thenameselodie is done with high school, and she's got more than kissing on her mind—now she's got COLLEGE to worry about!—Sparkitors
Guess who graduated last week, Sparklers? That’s right, this girl! Our class president gave a speech that involved thinly veiled Ke$ha references and I, having been gifted with the responsibility of being the first in my row, led my fellow students astray and wound up in the wrong aisle. So it was a pretty predictable ceremony, all things considered. Very hot. Lots of waiting. At one point my friend Jaclyn, who was sitting right behind me, leaned forward and whispered, “People are going to be talking about this graduation for years. They’ll say, ‘Hey, remember the year that Jaclyn girl just snapped from the heat and starting killing people with nothing but her tassel and a graduation program?’”
“’While her friend Elodie stood idly by?’” I whispered back.
"And occasionally tripping would-be graduates to add to the chaos.”
“Ha! Oh, how perfect.” She caught a glare from the principal and we stopped whispering for a while. Then she leaned forward again and said, “That whole ‘walking in’ business was a piece of work, wasn’t it? I don’t blame you for going the wrong way.”
“You were the one who steered me in the wrong direction.”
She waved that away. “Regardless. Hey, I have a better idea for the ‘walking in’ bit. We make it a free-for-all. Everyone gets into a running stance and the principal—” (At this point said principal made a shushing gesture at her, so she lowered her voice.) “—the principal yells ‘GO!’ and everyone races to their seat to the beat of some action/adventure movie soundtrack. It’ll be pandemonium.” She paused and then added casually, “And the last student to be seated will be killed.”
“Kind of a grisly ceremony, isn’t it?” I whispered.
“It spices up an otherwise boring ceremony. That’s how I like to think of it.”
When I walked across that stage, Sparklers, I was nervous and happy and a whole range of baffling emotions, but all I could focus on was the fact that I was having a major cap malfunction. My cap would not stay on my head. I practically sprinted across the stage while trying to juggle the cap and the diploma and the shaking of hands with important people.
Newsflash: my face has frozen into some sort of demonic perma-grin due to excessive picture-taking. There were pictures before and after graduation, at my open house, at other people’s open houses… you get the idea. It’s just a lot—a LOT—of pictures (most of which feature me staring stupidly in the wrong direction while everyone else looks really attractive).
I’m not a particularly emotional person. I mean, I don’t think. I mean… I don’t know. I flat-out SOBBED when I read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for the first time (each time I re-read it I sob a little less). I cried when I watched Marley & Me (ADMIT IT, YOU DID TOO). But all this graduation stuff… nothing. Nada. Aside from some sentimental pre-graduation eye-watering while cleaning out my locker, I feel like I’m basically breezing through the whole process without looking back. Last day of school? Nothing. Listening to inspiring speeches at graduation? Meh. Hugging my friends and saying good-bye to some of them for the last time? Zilch. I must be a robot, I thought. Then I started talking to my mom. The conversation started off pleasantly enough; we talked about everything from Cheetohs to graduation, and somewhere in there we touched upon college, and without warning I burst into tears and said in a watery voice, “I AM SO NOT CUT OUT FOR THIS.”
I’ve never left home before. (Unless you count the Summer Camp of Death, where my “bathroom buddy” fell on a stick that went straight through her leg, and where I would ultimately crack my head open on the too-low-for-bunk-beds ceiling.) And I haven’t had to make friends since kindergarten. I don’t even think I remember how. And communal bathrooms? AHHH.
Whew. Okay. Don’t mind me, I’m just having one of my moments. It felt good to get all of that out. I realize this column is called “Never Been Kissed,” so I should really be getting back to the boy stuff. Summer is settling in and all that graduation stuff is behind me, so next week I’ll talk about Claire’s boyfriend troubles and I’ll talk about Ace and I’ll especially talk about a certain supermegafoxyawesomehot cashier who recently started working at the grocery store, and from whom I’ve purchased like three jars of peanut butter that I didn’t actually need.
A note on my last post: I know the message didn’t apply to everyone, and if your high school experience was like a walk down the sunny side of Main Street, that’s awesome. Like, really awesome. I’m serious. But if that post was helpful to one person, I consider it a post worth writing. Your comments were inspiring and incredible—every single one of them—and, well, if anyone ever needs to talk… I’m totally here. I’ve got a blog going on over at www.thetwixter.wordpress.com <http://www.thetwixter.wordpress.com> and it’s kind of like a party, albeit one of those really tame parties with four or five people who all sit around eating Doritos and drinking Coke Zero and making witty conversation in lieu of an actual rager.
Wait—Doritos and witty conversation don't count as an actual rager? Who knew. Anyone else having unexpected blubber-fests after graduating?
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