The Girl in the Pink Tutu and Vans
She was the dream girl of every awkward, prepubescent boy that didn’t wear baseball jerseys to school. The kind of girl every guy in jeans and a dark sweatshirt in the middle of June liked, the guys that talked more about the previous night’s Left for Dead game then the latest school couples or fade. The guys that let their hair grow long and shaggy and greasy because their parents didn’t have the heart to tell them to cut it. The guys that cared more about the latest video game releases then the latest sports highlights. The guys that called themselves “husky” instead of “fat ass” like the others called them. You know, those guys. You either were one or you weren’t. Middle School has a pretty rigidly defined caste system, no one fell through the cracks.
She was the envy of these boys. The girl who dyed her hair blue and wore ironic shirts and skinny jeans and Vans. The girl who could hold her own in any Call of Duty game, the girl who watched anime, laughed at fart jokes and listened to the same shitty pop-punk and heavy metal bands as the hundreds of those guys that followed her around like lap dogs. The girl that wore a turtleneck, welding goggles and a bright pink tutu over a pair of skinny jeans. All brought together in a pair of faded Vans on her miraculous feet to subtly hint the possibility that she might have a skateboard. Of course none of these types did, but Middle School only relies on a hint of something so banal to make others think that you’re more then what you appear.
These girls always draw a following. You know them either because they stream by you in the hallway and you just shake your head, or you’re another foot soldier in that army fighting desperately for her attention. When you’re thirteen everything seems so permanent, everything seems so final. She’s your soulmate; every guy following her thinks she is and each one is clamoring over the other stocky white boys in band hoodies and loose cut Size 34 jeans for her approval. Desperate invites to pizza and Call of Duty or concerts with the latest pre-packaged pop-punk, angst bands are hurled her way and a small part of her likes the attention. She’s one of those girls, not a blonde princess with the ability to make every jock flex his muscles. Not one of those popular girls that sneers as her idiot friends cackle when she walks by. She’s never said-out loud at least-a single mean thing about the popular girls yet she sees the way they whisper and read the garbage they write on the bathroom walls.
Sometimes those guys and those girls get together and they become them. The couple that both laughs at fart jokes, that both watch anime and play Call of Duty and listen to shitty pop-punk. And all those guys, those remaining singles in their tight knit, survival community they call their friend group stare enviously as the two walk hand in hand down the hallway until he has to go off to English and she to Physical Science. Because they all think she’s the only girl for them. That she’s always going to be their soulmate.
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Just a little something I had cooking in my brain. :)