"Chicks and Popularity" Submission #18

Popularity is a concept that creeps into the consciousness of most kids at some point, early in life. For me, it was about junior high. Like most kids, I wanted it, but didn't want to be obvious in my pursuit of it.

A quick self-assessment yielded a few conclusions...

Looks: Somewhere north of hideous.

Athleticism: Better than some, not as good as others. Probably in the upper 50^th percentile.

Intelligence: It was there… somewhere… largely untapped and lacking in regular exercise.

Wit: Quick. Sometimes cutting. Fed when it generated a laugh but ignored when it hurt feelings. (Not a good thing)

Were these the ingredients sufficient for a popularity pie? I didn't know but would soon put them to the test.

Seventh grade was a good year. It was my third full school year in Madrid and I felt like I was hitting my stride. I hung out with a group of guys that seemed to garner the most notoriety and attention… Ed Burke, Mark Gibbons, Mac Cowles, John Long, Kevin Gibbons, Scott Lombardi… to name a few.

And then there were the girls… ah yes, the girls.

I already had a couple GINO’s (Girlfriend In Name Only) in the 5^th and 6^th grades… Lori Smiley, Mary Bimbi… maybe a couple more. But this was now 7^th grade and time to step up my game. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant or where it would lead me… but I knew it was time.

Actual photo of Joni... a couple years prior to 7th grade

As I scanned the female landscape of the Madrid Junior High School, there were a number of pretty, smart and nice girls, but for my money, one stood out… Joni Dalton. She had long, brown hair, was very outgoing and extremely kind. I didn't know of anyone who didn't like her.

Rule number one in the pursuit of a girlfriend in junior high is similar to rule number one for a lawyer in the courtroom… only ask a question if you already know the answer. And in this case, the answer must be in the affirmative or I was abandoning my mission! I dispatched my good buddy, Mac, to infiltrate and collect the needed intelligence.

We were all on the blacktop playground on the west side of the three-story school building. You
could hear the chatter of pre-adolescent boys as they worked in unison to get the merry-go-round spinning a million miles an hour. The girls, on the other hand, talked quietly in groups of two and three. We always thought they were talking admirably about us boys, when in reality, they were comparing notes about Donny Osmond.

Mac approached a small pack of young females and motioned for Joni to come talk to him. He was cool and well-rehearsed as he articulately posed the complex, emotion filled question, “If Bart asked you, would you go with him?”

“Go with him?” “Go steady with him?” “Go out with him?” “Be his girlfriend.” Whatever the vernacular of that day, necessary to procure your buddy a girlfriend… that’s what Mac asked.

I watched from a distance… palms sweating, heart racing. I looked for a clue as to her answer. An enthusiastic nodding of the head accompanied by an ear to ear grin would suffice. I saw neither. Five seconds after Mac initiated contact with her, he was heading toward the school doors as the bell had rung, signaling us that the teachers were once again ready to torture us with grammar worksheets and useless mathematical formulas.

I fought through the sweaty crowd of fellow students until I caught up with Mac. I grabbed him by the arm. “Well?!?”

“She said yes.” He said, matter-of-factly… then he smiled.

I smiled too… as the butterflies took to flight in my stomach. Now what do I do?

I lay in bed that night, running scenarios in my mind about how to actually ask Joni to be my girlfriend. I was always much braver in my imagination at night than I was in reality the next day. In my vivid imagination, I was Romeo… minus the puffy shirt and long hair… in realty, I was a blithering idiot, yet to master the English language.

Days passed. I couldn't work up the courage. Any script that I had mentally prepared the night before always seemed to melt into a pile of nonsense when the time came to actually approach her. 

I needed a prop… a symbol… something that took some off the attention off of me and my words.

A ring! That’s what I needed. Chicks dig jewelry.

I had no money and Madrid had no stores that sold rings even if I did have money. Maybe mom had one.

Mom seemed to get a kick out of my request as she lugged her jewelry box from her bedroom to the kitchen table. As she opened it up, I saw a veritable treasure chest of cheap, costume jewelry. Avon specials. Mom didn't own anything expensive.

She helped me pick out a gaudy ring with a huge, diamond shaped setting made up of small red, white and blue phony stones. It was big enough to cover half of Joni’s hand… almost. And it had that fancy, one-size-fits-all band that you could push the end up under the setting until it fit perfectly.

If this didn't sweep her off her feet… I didn't know what would!

I had Mac give her the ring for me.

I didn't know if she liked it but when I passed her in the hallway, she was wearing it. Couldn't miss it. She smiled at me and my heart melted.

And so it began…

But where would it lead?