A STORY OF MY FIRST WEEK OF HIGH SCHOOL
I went to a public elementary school, a private middle school, and a public high school. What this means is that, during my younger formative years, I became good friends with a number of kids - then was yanked out of that social circle, forced to become friends with a whole NEW group of kids in a different middle school… And then, after three years of that, I was shoved back into the earlier group of kids whom I hadn’t seen since elementary school and whom all had a three year head start on liking each other.
Put another way: I had a rough start at high school.
Because of the situation above, things were actually worse than if I had just been the new kid at a completely different school: Kids knew me, I knew that they knew me, they knew that I knew that they knew me, and they didn’t know how to act. I didn’t know how to act. Nobody knew how anybody should act. When that happens in high school, the reaction is invariably the same: Ignorningness. Which is a word that I just made up and accurately conveys what I’m trying to say.
To complicate matters even further, I had really bad allergies. When I get allergies, I am an absolute mess: We’re talking a bright red, runny nose (the kids used to call me “Rudolph”, believe it or not, and my nose still sometimes gets red whenever I’m hot or embarrassed) to the point where not only could I not smell anything, I could barely keep my sweaters from becoming snot sponges. Did I mention I spent high school without a lady? Let’s just say that snot sponges hadn’t yet become the chick magnets that they are today.
Anyway, it was the first week of high school. I’m a Freshman. Everything was awkward with everyone, so I was eating lunch by myself. I didn’t mind, because I was outside in the lovely Michigan Fall weather (the same weather that was giving me a record bout of allergies, btw). My first class after lunch was Geometry. With Mr. Beeline.
Mr. Beeline was old, and he was oblivious. To point: The first day of class, he tripped over the trash can; moved it, then tripped over it again. Whatever. Nothing really bothered me about that class, because I was assigned a seat behind the extremely hot Lindsey Clay. Not only that, but at the desk next to mine? Katie Hallock. BOOM. Another insanely hot girl. I WAS IN THE EYE OF THE BABE-ICANE, PEOPLE. It was looking like a fucking epic year for ol’ Bley in the “Hot Chicks” department. Just as soon as, you know, I got rid of those allergies. And figured out how to say more than two words to a girl. And dried out the snot sponge. BUT I DIGRESS.
This particular day, I finished my lunch outside, and headed into Beeline’s class. Lindsey Clay and Katie Hallock were looking especially stunning, and - although I had filthy, awful, disgusting allergies - I was looking forward to, like, spending class in their presence - aka “Pretending to do math but actually spend most of class typing pretend love poems to Lindsey and Katie into my graphing calculator”. Me = The picture of a healthy, mature young adult.
So class starts, and immediately I notice that Katie is glancing over at me. “Hmm.” I think. “Maybe she’s digging me?” Because yes, that must be it.
Over the course of the next twenty or thirty minutes, she keeps looking over at me more and more. I stop thinking that she’s digging me and start thinking that something is seriously wrong. Dandruff? Nope. Fly undone? Nope. Weird stress rash that’s sprouted over my hands and wrists from starting fucking high school three days ago? NOPE. All that’s left is my red nose. That bright shiny crimson beacon of shame and failure, right in the middle of my goddamn face, pouring out hot liquid snot like it’s trying to win a prize. Sigh. I use more Kleenex and try to hide it from view.
Katie’s glances get more and more pointed, and then Suddenly Things Get Much Worse: with 15 minutes left in class, a note is passed from Katie to Lindsay. A note oh god oh god is it about me what does it say. Lindsay mouths something back at Katie, but I can’t make it out. Paranoia growing.
5 minutes left: Katie STANDS UP and walks to the back of the class. Paranoia growing. Other people around her do, too. PARANOIA. GROWING. Beeline: Completely Oblivious.
Without warning, Lindsay Clay jumps up, puts her hands over her mouth, shouts “UGH!” and runs to the back of the class. RUNS TO THE BACK. PARANOIA RINGING LIKE AN ALARM BELL IN MY EARS. Dandruff? Negative. Fly undone? NEGATIVE. There is now a two desk radius of emptiness around me in all directions. I feel like I’m going to throw up. There’s like 12 people standing in the back of the room. BEELINE: NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT’S HAPPENING. SOMEHOW STILL TEACHING GEOMETRY.
The bell rings.
Everything moves very slowly.
Mr. Beeline turns around and starts to say something.
Both Katie and Lindsay race back to their desks, grab their books and leave.
No one will look me in the eye. My embarrassment is bright and clear in the front of my brain, blinding like the midday sun off the surface of the water.
That’s when I look down and notice something weird: Dirt.
Dirt, all over the floor of my desk. And my shoes. All over my new shoes. And on the one metal leg of the desk. Dirt.
Not dirt. Mud.
Not mud.
*Sniff*
Dog shit.
Fuck.
When I was younger, I used to sit with one foot on top of the other foot. While eating lunch outside that day, I had gotten a gigantic dollop of dog feces on one of my shoes, and when I was sitting in Geometry class, ended up smearing it not only all over both of my feet… But all over the floor, the legs of the desk, etc. The smell must have been atrocious, but then again, I couldn’t smell a thing because of my allergies. After class had ended and everyone had run off, I went to the bathroom and missed most of my next class trying to clean up the mess. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to get dog shit out of shoelaces? Spoiler alert: Really hard.)
EPILOGUE:
7th period that day, my friend Matt Bowen came up to me: ”Hey man. I heard that you shit your pants in Geometry Class?”
AND SO BEGAN AARON BLEYAERT’S HIGH SCHOOL CAREER.
