So here I am, back from that 20 year high school get-together thing. It wasn’t a formal reunion or anything, it was more like a small smattering of people from four different graduating classes, showing up at the same bar at the same time.
In a way, writing YA is like sentencing yourself to high school all over again. (Your crime is time and it’s 18 and life to go…) At least the way I work, I have to go back there. I have to be in that place. It’s not hard for me to embrace my inner teen. A big part of me never grew up and is stuck there. I guess I just didn’t realize how much.
Anyway, it made me think some more about what it’s like to be young. Remember how dumb that was, when just talking to a guy could start rumors, teasing, speculation, petty jealousies?
And then those same boys grow up to be men who kiss you on the cheek, just to say hello.
Isn’t that lovely?
And aren’t you glad to be a grown up.
The day after this thing, my husband and I went to visit a friend who wasn’t able to make it to the thing. And he’s sitting there asking us questions about it. Now, my husband has this excuse that he missed the last two years of high school with us because he moved away and didn’t move back until it was all over. But I…don’t have that. So we’re talking about who was at the thing, and I was like so-and-so, but I didn’t really talk to them, and so-and-so, but I never made it over to that side of the room. And the friend says, “Did you just sit in the corner all night?”
“Um, yeah, what are you, new?”
“Look who I’m talking to,” with eyeroll.
We had both spoken at once.
And, yeah, what I realized this weekend was that you can’t expect to spend your school career trying to avoid eye contact, and then the next couple decades trying to put the whole miserable experience behind you, and then expect to remember anyone or have them remember you.
So I guess what I really learned this weekend was that, while I thought I took elements of myself and really focused them into something more extreme that is Joss, well, probably myself that was was a bit more extreme than I like to remember.