I did after Homecoming. No, it wasn’t anything bad, but it just makes me sick thinking about it. As we girls were carrying our heels to the car—we had taken them off within five minutes of arriving to Homecoming, it’s impossible to dance to heels—Ryan was driving by in a car—he wasn’t actually driving, he was in the passenger seat—and I walked up to the car and hugged him. Okay, so I know you’re thinking What’s so bad about hugging a guy? There’s nothing bad about hugging a guy, except that this particular guy had to be Ryan. Sure, underneath everything, Ryan must have been sort of a semi-decent guy, but there was no way I would ever go out with him. I didn’t feel bad about leading him on because he was such a player, and I was such a bitch like that, but I can’t help but cringe in disgust every time I think about dancing with him and hugging him. Yes, I can get bitchier. Just watch me.

At some point during the night when Chelsea was dancing with a guy and so was I, the guys were grinding us just a little too much, and Chelsea thankfully saved me by claiming we were going to get something to drink. Chelsea and I fled the dance floor, leaving two very confused guys standing there. We didn’t care because neither of us knew the guys—of course, Chelsea didn’t know anyone because she went to Incarnate Word Academy—and we didn’t want to be touched that way. We needed the water anyway because we were so sweaty from dancing so much—me especially because I danced like crazy. When we came back into the gym, it turned out that a slow song was playing. Eyeing the guys we abandoned earlier still standing alone on the dance floor, Chelsea and I grabbed each other and slow-danced together. There was no way we were dancing with those guys again. There were actually several other groups of girls dancing together because they didn’t have guys to dance with, and Chelsea and I didn’t care anyway about dancing together because it was a fun and an escape from the overanxious guys. Apparently, the one guy asked Chelsea what she was doing after this—this being the Homecoming dance. That was apparently the moment when Chelsea grabbed me, and we fled.

Homecoming was amazing, but it was just missing the perfect thing, Chris. I loved the dancing, but if I had just been brave enough to ask out Chris, I wonder if Chris and I would have turned out differently as a couple. I guess we’ll never know. No matter all those things that I regret doing that I can’t change, it was a lot of fun. Chelsea spent the night at my house after the Homecoming dance, and we stripped off our sweat-soaked dresses and bras. It was pretty disgusting afterwards, but during, just dancing, it was just amazing.