Made in 1987

Part 1: How everything started

The most popular grade 12 girls at Sir Winston Churchill High School are finding boyfriends and having sex. I'm not a 'most popular girl.' Whatever. Too much pressure.

I don't want to become a boring loser either, though; the kind of girl who's only got babysitting on the weekends to look forward to. This graduating year has to be special with lots of friends. A boyfriend would be awesome.

It's only the beginning of October so there's still time for me to make this my best year. The beer I drink at parties tastes like bread, but I'm getting used to it. Sometimes, afterschool and in her house, I draw on a lit cigarette with Cheryl, who smokes a lot. Honestly, inhaling makes me cough my eyeballs out. What's so fantastic about sucking burning leaves and paper? I never understood it. But smoking together seems to lead to quick friendships and in-jokes. If I don't smoke, I'm left out. I really hate the way that feels.

I've never had a necking party at my parent's house when my parents were away, like Wendy Hilliard. My parents are never away. But I've gone to one of Wendy's parties and spent some time with Jason Brandt in a dark, wood-panelled den, listening to The Police from a tape deck and letting Jason unhook my bra while he opened his wet mouth too wide to kiss me. That messy make-out session with Jason, to the curling rhythms of Tea in the Sahara, was actually pretty fun.

But I've got to go further if I want to stay close to the 'in' crowd. Wendy is having a lot of sex with Jeremy. I know because when I was at Wendy's necking party, Jeremy and her were in her parent's bedroom for the whole night after a bunch of us drank Lemon Gin and beer in her kitchen. Also, Cheryl is in Wendy's French class and they pass notes sometimes. A few weeks ago, Wendy gave Cheryl a note saying she was worried because she was a week late for her period. It was a false alarm though. This past weekend I bumped into Wendy at the mall and she asked me for a tampon while complaining about bad cramps. I watched her walk away, slightly hunched over, as she stuffed one of my tampons in her pant pocket.

I have my eye on someone. His good friend, Michael, gave me a note, folded into a tiny square, in Biology on Monday. I held the square in my lap while Mr. Abel broke a new piece of chalk trying to draw a picture of a human cell on the board. I unfolded the little note on my lap, as quietly as I could. It said: "Paul thinks you're a 10/10." A few desks up and to the left of me, I saw Paul staring straight ahead at Mr. Abel, a nibbled nub of a pencil stuck behind his right ear. Michael, a few desks to my right, was nodding his head at me and covering his mouth with his hand so Abel wouldn't spot his broad, goofy smile.

"Something you want to share with the class, Mr. Stuart?' Mr. Abel had his arm outstretched, adding little chalk dots to a too-round mitochondria. His eyes, looking straight at Michael, said he was both annoyed and amused.

"No sir! Just waiting to see how you're going to fit an endoplasmic reticulum in there." Amid quiet snickering, Mr. Abel congratulated Michael on remembering the key organelles in the human cell.

***

After that same Biology class on Monday, I was in the refrigerator aisle of the corner grocery store across the street from my high school. My big dilemma for the lunch hour was this: Should I choose a diet coke or a diet coke and a Mars Bar for my lunch? Because I spent ten minutes that morning in front of the bathroom mirror, enjoying how loosely my skirt fit around my waist, I chose the diet Coke only. Cheryl did the same.

Just then, Michael sent Paul into the store to say 'hi' to me. Obviously I knew who Paul was but I'd never hung out with him or talked to him. He was just this shy guy a few rows over in my Biology class who shared a locker with Michael.