My 13 Going on 30 Story

the one I never told

the six chicks

seven six chicks

The year was 2003. Do you remember it?

I spent most of that year flipping through radio stations hoping to catch Avril Lavigne’s Complicated in its entirety, writing about ninth and tenth grade boys who didn’t like like me in my collaged journal, and hunting futilely for a discount on black Hard Tail pants so that my ass might look as grabbable as all the other girls in school. A successful child actor who balanced a full time in-person education simultaneously, I went to auditions if casting was willing to read me after 3pm, promising my mom and principal I’d prioritize my classes.

My friends were kissing and hooking up with boys. And although, according to my diary, I was next level boy-crazy, as soon as I was given the opportunity to explore physical intimacy with someone I genuinely liked, I’d literally vomit.

I remember snuggling up to a boy in the library I’d been crushing on for months. The smell of his sweaty, pubescent neck took me somewhere euphoric I’d never been.