The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth - Alexandra Robbins [101]
Sometimes it’s the populars, the kids who seem to have it all, who are struggling with the most explosive issues, forcing them down beneath a smooth-as-plastic surface where they percolate impatiently, biding time. A mid-Atlantic overachiever said she often thought about hurting people at school. When I asked her to elaborate, she said, “The needs of students are often ignored by the administration. Violence is a way to get people to notice that you’re angry, sad, or scared, so it definitely crosses my mind. Often, the kids labeled ‘at risk’ are the only ones on adults’ radar, which isn’t fair; everyone can have terrible things happen in their life, regardless of what kind of person they are. I’ve thought about using violence to make others feel guilty for how they treated me, even though rationally I know this will do more harm than help. But it still crosses my mind when I’m in tears after an unnecessary comment or lying awake unable to sleep because of anxiety regarding school.”
Recent studies have called the link between relational aggression and perceived popularity “robust” and “remarkable.” Psychologists point out that high-status cliques teach the exclusionary behavior that may be the foundation for eventual racism, anti-Semitism, sexism, and other forms of bigotry.
Eric Harris, one of the two Columbine murderers, had a secret too. He wasn’t raised in Columbine; his family moved there from Plattsburgh, New York, where he played soccer and Little League baseball, earned good grades, and was a boy scout. In Plattsburgh, administrators would not have singled out Harris as a potential school shooter. Harris’s secret? Before he moved to Colorado, he was popular.
Chapter 7
MISPERCEPTIONS
REGAN, GEORGIA | THE WEIRD GIRL
At a Diversity Committee meeting, Regan announced that she wanted to start a Gay-Straight Alliance.
“A what?” asked another teacher.
“A Gay-Straight Alliance,” Regan repeated.
“Ah.” The teacher rolled his eyes.
“I’d love to start one, but because I’m leaving after this year, I can’t start it alone,” Regan continued. She asked if anyone would be interested in helping her. The committee members either stared at her or looked down. No one answered.
WHEN A FRIEND FROM college gave Regan money to get a new tattoo, her excitement was a welcome contrast to the helplessness she felt in school. “I’m here for a tattoo!” Regan announced to the guy behind the tattoo shop desk. She opened the book on the counter and pointed to a banner presenting the word Love. “I basically want this, but instead I want it to say SXE.” She detailed a few other changes. The guy gave her a clipboard and told her to fill out a form.
Crystal was sitting on a couch, playing with her phone. “So, explain this to me again,” she said.
“It stands for ‘Straight Edge,’ ” Regan replied. “Basically, no smoking, no drinking, no drugs.”
When Regan had first identified as Straight Edge, after learning about the movement in middle school, she felt validated by the label. She believed that if she could explain her anti-substance lifestyle in one word, she would avoid excessive pressure from classmates. In high school and college, when she was invited to parties or offered alcohol, she simply said, “I’m Edge,” and students accepted her answer.
Unlike at James Johnson, where colleagues mocked Regan for not drinking, many other people had told her how much they admired her commitment to a substance-free lifestyle. A friend who was married to a Rasta said that Regan inspired her to stop drinking and smoking. In college, a member of Regan’s theater group thanked her for being Straight Edge because, although he wasn’t, he didn’t enjoy drinking. “It’s nice to have someone sober to hang out with at cast parties,” he said.
In fact, Regan initially had bonded with her