Thirteen

Thirteen. The age where innocence becomes deviance and immaturity takes
on a whole new level. The age of cologne. The age of Listerine. The age
of trying to impress girls. At age thirteen, we were on top. We had
house phone numbers of girls scribbled on dingy notebook paper scraps
folded in our wallets. We had received magical pecks from metal infused
mouths, held hands with two-week girlfriends, and hugged until we were
blue. We called ourselves pimps regularly. We didn't know any better,
after all, we were just thirteen...

As Peter and I strutted down the center of the hallway, we gazed at
each and every female body around us. We were basically wearing the same
thing: a polo shirt, khakis, and new tennis shoes. Our hair was
identical too: dark brown, with blonde highlights streaking through. It was
short, but not too short, because then we wouldn't be able to sport the
Pee-Wee Herman-esque flip up in the front. We looked like we had
somewhere to go. But, in truth, we didn't. We were just roaming the halls,
girl-gazing as usual. You see, we had both just come off of short
relationships with girls on the circuit. The circuit was a group of maybe ten
guys and ten girls that at some point had all dated each other. It was
kind of a routine for us. Once you break up with one girl, you move on
to her friend, start a fight between the two, and then repeat. It
wasn’t long before we had learned to get creative with the fights we
started. One time I broke Peter’s “relationship bracelet” given to him by a
circuiter; this resulted in a four-way female fight, and a twelve
person trip to the Principal’s office. It had gotten to a point where we
had completely ran out of ideas. We had both gone through the circuit at
least twice. We were sick of uttering “uhhhhh, we need to talk”, every
couple weeks. We were sick of dealing with pre-teen drama daily. And
most of all, we were sick of standing at the door, lips puckered, only
to hear the sound of grasshoppers and a door being slammed. As a
result, we had officially decided to date outside the circuit once and for
all. This was a groundbreaking decision for our friends, unheard of even.
To date outside of the circuit? Preposterous! Our next objective, of
course, was the search. We needed to find two willing girls to become
our new girlfriends. This was the sole thought on our minds as we
strolled through the halls of Brady Middle School, where we were the oldest
kids in the school, "the big 8th graders". Then, at that very moment,
Peter had a great idea...finally. He led me across the school into
uncharted territory for us: the 7th grade hallway.
       
        "What are we doing here?" I asked cautiously. He was now grinning ear
to ear at me.

        "This is it my friend. After years of stupid relationships with those
prude girls, I finally have the solution." he said.

        "7th graders?"
       
        "Yes, 7th graders," he responded. "Just think about the possibilities!
These girls are different! We are older dudes, we are badasses!" Pete's
voice rose.

        "Badasses, ey? Dude, you might be on to somethin’ for once...Chances
are these girls don't even know shit about us or our relationship
history. This could be golden!" I began to share his excitement.

        "Yeah dude, this is gonna work!" he said.

        "Alright...well, should we go and scout now...or should we regroup,
redress, and come back tomorrow?"
        "Ummmm, let’s wait. We can come back tomorrow during study hall. Make
sure your clothes and hair are pimped out though," he said.

        "Oh, I've already got it covered. My mom just got me a new bottle of
gel, and my favorite shirt was just washed. Dude I'm so fuckin' ready."

        "You have no idea...,” Pete said devilishly.
        We rocked our fists together, turned away from the 7th grade entrance,
and went back to study hall without words. I could only imagine what
was going on inside of his stupid little head at the time, but I know my
mind was racing, thinking of possible prospects, possible outcomes,
and, at the time, most importantly, possible pecking. The rest of the day
was a blur. When I got off the bus I went in my house and immediately
set out my outfit for the day to come. I first laid out my new jeans,
which were slightly faded in the middle of the legs, and frayed towards
the bottoms. My shirt was gray, and proudly displayed in thick red
letters the words chick magnet, just in case people were wondering. I was
so excited for this new adventure that I even laid out my socks. I
figured I needed as much time on my hair as possible the next morning, so
I couldn’t be worrying about my clothes.
        I spent the rest of the day playing video games and daydreaming. I
thought of the looks on our old girlfriends’ faces as we would pass by
with our new, prettier girlfriends under our arms. It would be amazing.
The only thing that could bring me more satisfaction would be the first
date. It would have to be a double date, of course, because despite our
cocky demeanors, even we knew that we weren’t that badass…yet.
Sleeping that night was tough. It could have been the fast-paced pop/punk we
used to listen to, but it was probably just my nerves. Thoughts of
late night hook-ups and pretty 7th grade girls filled my head to the point
where all I could do was pass out on my leopard-print bed.

