How I was saved by my fall from grace

If someone were to look at my school photos consecutively from sixth through 10th grades, they would see in my countenance the changes I’ve had in my outlook on life.

My sixth- and seventh-grade pictures are nearly identical. I wore my long hair in two braids. I wore simple T-shirts and big glasses. I was a complete nerd, but I smiled broadly with crooked teeth and I was happy. My eighth-grade picture is the other extreme. I wore a trendy shirt with a matching necklace and make-up. I completed my look with contact lenses, a stylish haircut and fresh blonde streaks in my hair. At the time I imagined the look on my face screamed confidence and sophistication. Looking at it now I look strained, and rather like a Barbie doll.

In eighth grade I decided that I ought to become a popular kid, something every person wants at some point in his or her youth. To fit in with the cool kids, I had to be sure that my real, eccentric personality did not show through. I had to have cool friends, cool clothes and cool talents.

With each contrived change in my personality and interests my superficial happiness increased. It was an advantage that my best friend since sixth grade just happened to be one of the best athletes in our school. I decided to aid my image I should be interested in boys, so I acquired a boyfriend. My friends assured me that Kristian was both cool and hot, and knowing it was definitely hip. I did not inform them that what they said was an idiotic oxymoron. Somehow, though I am anything but athletic, I managed to make the cut for the varsity volleyball team. I hardly ever got to play, but I suited up for every game and sat the bench, fancying that every girl in the bleachers was envious of my athletic prowess.

The night of the eighth-grade promotion was the party that ended my year of popularity, like fabulous fireworks on New Year’s Eve. In the fall I would be attending a different high school than most of my friends because my mean-spirited mother did not believe in boundary exemptions. My summer was as depressing as my school year had been gloriously fulfilling.

Time marched on, throwing cruel events one after another at me to ruin my popularity. My hot boyfriend dumped me unceremoniously by kissing another girl at camp. When autumn came I failed to make the volleyball team and had to join the swim team, which was full of geeks and completely un-cool. The start of school brought an awkward stage of getting to know people, none of which were part of the “in” crowd. I was completely miserable.

In my ninth-grade photo, I barely smiled. I remember getting in line for pictures and trying not to cry. It seemed like everyone around me had friends to talk to except me. I hadn’t made friends with anyone … yet.

When I started meeting new people, I was baffled by the people I began to befriend. I started hanging out with an eleventh-grader who had given up a position on the football team to pursue other interests, like making movies! This was decidedly un-cool. I also made friends with a 12th-grade boy who was an incredibly talented musician, but didn’t have very good personal hygiene, which made him another dorky comrade. I even made friends with a person most would classify as a punk, but I found her to be very kind and funny. Even the people I assumed were geeks on the swim team were supportive and fun to spend time with.

Since I fell off my pedestal into the pit of despair in ninth grade, I learned how to be truly happy being myself. To tell the truth, I am not “cool,” but I’m OK with that. In fact, I like being my normal self better than I liked masquerading as someone I wasn’t.

In my 10th grade picture, I was smiling broadly. My hair was still braided, and I had braces, but it doesn’t matter because the smile on my face shows that I am really, truly happy just being myself.

Rachel Kenley is a Mat-Su Borough high school student who enjoys writing.