Elementary Femme Fatale

I am fairly certain I peaked in elementary school. Starting about the third grade, I was the heart-throb of Gainesville Country Day School, with the majority of the boys in my class of 25 under my thumb. What has gone wrong since is a mystery; all I can think is that middle school hit and with it an awkwardness for which I was utterly unprepared. Thinking back on it now, I'm not quite sure why I drove 'em all wild. I was just as tall and gawky then as now; even more so. I was possibly the boniest nine year-old in Alachua County. My fashion sense was non-existent and I loved to part my long, wavy, frizzy hair right down the middle. I did this for so many years that I have a tiny bald spot at the top of my hairline marking the center of my forehead. I was also a fairly shy child. I didn't talk to many people in my class; perhaps my eternal quiet and face shaded by messy hair lent an irresistible air of mystery. Either way the boys fawned over me, something I found in equal parts appalling and flattering.

None of this really mattered (with the exception of a certain James Davis whose charms I fell for with alarming ferocity the last two and a half years of my elementary career) until my third grade Thanksgiving Feast. On that day, dressed as pilgrims in long skirts and kerchiefs, and crammed full of turkey and sweets cooked by my fellow classmates, my best friend Maddie and I found ourselves with an hour of free time and nothing to do. As we were both wholly un-athletic, and the only playground activities involved kicking a ball, swings, or the monkey bars, we decided to make some fun of our own. The CSARPLS was born: the Crazy, Scary, Annoying, Running Pilgrim Ladies Society was dedicated to the torment of boys. I thought the name lent an air of clever irony; not as though any of us actually knew what irony was, though...

ANYWAYS. We had a log book in which we thought we'd keep a record of our battles, carefully inscribed with sparkling purple ink. I recently unearthed the log book, long hidden in the detritus beneath my bed, to find a paltry two entries: the first, the mission statement of the CSARPLS, and the second, a glowing account of sneaking up on a boy named Scott Plavac whilst he played goalie in a soccer game. "I came up behind Scotty and shouted and then ran away. He was scared." Actually, I was the only active member; Maddie was even more introverted than me, content to sit on the sidelines and watch my exploits through half-covered eyes. The club lasted, although was only true to its mission statement of male torment for about a week before I completely lost my nerve. Despite my deranged attempt to scare boys/flirt with them (I didn't really see much difference), they continued to fall. The only exception to this rule seemed to be James, whom I seemed to legitimately frighten off, despite being dancing and seat partners for a criminally long period of time. When I actually tried to be attractive, it backfired horribly, something, I'm embarrassed to say, still happens. Maybe it's time to go back to scare tactics...