        That unbelievable obnoxious alarm couldn’t have sounded any sweeter.
I sprang out of bed and with a hop in my step, and jumped into the
shower. I must’ve set a world record for showering that morning. I swear
I was in and out in under a minute flat. Next came the crucial part in
the morning, where I needed to mold my hair before it got to be too
dry. I brushed it all backwards, and then forwards to create the perfect
flip. Each hair was spiked perfectly upwards. Pee-Wee himself
would’ve been impressed. I went and threw my clothes on quickly, and then I
took another shower, only this time it was in cologne. You could smell
that sweet pungent aroma all the way from the high school. I was all
ready to go. The bus rolled up to my torn up driveway and made a
screeching halt. I briskly walked down my driveway, across the street, and
then climbed into the start of an adventurous day.
        My bus arrived next to Pete’s, so I waited for him to get off, and we
began walking.
        “Lookin’ good, pimp,” he said in a 1970’s soul voice.
        “Thanks bro, not so bad yourself. You pumped?” I asked.
        “Oh yeah…Oh yeah…Oh…YES!” He was wide-eyed, now almost delirious.
        “Whoa man, I get it.”
        “Heh. Dude, which door should we walk through?” he asked. I surveyed
the scene. “Mmm…let’s go through on the 7th grade side…catch a quick
glimpse, strut our stuff, ya know?” I replied.
        “Oh I know, I know. Let’s do it then,” he said.
        “Okay, but we are just going to walk by it, not thought it yet,
alright?”
        “Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” he said.
        Suddenly, the scene went dark around us, and a spotlight shined on us.
Hard rock began playing in the background as we stepped to the beat.
Our eyes began to slightly squint and our lips pursed up. We clenched
our jaws, and puffed up our chests. We entered the building and never
stopped to talk or even look around. I could feel sets of eyes on me,
undressing me for sure, I thought.
        “Hey guys” a girl’s voice said. Our badass music video came to a
screeching halt. Fuck. We turned around. It was Kelly, a circuit regular.
        “God dammit Kelly!” Pete yelled.
        “What, what did I do?!?” she asked nervously.
        “Nothing, nothing is up, okay?” I said.
        “Whoa, fine, be a dick about it...” she said
        “Yeah we will, peace,” I said, as I shooed her away. Confused, she
walked away towards her friends.
        “Fuck Kelly dude. She just fucked up our whole entrance!” Pete said.
        “Dude I know, I hope no one saw. We can’t be seen talking to these
lame ass girls anymore.”
        “Dude, tell me about it. We were pimpin’ so hard too, I could feel
it! I thought I saw a group of girls out the corner of my eye checkin’
us out too,” he said excitedly.
        “Alright, from now on, we just aren’t talking to circuit girls
whatsoever. Silent treatment, ya know?”
        “Deal, I don’t want to talk to them anyway. Fuck em’,” Pete said
grimacing, “Don’t even make eye contact”.
        “Haha, deal.” I said, pleased.
        “Okay dude, I gotta go to class, but we’ll meet up after lunch, and
during study hall we can go through that hallway and put the moves on
some lucky ladies,” he said. He couldn’t have sounded any cornier, but I
of course, agreed.
       
        I didn’t pay attention in any of my classes. My mind wandered from
what facial expression I would put on, to my walk, to how my hair looked.
Then a bigger question popped into my head: what was I going to say? I
thought that maybe it would be the ideal time to use one of those nifty
pick-up lines I had been hearing since the 5th grade. However, my
racing thoughts were interrupted by another one of those damn circuiters.
This time it was Rebecca, my most recent ex.
        “Hey, what’s the answer to number six?” she asked.
        I looked up, shook my head at her, and flicked her off! To this day,
I still can’t believe I did that. Her jaw must’ve dropped right past
her training bra just then; I had never seen anything like it. The
beauty of it was, I didn’t give a shit. We were moving on to bigger and
better things, at least bigger than a training bra. Shortly after the
altercation, another circuit girl approached me, Amanda.
        “Adam, why did you just flick off Becca?”
        I simply laughed, and turned my cheek.
        “Fine, if you don’t want to talk to us, you probably aren’t interested
in coming to my birthday party this Friday either, I’ll just take you
off of the list”. I gave her an uber-sarcastic frown, and once again,
turned my cheek. They were truly steamed, and I was truly excited.

