It's not really a secret that I (for serious) dig my homeschooling past. It was awesome.
But today I'm going to tell you about the time I was a Sophomore in Public School.
First, a touch of history...
I. Was. Unstoppable.
When I went to my parents and begged to be allowed to attend public school during my sophomore year, they were reasonably nervous. Most kids don't handle high school well even after years of exposure. Yet here I was...a chubby, boisterous, flamboyant 15-year-old homeschooler...determined to take on the glory of public education.
They even took me to a meeting with the school principal so he could convince me to turn back before it was too late. He detailed some of the horrific experiences of homeschoolers who had gone before me. They had been bullied to the point of breakdowns, struggled to adapt to the classroom structure, or flat-out withered in misery.
Was I deterred? Worried? Mildly concerned?
Heck. No.
I was freaking excited...because I am apparently an insane person.
The first day of school approached as I slowly wore my parents down. I got permission to take the bus (GASP), pieced together a new wardrobe (I would be a GODDESS OF FASHION), and started envisioning how awesome life would be once I was surrounded with beautiful High School boys (Oh...heavens).
When I finally walked down those hallowed halls I was not disappointed. Noise, chaos, attractive teenagers, and new things to learn met me at every turn. I was in heaven.
Until day 2.
In retrospect, I can't believe I was surprised that I had attracted notice. Even in my worst fits of insecurity, I still walked and spoke like the pile of awesome that I obviously am. Of COURSE people noticed me. I was glorious.
Never-the-less, I was surprised as I climbed to the second floor and found a group of cheerleaders and several of the more popular jocks laughing pointedly at me.
Now, if I had been more indoctrinated, this would have been the appropriate time to feel a deep sense of foreboding. But at this point in my life I was highly traveled, diverse in experience, and used to dealing with functional adults. The very idea that people could actually be as ridiculous as the average high school student had never crossed my mind. So what did I do?
I barreled straight into the circle of mockery and laughingly asked what had everyone so amused.
A grim and smirking silence fell over the group as the cheer captain handed me a letter. It was addressed to a decently popular football darling and went something like this...
Oh yes. They were laughing at a love letter supposedly written by me to Ronnie.
They stared at me expectantly, like vultures waiting for the last gasp of breath before tearing the carcass to shreds.
I looked up slowly...eyes brimming with tears,
Of hysterical laughter.
They had spelled my name incorrectly, and I thought it was FREAKING HILARIOUS. Like it was the best joke in the world. I handed the letter back good-naturedly and told them to spell my name right the next time before walking to class in uproarious laughter. I passed by a highly deflated looking Ronnie. I still don't know if he was in on it.
One week later the cheer captain's boyfriend flirted with me during P.E. That afternoon she jumped me in front of school and lit into me about stealing her man. I responded in typical Rachel aplomb and told her to stop being such a child, learn to behave like a lady, and if her boyfriend was lame enough to cheat I wouldn't want him anyway.
The very next morning I was asked to try out for the cheer team and instant friends with the whole caboodle.
This taught me several very important lessons about how dumb teenagers can be.
But then came...the day.
I was playing Princess Ozma in a school production of "The Patchwork Girl of Oz" and I looked awesome in my emerald gown. I had run to the back hall during Intermission to get a drink of water.
So when the very handsome captain of the football team (whom I had been crushing on for AGES) cornered me, grabbed my waist, and leaned in for a kiss...I should have accepted the awesomeness of it all. Romantic place, gorgeous gown, manly football player? It had all the makings of a chick flick.
The only problem was that I was determined to make it to Sweet Sixteen and Never Been Kissed.
As he leaned in closer, arms firmly around my waist...I had a moment of conflict.
So I did the only reasonable thing a conflicted and panicky girl can do to the boy she seriously wants to kiss.
I punched him. In his stupid, beautiful face.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my high school career in a nutshell.
