Scott, age 13

"All of me, why not take all of me
Can't you see I'm no good without you?
Take these arms, I want to lose them
Take these lips, I'll never use them
Your goodbye, left me with eyes to cry
How can I go on dear without
You took the part that once was my heart.
Why not take all of me?"
-NOFX via tons of Jazz singers (the Billie Holiday one is lovely)

Summer camp is a weird place. And considering I went to academic summer camp, it was even weirder. After the year that I detailed below, I was all set to go to faux college for three weeks and reinvent myself. And oddly, it worked. I was one of the cool kids. Ok, being a cool kid at nerd camp is about as impressive as being the least mentally challenged cast member of Jersey Shore, but I was still super psyched. I sat at the table in the dining hall, and people, shockingly, vied for a seat next to me. I felt like I was playing an elaborate trick on everyone, because I knew these kids were actually popular at home, and I was always kind of worried they'd figure me out. One thing I was particularly scared about was my lack of experience with boys. I was still a kissing virgin, whereas all the other cool girls talked about boyfriends and hook ups all the time. But with a few white lies, I managed to cover up my secret.
And then I met Scott. He was totally the alpha male on campus, with his polo shirts and that ubiquitous gelled spike hair that was so popular in the early 2000s. And for some unknown reason, he liked me. We flirted, albeit poorly on my end, for a week or two, and I got exponentially more obsessed every day. We sat next to each other for lunch, on the bus for “educational field trips” (one of those was to a cranberry bog.) (All I learned is that I don't like cranberry juice), and I KNEW, I just KNEW that he was going to kiss me eventually. It's a heady feeling, the first time you feel that from a boy. I started to think, you know, maybe this is it. Maybe I changed. Maybe, when I start High School, I'll finally be the girl the boys like. If Scott liked me, maybe the other popular boys would too. If Scott saw something in me, maybe I did, in fact, have something to offer.
The wrench in my plans can in the form of a tall, thin girl named Paige from Michigan, of all places. She had a goddamn streak of purple in her hair, and she was just effortlessly pretty. I have never been, and will never be, an effortless girl. I couldn't compete.
Keep in mind I had already started angst-ing out at this point. I had a pair of navy Converse that I had marked with lyrics from NOFX and Anti-Flag, which was (in my mind) the ultimate rebellion. Now, I'm not sure exactly why I had lyrics like “Gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government? Die for your country? That's shit!” visible on my shoe when I probably couldn't have even explained the electoral college to you, but I no longer understand most of my teenage reasoning, so let's just go with it. Anyway, with my safety pinned wristbands and studded belt, I was pretty positive I was hot shit. Or so I thought. When Scott started openly courting Paige in the same ways he had courted me days earlier, I was crushed. All the other girls gave me the platitudes that would be echoed for years to come whenever a relationship went bad: he's not worth it, you're too good for him, she isn't even that pretty.
Ok, quick sidenote, where did we all learn those same sentences? I've said them a thousand times to girls and boys alike, and sometimes even meant them, but have they ever actually helped?
And we're back.
So like I said, I was pretty upset. This was my fresh start, my first cool boy, and now fucking Paige had ruined it. (I still hate the name Paige. What a bitch.) Everything came to a head on the last night before camp ended.
We were having a “Take Back The Night” event, and believe me, I know being preoccupied with my own proto-romantic drama was pretty inappropriate for an educational night about rape, and now I kind of feel like an asshole remembering it. But to be fair, rape was so abstract to me at that point because I had only snuck glaces at soft-core porn on Skinemax, so I didn't even really get what penetration was all about, let alone forced penetration. All I knew at that point was that I felt uncomfortable when it was just me and the janitor in an elevator. I had no idea why, or even what would happen if things went bad, but there you go. So we walked around campus, our college age counselors trying to open our little minds to the horrors of sex violence, and I was busy watching Paige and Scott walking together, brushing arms every once and again. So I started crying, and one of the counselors thought I was just being emotional because of the content ( I wasn't even paying attention). She tried to calm me down, but I just cried more, so they took me to the infirmary, where the nurse kindly asked me if I had been sexually abused. While I was trying to explain that no, I hadn't been inappropriately touched by a male relative, Paige and Scott were having THEIR first kiss in the courtyard. We left the next day, and I couldn't even face them. Again, fuck you Paige.
Anyways. This is before the days of Facebook and MySpace, so finding a summer camp love interest wasn't as easy as a simple search. But Scott, myself and our other friend (I totally forget her name, but she looked JUST LIKE the girl from Zenon, so I'll call her Zenon) all lived in Massachusetts and Zenon lived directly between me and Scott. Zenon (Ok, this is ridiculous) called me on my house phone and said Scott wanted to see me, and that we should all hang out at her house. So I convinced my mom to drive me to Z's house for an afternoon and a sleepover. I got there early, and waited with Z for about an hour for him to show up. His big brother dropped him off, which I thought was the coolest thing I had ever seen, and we proceeded to do what all thirteen year olds do when they hang out: go to the mall. I was shy at first, seeing Scott in a whole new light. We were outside the familiar ground of summer camp, and IN REAL LIFE. Eventually, after we got tired of loitering, we hung out in Z's basement (the other adolescent habitat). It was decorated in vomit green wicker furniture which, she explained, used to be her grandparents. Z's mom called down around seven when Scott's brother came to pick him up. Z, being as smooth as she could, ran upstairs first. Scott turned to me, and there it was: my first kiss. As his tongue shoved around my willing mouth, I was elated and, well, confused. We broke it off after a few seconds, and he went upstairs, waving at me as he left.
I never saw or talked to Scott again. I told my friends about my kiss, leaving out the whole “I got dumped for a mid-westerner and then was sloppy seconds” part of the saga, painting it out to be the most romantic event ever. But having a first kiss at summer camp is like saying your grandpa invented Pop-Tarts: no one can prove you wrong, but they sure as hell don't believe you. But I knew better. Maybe it was a little late, but the king of nerd camp HAD picked me. I felt like my options had opened a little, and maybe I wasn't the loser those locker-boys had made me out to be.
Two summers later, I was still going to the same nerd camp. A girl in my dorm suite mentioned she was from Sharon, the same town Scott was from.
“Hey! Do you know Scott _____?” I was all ready for her to drool over him, all ready to tell my anecdote from way back when with a flip of my newly highlighted hair.
“Oh yeah, that kid Scott. Oh man, he got teased so bad he had to transfer schools. Yeah, everyone called him a fag all the time. He got beat up a lot.”
I was shocked. My Scott? There had to be a case of mistaken identity. MY Scott was a pre-teen god!
And that's when I realized why he picked Paige in the first place. It wasn't me, or what I had or didn't have. It was his first and only chance at a girl like her. He, too, was reinventing himself at summer camp. He was just a little better at it than I was.
Writing this, I almost found him on Facebook, but I decided against it. I don't want him to know that I know what it was like for him back in high school. I'd like him to think fondly back at a time where he landed two chicks in one month, before he had to go back to harassment at home. So tonight, as I am drinking a gin and tonic out of my freezeable margarita glass, I will toast to you, Scott. I hope, like me, you put your past behind you, and I hope you found a lot of girls from Michigan to kiss.