The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth - Alexandra Robbins [168]
Students who are willing to play the game—to tolerate the aggression, to de-prioritize their school involvement, to deal with pressure to engage in risky behavior, and to chip away at their individuality—may nevertheless find their tenure at the top of the popularity chain to be short. Resentful wannabes could bring them down. Or their own clique could build them up and cast them out, as the preps did to the twins, Irene, and, finally, Whitney.
By the end of the school year, Whitney had changed her mind about whether playing the game was worth the status. She said in May, “The biggest thing I want to make readers understand is that being popular isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. They shouldn’t strive to be a part of the clique. They should strive to do what I’m doing now and be friends with everyone and be neutral. Like, I’m so much happier now without the pressure to conform. And I can just say no now: No, Luke won’t buy you guys beer again; no, I won’t change my shirt because we’re wearing the same one, Bianca; no, I won’t smoke pot with you guys; no, I won’t cut that person up behind their back.”
As Whitney came to realize, the primary problem with being a popular high school student, even with all of its perks—some classmates will do your bidding; you may be invited to more parties; you might find your fashions meticulously copied, your actions obsequiously praised; you can sit at a prime spot in the cafeteria; you might even be treated, as Whitney said to me after one party, “like a mini-celebrity”—is that high school ends.
REGAN, GEORGIA | THE WEIRD GIRL
As Regan tossed the remains of her lunch into the garbage, she could hear the history department having its last cookout. She grimaced as the teachers shouted about hot dogs outside her office window.
Delilah caught up to Regan on her way back to class. “I have been looking all over for you!” she shouted.
“What’s wrong? You good?”
“I ate lunch with history,” Delilah said, a twisted grin on her face. “And your name came up.”
“Oh God. Lemme guess—”
“Mandy.” Delilah relayed that Mandy had told the group Regan should be fired. Apparently, Mandy hadn’t heard that Regan was leaving Johnson of her own accord.
That’s it, Regan steamed. I’m done with this. She typed a quick memo to Mandy’s administrator, asking to speak with him. During her planning period, Regan met the administrator in a break room. “Look,” she began, “I want to start this off by saying I’m not a tattletale. That’s just not me.”
“I already don’t like where this is going.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed.
“No, no, it’s okay. Go ’head.”
Regan settled her nerves. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing or not, she thought. I’m extremely conflicted karma-wise. “I’m having some issues with a history teacher,” she said.
“I can narrow this down to . . . oh, one.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m not worried about me. I don’t care. What I’m afraid of is, well, I’m leaving, and if it’s in her personality to be mean, then she’s going to find someone else to pick on. And if she’s going to do that, then I want a record to exist to prove that it’s a pattern.” Regan listed Mandy’s multiple acts of alternative aggressions.
The administrator, seemingly unsurprised by what he called Mandy’s unprofessionalism, said he would look into the matter and talk to the principal. By the final week of school, nothing had been done about it.
On the last day of the academic year, at the bell, one of Regan’s classes lined up by the door so that students could hug her on the way out of the classroom, risking being late to their next class. Throughout the day, kids sought her out, asking frantically, “Is it true that you’re leaving?!” and embracing her tightly.
Regan