Hancock Park (19 page)

G
ive a speech in front of the whole school—just what I wanted to do. A month before, I might have been up for it. But now, not so much. Every year, before winter break, there's an All-School Assembly recapping the highlights and events of the first part of the year. Music and dance groups sometimes do performances, the student body president makes a speech, and a few other students are also asked to speak. This year, I was one of them. I had never been asked to give one of these speeches before. Talking to the Parents Association was one thing—giving a speech to the whole school was another. Mr. Elwright had told Ms. Morton about me winning the gavel at the MUN conference and about my project of building a
school in Uganda, and she was—according to Mr. E.—so impressed that she insisted I be one of the winter assembly speakers.

But the last thing I wanted was to get up on stage and be able to see the entire junior class—as well as girls in other classes—whispering and gossiping about me while I spoke. During Advisory on Friday, one of my seventh-grade advisees had approached me and asked if I was upset that my boyfriend had dumped me for Courtney Gross. I had tried to come up with a remark that would show just how over it I was, but I didn't think I'd succeeded. What struck me most about the situation was that seventh graders knew. And if seventh graders knew, that meant that
everyone
knew.

Friday morning came. I put on a freshly ironed polo shirt and made sure that my boxer shorts didn't show below my skirt. I blow-dried my hair and even put on some makeup. I wanted to look my best. I hoped that looking good would help me to feel good. I had memorized my speech but brought a printed copy just in case I needed it.

After a performance by the modern dance troupe, it was my turn. “Hi, my name's Becky Miller,” I started. And then I stopped. I thought about how crazy my life had gotten this semester. I thought about my Shit Lists and my Bright Side Lists. My prepared speech seemed so stupid, so boring, and so irrelevant. And finally, for once, I wanted to say what I meant. I wanted to speak the truth and not hold back. I looked out at five hundred waiting
faces, and began again.

“I was asked to speak about my accomplishments with Model United Nations this fall and about the great first semester I've had this year. But the truth is, although my MUN experience has been great, I've had kind of a rough time recently.” All of the murmurs in the hall died down. It was silent, and I had everyone's attention. “This fall, I got caught up in a silly quest for popularity. I cared too much about what other people thought about me and found myself doing the opposite of what Whitbread teaches us to do—to hold firm to our beliefs and never be afraid to state our opinions. In one particular situation, I found that I shied away from voicing my opinions because I was afraid that my opinions would affect my popularity. Instead of speaking out, I took the passive route, a decision that might have cost me a very important friendship. I want to take my time up here today to say to you that I am done with being passive. I am done with not saying what I think and with trying too hard to fit in. This past month, my boyfriend turned out to be a jerk and then posted some mean stuff about me online. The day after we broke up, a girl who I thought was one of my best friends started going out with him.”

I was sure that if I looked to where the Trinity were sitting, there would be a lot of activity. I knew that I could take this opportunity to mention that his new girlfriend had failed chemistry and had a boob job, but why bother? I didn't need, or want, to sink that low.

Upon hearing about my breakup and betraying best friend, a chorus of
awww
s emerged from the audience. “No,” I stopped them. I didn't want them feeling bad for me. “No. It's okay.” Then I added, “
I'm
okay.”

Then the applause began. It quickly gained momentum until I was receiving a standing ovation from almost the entire school. Blood rushed to my face. “The most important thing I learned this semester is this: that you should never sacrifice who you are in order to conform to other people's expectations of who you should be. Whether it's at an MUN conference, where another delegate is trying to convince you to sign onto a resolution that your country doesn't agree with, or whether it's with your friends or boyfriends.” I received another round of applause as I stepped off the stage. I was grinning widely, filled with adrenaline and relief. I had no idea that speaking the truth would feel so good.

 

Later that day, Taylor approached me in the hall. “You were really brave to say all that stuff up there today.”

“I just hope you'll forgive me for, you know, that whole Facebook situation.”

“It hurt me that you didn't stand up for me, but, I mean, I guess I can understand why you didn't. You know something? I always saw you as this girl who was just brimming with self-confidence.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I guess that's why I couldn't quite understand
why you wanted to be friends with
them
.”

I shrugged. It flattered me that she had thought I possessed so much self-confidence, but I was trying to stop caring so much about what other people thought of me. What mattered was what
I
thought of me. Nonetheless, I was glad that Taylor was speaking to me again. She was a genuinely sweet girl who I had hurt unfairly. “So, feel free to say no,” I ventured, “but would you maybe want to go out for coffee this weekend? We could go to Peet's or something?”

Taylor paused, looked me in the eye, and said, “No, I don't think so.”

“Oh.” I should have been expecting that. “Yeah, I understand.” Taylor nodded, silent.

“I just hope you know how sorry I am. Your friendship means a lot to me, and if I could do things over, I would….”

“But you can't.”

“I guess I can't.” I wanted to tell her that I could try to do better in the future, that I
would
do better, but I could see that she wasn't ready to believe me. And why should she? It's not like I'd been such a great friend so far.

“I should get to class,” she said.

I nodded. “See you around?”

“Yeah. See ya.”

I stood there for a minute, watching Taylor walk down the hallway, away from me.

M
om had decided to sell the Doheny Park apartment—once the repairs were finished, of course—and went into escrow on a house in Hancock Park, only four blocks away from Whitbread and eight blocks from my dad's house. Mom, moving fast as always, set “Immediately” as the moving date.

So we packed up our stuff from the Four Seasons and moved to South Arden Boulevard. The house was light blue with bright white shutters and a garden in the front. It felt fresh.

Just four months before, I had carried a suitcase of
possessions from my dad's house into a foreign apartment at Beach Tower. Now I was back in Hancock Park, and I was just as popular as I had been at the beginning of the school year, which is to say, not very. Taylor still hadn't forgiven me, but I'd done my best and hoped that someday we'd be friends again. Although I wasn't necessarily happy yet, I knew that someday, I would be. And even though my life was far from perfect, I had started to believe that just maybe it was actually going to be okay.

That Saturday morning, I carted boxes of books into my new bedroom as Pam Michaels and my mother walked around the house determining what the best layout for the furniture would be. My brother played video games in his room. A little past noon, the doorbell rang. It was Joey. “Hey,” he said. “How are you doing?”

“Better.” I was starting to actually believe in my words. “Thanks for, you know, being there for me. It meant a lot.”

Joey's cheeks flushed a little. Joey was looking into my eyes so sincerely that it made me feel light-headed. “Of course. Anytime.” Then he added, “Hey, um, do you want to go get lunch on Larchmont or something?”

We started off down the block walking side by side, our steps almost in rhythm. Then, slowly and gently, Joey reached out his hand to meet mine. Our fingers interlaced, and a shiver traveled up my arm. Joey turned to look at me, and I looked right back at him. I smiled, then turned back to look at the sidewalk in front of me.

Back in Hancock Park, it was almost as if I had come full circle—except not quite. Because in the past four months, a lot had changed. I had changed, and I would continue to change. Maybe my time in high school wouldn't be the best years of my life. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Because if you peak at sixteen, then really, what was there to look forward to in life?

I was ready to stop looking backward, ready to stop focusing on what could have been, and ready to start focusing on what still could be.

It was my life, and I was going to own it.