We called kissing girls, "scamming."

"Did you scam with anyone this weekend?" Was the kind of question we asked each other. Kissing girls was all the rage.

Also, flannel. When I was in high school it was peak "grunge" era and the hallways were a sea of flannel. Then, as I was leaving high school it was hippies. Everyone was starting to wear hemp necklaces and such.

Field parties. We had giant bonfires. People juggled hot-coals and I would play my guitar for the girls. Violent femmes songs galore. I would figure out any song a girl wanted, if only to be able to report on monday that I had "scammed."

Girls, Beer, Bonfires, Guitars - that was my high school experience.

I have always been a very meritocratic type of person. I believe in a given field, sport or hobby, respect and positions of authority should be given to those who have demonstrated a high degree of aptitude for said field/sport/hobby. I was king of the nerds, captain of the Quizbowl team, because I was the best at it. Since middle school, I had routinely outscored every member of my team, and had enjoyed my 'Captain's Chair.' The title was almost purely symbolic, a Quizbowl Captain has no special privileges or powers or responsibilities during a game, or during practice. My teammates certainly didn't look to me for leadership, and we all helped each other improve on our various weak spots, academically. (Fuck geography to this day) But I had earned it, because I was the best. The expectation was clear, in my mind. If you want to be Captain, score the most points for your team.

Going into my Senior year, the coach who had recognized my talent for trivia, who made me Captain, who encouraged others to emulate me (In game) got a job offer with significantly more $$$ than his current post, and left. Our new coach decided that two years of Captain-ship (Captaincy? Captainhood? The word Captain looks strange now) was enough for me, and gave the title to one of the other seniors, one of my best friends for many years, my intellectual foil, my second-in-command. I was FURIOUS. I don't remember storming out of the room, or raising my voice during that first practice of senior year, but I stayed after and got into a screaming match with our coach. "This position is not a democratically elected one. It is not given based on leadership ability, or charm, or any other metric than performance, and you give it to someone else because it's 'her turn?' " Just writing this out is bringing back the old nerd-rage. She's a perfectly capable QB player, and had been playing as long as I had. But in our 7 years of competition, I think she outscored me in a single game. But it was 'Her turn.' Never mind that she was a captain of our track team (Hurdles, shotput, and had been taking Javelin classes) Never mind that she was Drum Major of our marching band two years running. Never mind that I was solely responsible for near 50% of the points scored in tournament play for the past two years. Never mind that I had been a dominant Varsity level QB player for going on seven years. It was 'her turn.'

I went to this person's wedding not long ago. She's doing great, married to a guy I respect, and a former QB player and collegiate QB coach himself. I wish them the best.

I still wish I could have kept my title.

High school was a confusing time. Still wrestling deep in the throes of puberty, still learning how exactly the basics of the body work. I mean, you're lucky if by the end of it you've mastered the art of the daily deodorant, am I right?

I gotta say, thank god I went to a high school with uniforms. If I hadn't, just the thought of the outfits I would've gone out the house in - oh, I cringe at my imagination. I mean, professional pants and logo'd polos still couldn't save me from the day I wore dark maroon lipstick and bright blue eyeshadow. Or the other day I did my entire head in mini-braids that looked kind of like fake dreadlocks from a distance, which I'd fastened with - oh, you should remember this - those tiny rubber bands your orthodontist would give you to hook on your upper/lower braces to align your jaw. Still, as soon as that 2:30 bell rang, I'd be pulling off my polo just to get out of the uniform, just to be wearing anything else. Hey, as soon as school was out, no one could stop me. I guess all I needed to turn me off of something was someone telling me I needed to be turned on to it.