Chapter 3, Part 2 - Asia

Asia explains to Andrew how she met her current friends.

           Andrew and I spent every night on the phone. He called me at nine o’clock on the dot, even if his homework wasn’t done, because I was that important. Our relationship was still only growing, but it felt like we’d been friends for a long time.

            He was funny and sweet. His humor was the innocent kind, the joking guy friend you have as a kid, except coming from someone as refined as Andrew made it charming. He had a rotating lunch schedule; some days he had A-lunch with me and the girls, on the days he had band class. On the days that he had Study Hall, he had C-lunch. Our paths didn’t cross much during the day besides lunch, unless one of us went out of our way, which we were getting into the habit of doing. We’d walk together in the morning before the bell rang, and he’d find me between third and fourth period for a quick hug and smile. After school, before I got a ride home, he’d meet me at my locker to say good-bye, and then we’d go about as normal until our nightly phone call. I was loving the new routine.

            Maggie said that Andrew complimented me, like his personality and mine were good for each other. The girls had been shy around him at first…well, only Dawn and Maggie had been. Stacy took to people easily; she acted like we’d been going out for years. The other two were quiet in general, usually allowing me or Stacy to dominate the conversations, and adding Andrew to the lunch table just shut them up even more. At least at first. After a few days, Maggie had gotten used to the idea of Andrew hanging around and acted more herself, adding to the lunch talk with her quirky comments about people we knew or things we did and stuff she was learning about in class. Dawn was the only one who kept silent, as usual. But I could tell she liked Andrew anyway. Instead of pretending that he didn’t exist, as she had done before with my lesser boyfriends, she would treat him like more of a person. When he spoke, she looked at him, and would nod or shake her head in agreement. If he said something funny, even if she didn’t laugh, she’d smile. A real Dawn smile, which is closer to a tight grin, like she’s trying to hold it in, but that’s better than her patronizing smirk that lets you know she doesn’t actually take you seriously.

            “I don’t think your friend Dawn likes me very much,” Andrew said one night.

            “You’re crazy! It’s just that she doesn’t really know you, and she’s always shy around guys,” I explained. “But trust me, she likes you. She told me that she thinks you’re very sophisticated for your age.”

            He laughed. “Not a word I’d choose for myself, but I guess I’ll take it as a compliment.”

            “That’s how she meant it.”

            “No offense, but how did you two get to be friends? She seems a lot different than you and your other friends.”

            It wasn’t offensive at all. I knew we seemed like crazy opposites to people who didn’t know how our friendship operated. Dawn and I had always been very different people, mostly on the outside. It all went back to eighth grade at Maple Creek; if Andrew really wanted to know, I’d have to go all the way back there to explain it to him.

            I’d like to be able to say that Dawn and I were instant friends. Or had known each other since we were four. You know, like a Ya-Ya Sisterhood relationship or whatever. People who don’t know us too well have trouble understanding why we’re friends at all, because we act so differently in public. Most of them just assume that we grew up together. We’re best friends, so obviously we must have some way-back history. I guess in a way, we do. But it didn’t start all that nicely.

            I used to be a different person. I hung out with a different crowd: the girls who wake up every morning looking like they just walked out of some magazine, the guys that should’ve been in Abercrombie & Fitch ads. We had perfect makeup, perfect hair, and perfect lives. Or at least we looked like that to the rest of the school. In the deep-buried reality, we were backstabbers, hung up on our own problems and only pretending to care about anyone else. True friends were rare in the ever-changing environment that is a popular clique; in fact, they practically didn’t exist. The only guarantee of friendship was based off how long you had known someone, how much dirt you had on them that they couldn’t afford to let you slip. So my “best friend” during my shallow years was a girl named Tara, who had been in every class with me since third grade, who told me “everything” and kept my “secrets” as well.
            But you didn’t hear that from me. Like I said, on the polished outer layer, everything was perfect. The rest of the school envied us, either for our looks or our apparently close-knit posse. Especially in early September, when we were fresh from the summer and genuinely happy to see each other for once.

            Gym class in eighth grade was more about sports than physical fitness, like running the mile or trying to do a certain number of push-ups. Some girls hated that class, but it didn’t bother me. I never exerted myself too much, only enough to make a show of participating, so I’d have something to laugh about with friends later. And since I was in the center of the popular crowd, of course I had plenty of friends in gym with me. I guess you could say we’d show off; we bought our gym uniforms a size smaller than we needed, so that they were more form fitting. We’d leave our glamorous hair loose, and pretend to really be into the sports we were playing to attract the guys.

            Most of the other girls in my gym class were either truly into the class, or kind of mingling on the edge. You know, either the sports types or the rest of the world. And there was one girl who was most definitely a lower class member of the “rest of the world”.

