The Idea of an Essay, Volume 3

56 The Idea of an Essay: Volume 3 to Cassidy and Emily, the girls who made up cheer routines during recess and wiggled their butts until the boys came over. I knew she was wounded by my abandonment of her. But for some reason, whatever remorse I felt, I shoved away. She was a clingy friend who always copied me, and I would get so mad because I wanted my ideas to be my ideas and mine only. No one else could have the same ones as me. I felt what I thought was a righteous anger towards Shianne for this lapse in judgment that caused her to hang out with those girls now, and it fueled my urge to make sure she knew I was better than her. “Although,” I would often think to myself bitterly, “it makes sense for her to hang out with them instead of me because she acts like them anyway, and she is a cheerleader, and she has told me that the only reason she wants to go out with guys is to get kissed.” When Shianne started “going out” with Damon, I was so jealous inside, but I would never admit that to myself. He was widely considered as the cutest guy in all fourth grade, but I was too aloof to ever admit that I, along with the rest of the rabble of swooning girls, thought he was cute too. I knew I wasn’t allowed to go out with boys because I was a Christian and deep down, I resented it. I did everything in the small power I possessed as a smart, fourth grade girl who also happened to be the teacher’s pet and to have the respect- even admiration- of most of my peers, to make Shianne’s life miserable. I had to convince her to “dump” Damon. I appealed to her on moral grounds. My thinking was that since I did not go out with guys because I was a Christian, it was wrong to go out with guys. Period. So I told Shianne that what she was doing was wrong. Our relationship just got nastier and nastier. One day in English class, Mr. Peters told us to do a free-write about whatever was on our minds. Since Shianne and Damon were constantly on my mind, (I was obsessed), I wrote about this. When Mr. Peters asked who would like to share their free writes, my hand was the first one up. I climbed confidently on top of my chair at the bidding of my classmates. I boldly faced the class and delivered a three-minute rant full of run-on sentences and cutting words about all the stupidity of Shianne and Damon’s relationship. As I read, I grew faster and faster. I looked over at Shianne and her face was growing redder and redder. This was just what I wanted. I delivered my speech with all the zealousness of a hellfire and