        The bell rang and I was off to lunch. I didn’t eat. I was too afraid
I would eat something that would either get stuck in my braces, or make
my breath smell. I fidgeted about and stared at the clock for the
majority of the period. It was gametime. Although Peter sat at a
different assigned lunch table than I did, I knew he was going through the same
things I was. The bell rang. The heavy rock music began to set in
again, and the lights dimmed. Everyone disappeared but the two of us. In
slow motion, we stood up, met half way across the room. And, in unison,
made our way towards the 7th grade hallway. Our footsteps matched step
for step. No one was going to stop our badass music video this time.
This time sparks were flying in the dusty rubble behind us as our
muscles tensed. We quickly reached our final destination, and the music cut
out and the dust settled. We entered. A magical nervous feeling began
to take over our bodies. A single bead of sweat formed where my hair
met my forehead, and this hair gel-infused sweat dripped into my eye.
To us, it seemed like there was not a single 7th grade boy in that
hallway. I saw groups of girls every couple of feet.
We had reached the promised land, a new beginning.

       
        We had decided earlier that we were going to walk down once, turn
around, and then pick our prey from there. We were now deep in their
territory and there was no turning back, despite the butterflies in my
stomach. Again, we felt the eyes on us. I didn’t turn my head though, for
we were the badass 8th graders, and we didn’t care about the 7th grade
girls and their petty little lives. We continued down the hallway and
I couldn’t help but hesitate and turn my focus to two girls talking by
themselves towards the end of the hallway. I zeroed in. They didn’t
see us yet, so staring was still morally okay. I fancied the one on the
left. She was a brunette, my favorite. Her name was Carli. She had a
slender frame, but was very “developed” for her age. She was wearing a
forest green tank top, and jeans so tight they looked like they had
been painted on. She looked up. Our eyes met. “Shit”, I thought to
myself, “Keep your cool Adam, remember you’re the older guy”. Out of the
side of my mouth, I told Pete where they were standing.
        “Six o’clock,” I whispered, “Six o’clock”.
        “What? Oh, six o’clock, got it.”
        Dumbass. He stared at them right away. It was standard procedure to
wait three to four seconds before you sneak your quick glance. He
apparently never got the memo. He began to veer us towards them. My
nerves were racing. The gel and sweat combination began to run down my
attempted 8th grade sideburns. They saw us coming, and nervously looked at
the ground, then back at us, then at the ground again. We had earlier
discussed that Pete would talk first when the time was right. The time
was now right, and I know that I didn’t have anything to say. I
mentally froze, I just sure hoped Pete didn’t. He didn’t. I saw his mouth
start to open in that devilish way again. “Oh God,” I thought, “Here it
goes...”
        “Hey sweet stuff” he blurted out, and just as he started the ‘S’ in
“stuff” a single dime sized ball of saliva flew threw the air.
        “No fucking way,” I thought.
        My eyes were glued on the spit as it traveled for what seemed like
hours through the air. It was headed right for Carli, and hit her
directly between the eyes. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the splash was so
large, it reached the other girl as well. Before the next ‘S’ for
‘Sorry’ could come out, there were two hands flying through the air, followed
by a sound similar to that of lightning striking a large tree. We were
hit with such force that the pain didn’t set in right away. Slowly,
handprints appeared on our cheeks. You could see each red finger outlined
on our faces. It felt like being stung by a bee twice in the same
spot. Baffled, we stood and watched our prospects run frantically into a
nearby restroom. I looked at him, amazed, and began to open my mouth.
        “Shutup,” he said.
        “Nice one,” I retorted.
        Without words, we turned around, and with our tails between our legs,
started back towards the 8th grade hallway. The walk seemed like a
journey across the country. It was probably no more than fifty feet.
Knowing the Orange School district, word had probably already gotten back
to the circuiters by the time of our arrival.
        As we entered the hallway, the first thing we saw were ten middle
fingers, dressed in Tiffany rings, and diamond studded bands, taunting us,
laughing. The laughter and smiles then turned into the dirtiest looks
thirteen-year-old boys have ever received. We weren’t ready for that.
They knew exactly what we had tried to pull. We turned around yet
again, but this time we had nowhere to go. We were abandoned by our old
stomping grounds. The 7th grade hallway was clearly out of the picture,
and the 6th grade hallway was just unacceptable. It was common
knowledge that the two-grade relationship gaps weren’t cool until high school.
For that moment, we were officially homeless pimps.
        “Hey, Levine…”
        “What now dude?” I said impatiently.
        “What about those Solon girls from camp…easy targets!”
        I smiled, “Let’s do it.”