When a group of males were asked if they consider me attractive, they responded, “She has a spunky personality.” Perhaps this explains my numerous unsuccessful experiences with boys.
My misadventures began from the get-go. I was reminded of this when I recently came across my elementary school Lisa Frank diary. On the cover, she’s strutting her stuff and walking a genetically impossible neon poodle. It has a lock but it’s just one of those cheap ones you can practically open with your fingernail. Flipping through it, the sensation of Eli Bloom’s small, clammy hands enveloped in mine came flooding back. Me and Eli- we had the original “It’s Complicated” relationship. I told him I liked him in kindergarten but he didn’t say it back so I bit him on the arm. In second grade, he finally consented to me kissing him and I remarked on the smooch in my diary: “I kist Eli on the lipps. He did not like it.” I should’ve read the signs, because for some reason I was surprised when seven years later he came out of the closet.
In fourth grade, I was still pretty awkward, and I was still trying to figure out how to laugh without resembling a horse, but I decided to give the opposite sex another go. I told another boy I liked him in clear, distinct language, and he replied, “I like pie, too.”
Freshman year, I tried to make eyes at a cute twenty-something across the street when I realized I was in a school bus.
Sophomore year some things went right. I began kissing an adorable British boy at summer camp, under the impression he had a crush on me, but then he stopped talking to me after only a week of our dalliances. I was determined to get to the bottom of this. Sixteen days after The Last Kiss, I finally worked up the nerve to pull him aside after a bland lasagna dinner in the mess hall. I skipped the small talk.
“Do you like me?” I said.
“Yeh.” He said Londonly, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Really? Because I am not feeling the like.”
“Oh! Oh, roight. Well, that week wus awesum, but oye down’t think we should do that anymoh.”
I asked him if was ever going to approach me to tell me this information. He shrugged and replied, “Eventually.”
I still didn’t know why he halted our little romance. I pondered over the events of that week as I watched the talent show, struggling to remember any faux-pas I perhaps committed. I couldn’t recall any unintentional insults or body odor.
I had one more question. I caught him right before put-to-bed to ask him.
“If you wanted to end us kissing, why did you say you liked me today?”
“You meant as friends, roight?”
That was the summer I discovered I don’t like introverts.
But eventually I learned how to laugh like a human, the braces came off, and I sorta discovered who I am, so I guess I have a few more things going for me. So, one more time, I threw all my cards out on the table- last month, I told this musician guy, “I like you!” and lo and behold, he said, “I like you, too!” I was like, “Sweet. Wanna go make out in the bathroom now?” And we did.
So I’ve been luckier in the male category as of late. I guess I’ve been putting out the right vibes or something. But I still haven’t figured out how to dress like a badass without looking like a lesbian.
Lyris Schulman, Age 16, Grade 11, Professional Performing Arts High School, Gold Key