My metamorphosis into the new Amy didn’t go entirely smoothly. I looked different, but it seemed my classmates could see through the illusion. I was just as awkward and nervous as ever. What I really needed was the blessing of someone who was truly popular. And that is when my attention turned to Joanne Price.
Joanne was in my form class, but for the first few months of high school I never even spoke to her. She seemed to live in a world far beyond mine and didn’t have time for mere mortals like me. She looked amazing, like a model in a magazine. She seemed to know everyone at school who was worth knowing, including many of the cool older kids. She was so confident. She never seemed embarrassed, never seemed to be fumbling for the right words. She even had a boyfriend who was a year older than her. I hadn’t so much as kissed a boy.
I spent a lot of time trying to attract Joanne’s attention. I tried to sit near her. I tried to strike up conversations with her. I showered her with compliments. What I wanted the most was to be admitted into her select group of friends. I wanted to be one of that small band of girls who constantly surrounded her.
I didn’t make much progress. Joanne barely acknowledged me. She laughed once at one of my jokes, but otherwise largely ignored me. I started to think my efforts were doomed to fail. Why would someone as pretty and popular as Joanne ever want to be friends with someone like me?
Then eventually there was a breakthrough. After English class one day, Joanne sidled up to me – her entourage in tow – and said: ‘What you doing after school?’
I fiddled with the cuff of my jersey. ‘Nothing.’
‘We’re all heading over to Jellie Park. You want to come?’
I felt a tingle of excitement. Joanne was asking me to hang out with her and her gang. Could this really be true?
I tried to reply as nonchalantly as possible. ‘Yeah, OK.’
‘Cool. We’ll be over at the lake. See you there.’
I was stunned by what had just happened, and I alternated between panic and elation for the rest of the day. I sat through my remaining classes, but I couldn’t concentrate. What did Joanne’s invitation really mean? Was I going to be friends with her now? Was I going to finally be part of her group? Did that mean my transformation had worked after all? Had I managed to slough off the old Amy and become someone new?
What worried me most was that I would somehow mess things up. If I said something stupid to Joanne, I could reveal the old dorky me. Joanne and her gang would then see through all the artifice and realise I wasn’t worth knowing after all. They would see the real me and wouldn’t want anything further to do with me.
My anxiety started bubbling up, to the point where I felt dizzy. So much was at stake. It was overwhelming. Part of me wanted to forget about Joanne’s invite and just go home after school. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with all the emotions washing over me.
But of course I wasn’t going to go home. I was going to go to Jellie Park. That was never in any doubt.
I was quivering with nerves after my last class. I walked across the school to the bike stands, unlocked my bike, and cycled along the path to the gate. It was a clear day, but a cold wind came whipping across the playing fields. I coasted out into the street, following a stream of kids cycling up Greers Road. Shortly after that, I swerved into the green expanse of Jellie Park, then dismounted and wheeled my bike across the grass.
I reached the small lake near the centre of the park. There was no sign of Joanne and the group yet. I leant my bike against a tree and waited for the girls to arrive. The wind sent shivers across the water. The branches of the trees tussled with each other.
I sat on the grass and watched people milling about in the park. A group of boys were playing rugby. Ducks scooted over the water.
Joanne and the others didn’t appear. I stood up and scanned the area. I couldn’t see the girls anywhere. Had I misunderstood? Had Joanne meant to meet another day?
Then I heard laughter on the far side of the lake. Joanne and the gang emerged from a cluster of bushes. Their laughter bounced off the water and ricocheted amongst the trees.
They waved to me, then retrieved their bikes and pedalled away. I could still hear their laughter as they disappeared into the park.
The wind buffeted me.
It was a trick. A joke. Joanne had never meant to meet me after all.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnQ3566lltD
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I was tearful when I got home that afternoon. The world had shifted suddenly and I realised I’d made a huge mistake. Joanne would never be my friend. In fact, it seemed she was going to be an enemy.
I fretted about what she would do next. I worried that she’d tell all the kids in our class about how she’d tricked me. Then everyone would see through my disguise to the sad, pathetic old Amy hidden underneath. I would never become someone new then.
The next day, though, I saw no sign that Joanne had spoken to anyone. It seemed she and her group had kept the whole incident to themselves. I even ended up sitting next to her in English class – I didn’t want to, but I arrived late and the only spare desk left was next to her.
She smirked at me, but all she said was: ‘Sorry about yesterday. It was just a joke. You know that, right?’
I mumbled ‘Yeah’, but didn’t look at her.
From then on, I did my best to avoid her and her gang. I often saw them huddled together, glancing at me and whispering, but otherwise they left me alone. I was back to square one. I still wasn’t cool or popular. But at least Joanne hadn’t humiliated me completely. I started to think I could recover from this setback, that I could continue with my project of reinvention.
As the weeks passed, though, things got worse with Joanne. She took to needling me, teasing me. One mufti day she sat near me in form class and scoffed loudly at my shoes. I’d spent ages the night before deciding what to wear. I thought I’d chosen well, but now I could see I’d let myself down by selecting Bata Bullet sneakers that were ‘cheap and gross’.
Another time, Joanne mocked my hair. Occasionally she implied I was getting fat. Once she asked me whether I was a lesbian, as I didn’t care what I looked like.
I tried to ignore her as far as possible, but her comments started to grind me down. The problem was, in many ways I agreed with her. She was voicing my own nagging self-doubt.
I found myself spending more and more time in front of the mirror cataloguing everything that was wrong with me. My eyes were too far apart. My nose was too big. My lips were too thin. My hair looked bad and no matter what I did with it, I could never get it to look like the women in the magazines.
Then there was my body. I particularly hated my belly, which was flabby and pressed outwards against my clothes. It made me look fat, no matter what I chose to wear. My hips were too wide and my knees were weird and knobbly. Nothing was right.
I felt desperate sometimes. So many thoughts tumbled through my head that I couldn’t keep them under control. With Dad ensconced in his study, I would float around the house, unable to settle. There was nothing I wanted to do. Everything was dissatisfying. I stopped reading books. My old favourites – all fantasy novels – seemed dull and unconnected to my life. I couldn’t be bothered drawing and I hardly ever wrote in my journal any more. For several years I’d been scribbling down thoughts, ideas and bits of what might have been poetry in a series of exercise books. But now I largely gave up on writing. It didn’t make me feel better. It didn’t even distract me.
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