The Real Reason You Hated Middle School

Middle school was rough for me. If you polled 100 people on their view of middle school, I’d wager a vast majority would profess a similar sentiment. I mean, have you ever heard anyone say, "Middle school was the best time of my life! I love social awkwardness and scoliosis screenings!" Thus, I don’t make that claim expecting any sympathy. I say it because you probably know what I’m talking about.

That being said, my middle school experience was far, far less female-dog-resembling than most. I was an athlete. I got decent grades. I didn’t get teased much. I was in with the hip kids. I was in with the band kids. I had a badass Penny Hardaway jersey (that I wore nearly every Monday in 6^th grade with matching shorts). I got by.

Except with girls.

I have this theory. In other words, what you are about to hear is probably false. Nonetheless, I have this theory about girls in middle school – and why I was a comprehensive failure with them.

You see, in middle school you’re labeled. And there’s no escaping that label until a) you do something outrageous enough to earn a new label or b) you get to high school and there are too many kids to label.* It wasn’t until high school that shook my label as the Cute, Sweet Guy.

To a middle school male it’s the Scarlet Letter, kiss of death – whatever you want to call it. You see, girls don’t "go out"** with the cute guys. They go out with the hot guys. Once you’ve been labeled cute, it’s over. Even if you are hot – or even hott – and someone says you’re cute, you’re screwed. You will not have the opportunity to dance too close to a girl at a social. You will not uneasily hold hands under the table during lunch as you down bomb pops and Capri Sun. You will not have a girlfriend.

Sure, I had my share of crushes. In 6^th grade it was Jennifer. She was the New Girl, we had Social Studies together and I was the first to 'discover' her. I must’ve felt like Columbus did when he first set eyes on the Americas. Minus the systematic massacring of an entire race of indigenous people. Sadly, this one ended with a stolen locket, Valentine's carnation delivery and a 30 second phone conversation likely prompted by her mother.

In 7^th grade it was Alex. There were two schools of thought when it came to who held the title of Hottest Girl in the grade. There was my party who supported Alex. She was adorable, athletic, had long blond hair. And then there was the Abbie faction. She was a tall, stunning brunette. But Abbie and I had some history. At least in my eyes. In 5th grade I wrote her a note professing how good she looked in her black Chuck Taylor's, and as a result, how she should be my girlfriend. I guess I should have complimented her jorts instead. Therefore, she did not have my allegiance in the race for the Hottest Girl crown.

In 8th grade it was Karen. Karen was the first female who I was legitimately good friends with. We had Coach Bergmann's third period History class together. To this day, Coach Bergmann remains my favorite teacher and coach in the history of my formal education. More importantly, Karen and I would walk to her locker everyday after class to drop off her books. Let's just say it might as well have been Chemistry class with all the sparks that flew. Let's just say that was a bad joke.

All of these crushes ended in some tragic way - usually with some sort of letter that was never returned. I refuse to believe that I was not boyfriend material - I still hold that it was my label as the Cute, Sweet Guy that no one wanted to date me. I mean, for goodness sakes, there was this redheaded kid named Brett who had a bulbous, hairy growth on his left hand likely caused by overexposure to Surge. But since he was Semi-Athletic Redheaded Guy With Strange Growth, he dated Not Quite the Hottest Cheerleader, But Still Not That Bad.

So there's my theory. Like any theory, it must be thoroughly scientifically tested and scrutinized. Or you can just accept it because you trust my judgment and frankly don't care that much. Obviously you weren't Science Nerd.

*An important note here: Labels do exist in high school, but only for the most extreme cases. For instance, you could probably still name the Loose Girl, the Freakish Athlete, the Gay Guy, Brilliant Guy, Cute Girl Who Only Became Hot Senior Year and Now Everyone Notices Her But You’ve Known She Was Going to Be Hot All Along, at your respective high school. Everyone else gets clustered into a general group, which in turn bequeaths its own labels upon those within that assembly. You see how complex this can get. Even Audubon would have problems classifying the average high school.

** Someone needs to do an exhaustive study on the varied names given to “dating,” and how they morph as one’s schooling progresses.