But today I'm going to tell you about the time I was a Sophomore in Public School.
 |
| Willapa Valley Vikings |
I. Was. Unstoppable.
When I went to my parents and begged to be allowed to attend public school during my sophomore year, they were reasonably nervous. Most kids don't handle high school well even after years of exposure. Yet here I was...a chubby, boisterous, flamboyant 15-year-old homeschooler...determined to take on the glory of public education.
They even took me to a meeting with the school principal so he could convince me to turn back before it was too late. He detailed some of the horrific experiences of homeschoolers who had gone before me. They had been bullied to the point of breakdowns, struggled to adapt to the classroom structure, or flat-out withered in misery.
Was I deterred? Worried? Mildly concerned?
Heck. No.
I was freaking excited...because I am apparently an insane person.
The first day of school approached as I slowly wore my parents down. I got permission to take the bus (GASP), pieced together a new wardrobe (I would be a GODDESS OF FASHION), and started envisioning how awesome life would be once I was surrounded with beautiful High School boys (Oh...heavens).
 |
| Goddess of Fashion...in my own head. |
When I finally walked down those hallowed halls I was not disappointed. Noise, chaos, attractive teenagers, and new things to learn met me at every turn. I was in heaven.
Until day 2.
In retrospect, I can't believe I was surprised that I had attracted notice. Even in my worst fits of insecurity, I still walked and spoke like the pile of awesome that I obviously am. Of COURSE people noticed me. I was glorious.
 |
| Pure Gloriousity |
Never-the-less, I was surprised as I climbed to the second floor and found a group of cheerleaders and several of the more popular jocks laughing pointedly at me.
Now, if I had been more indoctrinated, this would have been the appropriate time to feel a deep sense of foreboding. But at this point in my life I was highly traveled, diverse in experience, and used to dealing with functional adults. The very idea that people could actually be as ridiculous as the average high school student had never crossed my mind. So what did I do?
I barreled straight into the circle of mockery and laughingly asked what had everyone so amused.
A grim and smirking silence fell over the group as the cheer captain handed me a letter. It was addressed to a decently popular football darling and went something like this...
"Dear Ronnie,
I can't hide our love any longer! Let's run away together. This secrecy is killing my soul, and I don't care who knows how much I love you. I want to have your babies!
Love forever,
Rachael"
Oh yes. They were laughing at a love letter supposedly written by me to Ronnie.
They stared at me expectantly, like vultures waiting for the last gasp of breath before tearing the carcass to shreds.
I looked up slowly...eyes brimming with tears,
Of hysterical laughter.
They had spelled my name incorrectly, and I thought it was FREAKING HILARIOUS. Like it was the best joke in the world. I handed the letter back good-naturedly and told them to spell my name right the next time before walking to class in uproarious laughter. I passed by a highly deflated looking Ronnie. I still don't know if he was in on it.
One week later the cheer captain's boyfriend flirted with me during P.E. That afternoon she jumped me in front of school and lit into me about stealing her man. I responded in typical Rachel aplomb and told her to stop being such a child, learn to behave like a lady, and if her boyfriend was lame enough to cheat I wouldn't want him anyway.
The very next morning I was asked to try out for the cheer team and instant friends with the whole caboodle.
This taught me several very important lessons about how dumb teenagers can be.
 |
| Seriously...look how adorable I was. |
But then came...the day.
I was playing Princess Ozma in a school production of "The Patchwork Girl of Oz" and I looked awesome in my emerald gown. I had run to the back hall during Intermission to get a drink of water.
So when the very handsome captain of the football team (whom I had been crushing on for AGES) cornered me, grabbed my waist, and leaned in for a kiss...I should have accepted the awesomeness of it all. Romantic place, gorgeous gown, manly football player? It had all the makings of a chick flick.
The only problem was that I was determined to make it to Sweet Sixteen and Never Been Kissed.
As he leaned in closer, arms firmly around my waist...I had a moment of conflict.
So I did the only reasonable thing a conflicted and panicky girl can do to the boy she seriously wants to kiss.
I punched him. In his stupid, beautiful face.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my high school career in a nutshell.
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