V's Version

...........Someone was just writng about mean girls and classroom bullying. She asked if we had dealt with (or were ourselves) mean girls. This is what I wrote:

I was often the new kid in town as we moved a lot. This made me pretty good at successfully fitting in with all different kinds of people. But it also meant that, for a long time, not a lot of people knew me well - nor did I know them.

In some kind of hellish twist of fate, my mother decided to move from Florida to Maine during the last quarter of the eighth grade. I walked into a classroom where just about every person had spent the last three years together - many of them had spent their whole lives together. I was an alien with (comparatively) tanned skin, sun-streaked hair and a southern twang. Before the end of the first week was over, I received a note: "You think you're so great. Meet me at the Oaks after school. ---Kelli"

I was (and you may laugh - it's OK now) excited. I thought Kelli wanted to become friends with me and since I was very lonely, I inquired as to where the Oaks were and secretly wondered if she liked to embroider flowers on her jean jacket. It turned out that The Deering Oaks Park, with it's dappled sunlight and duck pond fountain, was right next to the school. I headed over as soon I had gathered my books after the final bell rang.

There were so many kids - all crowded in one place. It looked like they were watching something - an accident or a dead raccoon or something.

"What's happening?" I asked, straining to see over the shoulders of the outer edge of the circle.

"Fight," someone said.

I could feel the adreneline. I had never witnessed a real knock-down-drag-out fight between two kids. I once was pounded on the top of my head by a very tall mean girl who must have been in a bad mood in gym class one day. And another time my lip took a wicked upper cut in defense of my friend as her older sister tried to steal her violin for drug money. Then there were the verbal tête-à-têtes with the Cuban girls in Florida (another story altogether) but never a real fight with a crowd cheering on and everything.

"Who is fighting?" I asked. I could feel my breath quicken.

"The new girl."

“Oh.”

There was a moment of confusion until I realized that **I** was the new girl. I stood frozen and horrified in my beige T-shirt with the glitter bubble letters that proclaimed: "Here Comes Trouble". I had NO IDEA how to actually fight. But what was I supposed to do? Easily half the school was there. If I backed down, it would be certain social death. If I fought - ? - I couldn't even picture it.

I wish I could say that I managed to slip away undetected but I did not. I was pushed to the center of the crowd to face Kelli.

I stood tall and bravely joked, as it seemed the best way out of having to physically fight. I had nothing to fight about – except maybe to save some dignity at that point. She finally threw the first punch and I guess I must have come back swinging because when the police showed up, she was bleeding.

I was declared the winner but I didn’t feel any victory in it at all.

I was pegged as tough and, later, much worse. If a girl was strong, she was seen as a threat that had to be taken down and squelched. Because my initials matched the 1970s acronym equivalent to today’s “STD” or “AIDS”, my name was an easy vehicle for the take down.

By the 9th grade, “V.D. has V.D” and “V.D. is a slut” and “For a good time, call V.D.” was etched by the mean girls in every bathroom stall, on many wooden desks and in the smokers' alley. My mortification reached new heights when the boys made up stories of our “adventures.”

I could have been bitter but it’s not my style. And, as luck would have it, by the 10th grade it seemed clear that I would spend all of high school in one place. I worked hard to fit in with as many "crowds" as possible. By 1982 or so, I had the confidence to just be myself.

I was strong, but not mean. I was sexual, but with a heart and some morals. I was usually where the fun and action were. And, although I was different from the kids who had grown up together, I used that difference to bridge the groups. I could hang with the potheads and share classes with the honor students. I was Captain of the Pep Squad and was nice to the loners in the library. Some people would have said that I was very popular by the end of high school but I always felt just a little bit on the outside – not ever truly being ensconced in any one group.

I think we are all in the center of the circle together and we are all looking into it as well.