            My first impression of Dawn, based on our first day of gym class together, was that she was incredibly plain, almost not worth noticing. She had fluffy blond hair, pulled back tight into a low ponytail, and her head was almost constantly lowered in a gesture of shame or embarrassment. She kept her arms folded tightly over her chest, while the rest of her body swam under the billowing gym uniform that was many sizes too large. And whenever you could catch a glimpse of her face, you’d only see white. Her skin was so pale that you could hardly believe that she had lived through the summer. And her eyes were faint blue, so faded that you could almost see through them into her head. She kept her mouth shut, usually squished into a disapproving grimace.

            Honestly, the first thing I thought when I saw her was, “There is an angry albino girl in my school!”

            I made the mistake of confessing this to Dawn years later, and instead of being offended, she berated me for not realizing that if she was albino, her hair would be white instead of blond. But I was in eighth grade! Don’t blame me for misconceptions!

            After that first initial sighting, I took no notice of her. She was below me, nameless and nearly faceless. My friends didn’t bother with her, so I didn’t either. We were too wrapped up in ourselves.

            One day, in the middle of October, our teacher split us into two teams for a basketball game. I was enjoying myself, letting myself get into the game, enjoying the attention from the guys who were impressed by my “skills”…that is, my ability to steal the ball and quickly pass it to a better player on my team. In my team spirit, I went after anyone who was opposition. And for all her trying to be unnoticed, the ball somehow wound up in the timid white hands of Dawn.
            Well, I was ruthless and I was flirting indirectly with the guys, so I wasted no time in pouncing on her. While Dawn was busy staring around the room blankly, probably trying to figure out which kids were on her team, I slammed into her, knocking the ball away and bouncing it over to the star shooter in our class. My team cheered; I whooped and looked at Dawn to say “better luck next time” or something equally snotty. I was stopped by her sideways glare, a look of absolute loathing, but it only lasted a second and then she ducked her head away, back to being invisible. You can’t argue with a glare like that. It was obvious from that day on; Dawn hated me.

            You can guess that after that, I was even less inclined to talk to her. Why bother with someone who didn’t like me? So you may wonder how we ever got to be such good friends, if we started out with Dawn sincerely hating my guts.

            In addition to sharing a gym class, we also had history class together. I had fewer friends in history, mostly because the other popular girls there were already “best friends” with each other, and stuck together like glue. The desks were set up in pairs, and I got along with the boy who sat next to me, but he preferred to lean over and talk to the guys across the aisle. I felt it was no real loss- he liked Star Trek way too much.

            In late November, we had to pair off for some assignment that I didn’t pay attention to. My desk partner immediately joined one of his Trekkie friends, leaving the only other available person for me to partner with being Dawn.

            Trust me, it was awkward. Bad enough that I knew she didn’t like me, even worse that she didn’t talk. At least if she had been vocal about her hatred, we could have argued it out and maybe come to a mutual agreement. But Dawn was practically mute, and she never acknowledged that she even recognized me. The silence killed me. I was not born to be a quiet girl. If I went without talking for five minutes, my lips would literally start itching until I could say something else. The need for communication was too great.

            I cracked pretty early. I talked to Dawn like she had never glared at me before, going on and on about teachers I didn’t like, stupid books they were making us read, parties my friends were throwing. Dawn never really said anything back, just nodded or glanced at me to show she was listening. At least she wasn’t glaring. I figured that as long as I talked to her, it was okay. So on I went, pouring out my superficial life, wondering how long it would be before Dawn would snap like I had. I was in the middle of explaining to her how I picked out my fake nails for an upcoming school dance, and being mildly offended that she wasn’t more interested, when it hit me; I was talking about nothing that mattered. Not to Dawn, anyway. I was well aware that she didn’t like my friends, that she wasn’t my biggest fan either, and there I had been talking her ear off about my pink and purple life. If I wanted to get a conversation going, I would need to find out what she liked. So I decided to change my tactic, just so that I could have the satisfaction of making Dawn talk.
            I started asking her questions, like how her day was going and what she was doing after school. Dawn was always on guard, though, and she never gave me anything more than a two-word answer. So I asked more; what was her favorite class and why, had she seen such-and-such movie and what was her opinion of it, what color did she plan on painting her nails for the Christmas dance? Still she gave me the elusive, short answers.

            “Hey Dawn, what’s your favorite book?”

            “It varies.”

            “On what?”

            “Genre.”

            “Well, what’s your favorite…which one do you like the most?” I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by “genre”. I knew that in movies, genres were things like comedy and western. And in music, you had rock and country. Were books the same way? Did they really come in romantic comedies and thrillers?

            “The Client.”

            “What’s that about? Is it like the movie?”

            “Yes.”

 I was determined to hear more from her.

            Finally, one miraculous day, I got a full sentence. I asked her, “So do you think it was on accident that our teacher walked out of the house with her clothes on backwards, or are we supposed to believe that a middle-aged woman really can’t dress herself?” It wasn’t supposed to be funny, because I was seriously awed by the appalling fashion taste that our teacher displayed. But Dawn laughed for a good ten seconds- it was actually the first time I’d seen her as much as smile.

