thirty days of thirty years: twelve

Year twelve, age eleven and grade six: September 1993-1994.

Sixth grade was the beginning of middle school, which is a notoriously awkward time in almost every American's life. I think there are usually kids in your class that you think have it all together, but I'd bet that even they would be willing to admit in hindsight that middle school sucked. I had a rough time in school for many years up to this point so, amazingly, middle school was kind of a hopeful time for me, even though my face had not yet finished growing into the size of my teeth and nose.

I didn't actually change schools like most kids do at this age, because St. Charles was pretty small and it was an elementary and middle school, combined. So I went back to the same school, in the same uniform, with the same classmates as the year before and the year before that. But I think there was something about getting older and moving up-- or down into the basement, rather, per the layout of my school-- that gave me hope. I have two older sisters and growing up I was always looking up to them, longing to be like them. Sixth grade was one step closer to achieving this arbitrary state of sophistication that I had seen in my sisters and idealized in my mind.

As I recall, sixth grade was when I had my first crush on a boy. His name was Andrew Calovich and he was a very cute and popular boy in my grade, who was probably the object of affection for almost every other girl in my class as well. I knew that I didn't have a chance with him, but that didn't stop me from hoping he would look my way. 

I remember this one time our class was standing in line for something that must have been pretty good because I definitely didn't want to lose my place. Andrew was standing in front of me in line but then he stepped out for a couple minutes. When he came back to get his place in line I told him no. I think he tried to sweet-talk me-- because cute boys are always sweet-talking; they cannot help themselves, it just comes out that way-- and I simply replied, "tough." He looked at me, flabbergasted, and said, "what?" And I said again, "tough." He turned away, appalled and amused at the same time, and walked to the end of the line. 

If I could go back to that moment, I would give myself a high five.