I walked a girl home in high school . . .

This post has no particular point. But I haven't posted in a while, I don't have any other material, and I have yet to fully plumb the depths of beta-male navel gazing, so . . .

There was a girl in high school. J.S. was tallish, had long blond hair, and an attractively slim physique. In retrospect, she was probably around a 7.5, but it was a small school, and she seemed outstandingly beautiful at the time. She was an accomplished musician, and was one of the few girls to take advanced math (somehow, this didn't buy her any geek cred). She transfered in the same year I did, she as a Junior, I as a Sophmore.

She was almost immediately snatched up by the student body president, a senior to whom I had taken an instant and (retrospectively) irrational dislike. So my chain of reasoning went something like this: she's blond, she's beautiful, she's dating the BMOC . . . she's obviously shallow, self-centered, and will be callous and cruel at the first opportunity. I can't think of any actual evidence for putting her in this particular mental bin of mine, except to say that my experience up to that point led to this intuition.

One evening in the spring semester, a bunch of us were hanging out at the elementary school playground. Just sittin' around talkin'. The group included J.S. Her relationship with BMOC hadn't lasted, but she was still in this mental bin. At some point she stood up, announced that she was going home, and asked the group for a volunteer to walk her there. Something like, "Anyone want to walk me home?"

In the space of about a second, I made the following calculations: I can offer. And she, of course, being shallow and cruel, will say something like, "Ew, not you!" or "Cooties" or something that would satisfy my purpose of demonstrating to everyone how shallow and cruel she was.

So I piped up, "I'll walk you home." But the way I said it, at least in my own mind, was such that it invited the reaction I was expecting. Just a hint of sarcasm, perhaps, maybe some sassiness. And of course she said . . .

"Okay, let's go."

What? I mean, I obviously I mis-heard. A girl like that surely didn't want to be even remotely paired off with me. There must be a trick somewhere that I wasn't in on (again). Where's the trick, where's the trick . . . ?

One of my dorm mates literally had to push me to my feet, saying encouragingly "Go for it, big guy!" So . . . I shuffled off along side J.S. Her house wasn't far, and upon arrival she invited me in, sat me down, and got me something to drink. Lemonade, I think.

I have no recollection what we talked about while I guzzled my (very large) lemonade (because I couldn't waste it) so I could get out of there. I do remember that she smiled, was kind, and made more conversation than I deserved. And I also remembered feeling nervous and totally out of my depth on multiple levels (age, status, etc.)

I don't remember how I processed the event of that evening. But the beauty of the paranoid worldview is that it is inherently unfalsifiable. So my estimation of her didn't likely change. I remember at least one other time that spring that she took the initiative in striking up a conversation with me, and I remember how easy it was for me to tease out an ulterior motive.

I've read some of Spungen's posts about how female social hierarchies work. In retrospect, I'm guessing that her acceptance into the distaff side of high school was not unqualified. In particular, I can imagine that her breezing in and catching the eye of BMOC, however temporarily, may have caused some resentment. So she may have sought companionship with the high school guys to compensate.

I wonder where she is now?