False Prophets

My years spent in middle school were during the peak of my awkward phase, which I am only now gracefully exiting...so I've led myself to believe. For the years leading up to middle school my group of friends had been predominantly male, and it was during grade eight that I started making a few female friends again. It was also during middle school that I learned that being friends with girls, especially during puberty, can be...confusing.

I had met Tara during art class, and she had the same kind of vulgar humor that I did. Initially our relationship was based solely on our art classes together, but by the end of the year we were e-mailing one another frequently, and occasionally saw each other outside of school.

While neither of us was ever really attracted to one another, as far as I know, a lot of our mutual friends assumed that we were dating because we had a somewhat flirty relationship. Even though I didn't want to date her, and didn't particularly want her to date me, I found it offensive when she reacted with horror every time someone asked us if we were dating. I may not have wanted her to actually be interested in me, I just wanted her to be open to the idea that I might, in some ways, be a viable option.

For the entire time that I knew Tara she was desperately in love with a guy named Bradley. She had written his name all over her binders, had etched his name into a heart on her locker door, and rambled on about him almost constantly. During the first year that I knew Tara, I had learned all about Bradley's habits, favourite foods, what jokes he had told her, and I was starting to feel as though I had come to know this guy better than I knew her. It wasn't until the next year that I found myself not only in a science class with Bradley, but I found myself being made as his partner for the year.

Bradley was...kind of a jackass. He was nothing like how Tara had described him to be, he was clearly not interested in her at all, and, to this day, I still can't figure out why anyone would find him attractive. It's not that he was unattractive, physically, but he was just...really, really stupid. He struck me as someone that had been raised by hill-folk.

For the next few months I wondered more and more what Tara was seeing in Bradley that I was missing, and she would continue telling me stories about how they had both been at a party, he had ignored her, and she had cried. That was the basic premise of every interaction they ever had. Eventually I told her that she either needed to tell him that she liked him, or just leave him alone and move on with her life. She then decided to take my advice, and told Bradley that she was in love with him.

Now, when Tara told me the story in art class, it was a magical evening involving a romantic dinner for two, during which he gave her a gift, followed by a movie and an incredible kiss goodnight. She was very optimistic that they would be together forever. When Bradley told me the story during science class, it was a cheap meal at McDonald's, where he gave her a Happy Meal toy that he had managed to steal when the cashier wasn't looking, they went to see Mission Impossible 2 (trés romantique), and, when he went to kiss her goodnight, she "licked [his] lips and smelled like a burrito."

Needless to say, it wasn't a romantic connection for the both of them, but Bradley had Tara on the hook for quite some time.

At the end of the year, since we were graduating from our middle school and moving on to our high schools, we were given a 'Grade 9 Banquet,' which was essentially a junior prom. We dressed up nice, some kids came in limos, and we had a fancy meal at a country club, and it was actually...a pretty decent night. I was seated with my friends, all of us had gone stag, though none of us had done so by choice, and Tara was seated halfway across the room from Bradley.

I had my meal, staying away from the dancing since there was no one interested in dancing with me, and I eventually found myself sitting outside with a few others. The group of people outside sometimes grew larger, but throughout the evening our numbers shrank increasingly. As the last of us were finally moving inside, I found myself getting knocked away from the door by the frantic flailing of a girl in tears. Naturally, that girl was Tara and, since I was an empathic person in my youth, I chose to hang back and see what was wrong.

I sat next to her on the patio and bumped into her with my shoulder while asking if she was okay. She looked away from me, wiping tears from her eyes and blubbering something incoherently through her tears. I sat beside her patiently, waiting for her to calm herself down, and when she had, she said only one word: "Bradley."

I hadn't imagined that I would be sitting outside, in the dark, next to a crying girl. But it was either that or standing awkwardly against the wall inside watching people dance. I can't remember exactly what I said to her, but I was speaking for a long time, telling her that Bradley was just a guy and that she could do better, I told her that she no one ever met their soul-mate during middle school and she needed to learn to be with herself before she could successfully be with someone else.

By the time I had finished talking, which was a while later, she had finally calmed down and stopped crying, though it's very possible that she was just dehydrated by that point and had no tears left. Now that she was calm, I decided that it was the perfect opportunity to tactlessly ask what Bradley had done to upset her.

"Nothing," she said, her voice strained as though she had just woken up from a coma. "It's just...this is gonna sound stupid." I laughed, thinking that it couldn't get any stupider than it had been for the last two years, but I didn't tell her as much. She took a deep breath and let me in on the secret: "tonight was supposed to be the best night of my life."

"Really?" I asked, probably a little more judgemental than she would have liked, "we're fifteen years old...you can't really believe that this is the happiest you'll ever be?" She started whimpering again and I asked her why she thought this was to be the greatest night of her life.

"Well...I asked a magic eight-ball if it would be the best night ever, and it said yes..." I didn't even know what to say to her at that point, so I just said nothing. On the bright side, I no longer cared about whether or not she considered me a viable option, because I no longer considered her to be one.