Well.

It's been a while! So where to pick up again?

Right.

So there I was, 11 years old and completely mortified, watching the mean girls cry and our V.P. lecture. I could do nothing but mumble and twiddle my thumbs, scared to do anything else. Eventually we were let go, and the girls were forced to write me a letter of apology.

Let's skip ahead to 7th grade, shall we? The epitome of loserdom for me. Picture this. An overly tall, skinny, long/greasy haired girl with a space in her teeth so wide you could fit a number two pencil through it. Now add the factor of zero friends.

Scary, huh? St. Joes was the city's only Catholic middle school. St. Catherines, the elementary school where I had gone, was the source of the largest amount of students for this particular Jr. High. So, naturally, I'd be surrounded by all the wonderful people who had shunned and tortured me in every way possible. Wonderful.

I eventually found a group of girls. They were the middle group. Not losers, but not quite popular. I latched on, not ever wanting to be alone. I was completely oblivious then, maybe because I was blinded by wanting to fit in so badly. My best friend now, Liz, was in that group. I had no idea, but she recently told me how much everyone in that group loved to make fun of me as much as they could.

They would play a game to see who could get me to walk away first, then they would shout "Success!" and hey, high fives all around. I remember one day at lunch in particular when I walked away to throw my trash in the trash can and came back, sat down, and took a sip of my Vitamin Water, which was all the rage. (I still am amazed that even my beverages were based on what oter people had.) The second I did this, the entire table burst out laughing.

They had put bread crusts in my drink. Hilarious, I know. I cried for an hour or so that night. But it gets better. They excluded, avoided, pranked, and humiliated me all two years of my Jr. High life. On the bus ride to Maine for the annual white water rafting trip, I was forced to sit alone next to the bathrooms, texting my mom the whole way.

I promise, this story will get better. Hell, I'm depressing myself here. Until next time, au revoir. :)