I'm Really Good at Titles

Dear Plaza Middle School, Leesville Road Middle School, and Patrick Henry Middle School:

I apologize for how I acted as the new girl.

As the new girl, people often gave me a knowing look and sighed, “military.”

“Sports,” I corrected.

“Does your Dad coach?”

“No, he has never played.”

The conversation stopped there.

I thought my father was a superhero.

I brought a hockey puck to school once to try to make some strange kid understand the weight of it. Without ice, it’s basically a rock.

I am really sorry that my middle school experience, spanning three states, was so fraught with new-girl weirdness that I subjected all of you to the following, painfully true anecdotes.

I’m sorry I told everyone in 6th grade that I was a figure skater. You might remember that I even brought a negligee to school once, pretending it was my costume. I remember a specific field trip when my mom was present, dreading that some other class mom would mention my professed talents and my own would contradict them. “Cali doesn’t figure skate, she roller skates,” she might say. She might say I have some knack for those skates, or she might talk about the concussion I got. Either way, she wouldn’t confirm my lie, and then, once found out, maybe Talia wouldn’t ask me to do her homework anymore. Social media didn’t exist, and calls were long-distance, so I’m not sure what tales you told next year when my locker was empty. You probably didn’t think of me at all. I’m sorry I ever thought lingerie was a costume; I think I just wanted to be pretty.

I’m sorry I read sex scenes out loud on the bus, and asked Cherlisa to say the word nipple because that word gave me the ick. I know most of your parents didn’t give you Whitney, My Love to read when you asked about the birds and the bees. I’m sorry I suggested Bad Girls at every sleepover, but then insisted on being Drew Barrymore. I was really Andie MacDowell and it wasn’t fair to keep pretending I was something I’m not. I’m not sorry that Cherlisa grew up to become a sex therapist who has an extensive social media following. She probably still has to say the word nipple out loud.

I’m sorry that the next year, in Raleigh, I talked nonstop about Kansas City. I know BBQ is already a source of contention. I don’t think I made anything better by trying to befriend the German student who spoke six languages and was always thankful when our english teacher gave him a pass and whispered directions in Czech. I see now that being from Kansas City and being new to a country are two different experiences. I am sorry that I sat out in gym class and picked four-leaf clovers instead of running when Coach Brennan used his former military bark to get people to go faster. I used my “from a foreign land” shtick, only the foreign land was running, and I was a citizen of femoral anteversion.

I would like to apologize to everyone at Patrick Henry for lying about having written a massive tome titled Jealousy and Betrayal while in 6th grade. I did write this book, modeled after Sidney Sheldon novels, but it was a measly 64 pages, meticulously typed on my parents' electric typewriter. Mrs. Grant did, in fact, give me a signed George Clooney autograph during my math restaurant presentation, but she was not using her ties to shop my title to Hollywood elites. Her daughter was a set-decorator, not an agent. I’m sure most of you have figured this out, seeing as Jealousy and Betrayal was never published. I am sorry that if you come across my collection of poetry, Sex on a Budget, by googling my name, you will have to acquiesce to the fact that I am just that great at titles.

And, finally, I’m sorry to Chance DeHaven, who had to retrieve the pencil I caught when he absentmindedly threw it in the air, and that I, holding a trapper keeper and reading a romance novel, magicaly caught the descending instrument. I will never forgive myself for saying, “See, I’m a good catch,” when we both knew this was a lie.