            “Really!” I insisted. “I’m serious!”
            Dawn put a hand to her mouth, already starting to hold back her emotions. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to me, “it’s just that I’ve thought the same thing for a long time, and I was wondering if you were ever going to bring it up.”

            Well, I was shocked. Not only was she talking, but Dawn actually thought the same way as me? My quest for words was shoved aside by the curiosity of what else we had in common.       

            After that, we talked more. As in, both of us speaking to each other, not just me rambling on and on about my sparkling life. I slowly began to hang out with Dawn more than I did with my popular friends. They had a crowded lunch table anyway. I liked how much room we had at Dawn’s table, and I actually liked her friends Maggie and Shannon. In one week, I felt like I knew them all better then my old “best friend” Tara. And being that I was no stranger to the school, and that I could easily talk about myself, I felt like they really knew me.

            Of course, I didn’t switch completely. To gain better friends in a quieter crowd was one thing, to drop off the social map was another. My ties were frayed, but they weren’t completely chopped up. I kept a lot of my popular friends, and I continued to be friendly with the popular crowd. I remain to be an ambassador, mingling with both ends of the social spectrum, bringing peace to the two sides. But I knew my true friends weren’t in the popular group, and never had been.

            Eighth grade was a massive year for me; first boyfriend, new best friend, new social network. After that, I was changed. Some habits die hard, like gossip and the need to paint my nails, but I found myself to be a friendlier, more likeable person when I wasn’t surrounded by pretty robots with big heads. Just getting away from that made life a lot easier.

            “Wow,” Andrew sighed as my speech finally slowed. “What a life.”

            “Yeah, I could write a history book about my middle school experience.”

            “The Rise and Fall of Asia, perhaps?”

            “I’m pretty sure I never actually fell, but thanks, I’ll consider it.”

            I rolled over on my bed and found myself face to face with pictures of friends. In the center of the laminated cluster was a group shot from Homecoming during freshman year. Stacy in dark dark purple, looking edgy and mature, her hair exactly the same, situated on the end of the line. Next to her was Madison, her red curls down to her elbows, freckles prominent against her pale skin and lavender gown, smiling somewhat nervously. She didn’t really know Dawn or Maggie at the time, and wasn’t sure about showing up at such an important social function with them. On the other end of the line was Maggie, her curls under control for once, wearing deep green with a matching shawl over her shoulders. Next to her was Dawn in blue, pale and faded like her eyes back then, with her hair loose and finally some makeup on her cheeks, not looking half bad for previously being one of the plainest girls in existence. And in the middle was me, posing with my hand on the hip of my Barbie-pink dress (which looked way better than I thought it would) and my hair pinned up behind my head. None of us went with dates, although I would begin a short relationship with a guy named Alex later that night.

            In the photo we looked so happy, all smiling and arms linked together, standing under the trees in Maggie’s front yard. Pictures are magic like that, blocking out the turmoil, like the fight that Madison and Stacy almost got in over just being there at all, or how angry I had been at my mom (who was taking the picture) because she gave me a curfew and wouldn’t let me stay over at Madison’s after the dance. But you would never know all that just by looking at our smiles in the picture. I guess in some ways, Dawn and I are like a photo, because when you look at us together, you have to just assume that we have a history to our friendship and you don’t know what it is. It’s there, just the way it is with everyone and everything else. We have our history and turmoil and differences, but we have our friendship too.

            “Asia? Hello?”

            Andrew!

            “Sorry, what?” I floated back into my body and concentrated on the boy in my head.

            “What’s up? You got really quiet.”

            “Oh, just thinking. All this reminiscing is making me tired.”

            “Wow, reminiscing. Is that your big word for the day?”

            “Very funny, band geek. Don’t you have some marching to do?” I had never had a bandie for a boyfriend before. Josh played the drums and Mikey was a singer, but they weren’t hardcore, join-the-marching band types. In some ways, I wanted to try hard not to say anything stereotypically mean about it, like recite “One time, at band camp…” every time I saw Andrew. On the other hand, if he was going to be like Dawn and poke fun at my normally simple speech, I was going to take every chance I got to use my band jokes.

            “Don’t you have to go brush your hair or something?” He didn’t hesitate to get back at me. I didn’t mind at all. Sure, sometimes it bothers me when people make fun of how I look or act or talk, but whenever Andrew does it I can hear him laughing at how ridiculous it is. And it’s all good fun.

            “That reminds me, yes, I do. I shall speak with you again tomorrow, darling.”

            He was laughing quietly on the other. “Alright. Goodnight, Asia.”

            “Goodnight, Andrew.”

Author's Note

The only thing this chapter does is explain why Asia and Dawn are friends, because everyone who's read any of this story always asks me that. It's long and tedious and probably not necessary, but I'm not sure how else to get the point across. Suggestions would be great.