Testaments - Number Fourteen

(Today's Testament is by Shaba from A Blog of Her Own. Oh High School relationships. We all have our own horrific tale, but hers is just fantastic. Not just because she ganked the "cool guy," we all daydreamed about, but mostly because of how it ended. Enjoy!)

The Tale of the Beautiful Boy With No Balls

Let me preface this story with one imperative piece of information: I was fourteen.

I was fourteen when I knowingly started dating the class "playa." His name was full of alliteration, in that home-town-celebrity type way. Like Bridget Bardo, Casey Kasem, or Marilyn Monroe, alliteration always makes a person sound important. And I admit, that was part of his appeal. In my mind he was a celebrity, a trailer-park residing, loud-mouthed, smart-but-choosing-not-to-apply-myself celebrity. Which, of course, the only kind of celebrity that exists in the 9th grade of a NEPA public school.

He was the bad boy that every girl wanted to be acknowledged by, whether they admitted it aloud or not. Rumors of his multiple detentions, suspensions, in-school escapades, and after-school exploits intrigued me like an episode of Flavor of Love. He had the name of a previous girlfriend scarred into his skin. He was a train wreck, a beautiful, beautiful train wreck. Seriously, the boy was gorgeous.. Blonde hair that fell in a Johnny-Depp-circa-Cry-Baby
way, blue eyes, skin untouched by acne. Sigh. He was a teenage dreamboat.

We rode the same bus since 6th grade, but he didn't start paying attention to me until 9th, which I took to mean he either woke up one day and realized my breathtaking beauty and infectious charm, or he noticed I now had boobs. I'd go with the latter. Seemingly out of the blue he asked me to be his girlfriend via the romantic gesture of writing, "Shaba, will you go out with me?" on his hand and casually letting it flop over the back of his bus seat and directly in my field of view. Being the clever girl that I am I wrote "Yes" on the back of my hand and we immediately exchanged phone numbers.

We were "together" approximately a week before the questioning started.
Beautiful Boy: "So, when do you think we can have sex?"
Me:"Uh, I don't think it'll be for a while."
BB:"Well, what do you think? A month?"
Me: "Longer than that."
BB: "Two months?"
Me: "I'm not thinking so."
BB: "Wow, really?"
Me: "Umm, yea. I was planning on waiting."
BB: "For what? Marriage?!"
Me: "Maybe, but at least until I graduate."
BB: "Oh. Well that sucks."

We were doomed from the beginning

One night, about a month into our "relationship" I got the break up phone call. I was expecting it. I had successfully dashed his dreams of sleeping with me before he could legally drive, and his raging hormones deemed any possible long term relationship with a prude such as me completely out of the question. I expected he was going to dump me, what I wasn't expecting was the tiny female voice on the other end of the phone.

Girl on Phone: "Is this Shaba?"
Me: "….yes. Who's this?"
GoP: "I'm a friend of BB's."
Me: "Ohhhk, and what's your name?."
GoP: "My name's Tulip*. You don't know me. So, do you still want to go
out with him?"
Me: "Ah, well, not really I guess."
T: "Good, cuz he doesn't want to go out with you anymore."
Me: "Yea, I kinda figured."
T: "ok, well, bye."

If you guessed that the hot-shot bad-boy had his soon-to-be new girlfriend break up with me you'd be correct. (Insert shock and awe noises here) Telephone breakups are bad, email break ups are even worse, and text message breakups are the ultimate dis, but I can't think of anything slimier than having your new love interest do the break up
dirty work for you. Even more embarrassing, Tulip was 3 years younger than us (which was a HUGE deal when you're talking about a high school boy dating a 6th grader! Oh the media circus at the water fountains!). And her name was fucking Tulip.

To tell you the truth, I wasn't all that broken up about it. I kinda always knew he was a tool. I knew it was just a fling, some kissing practice, a trump card I could pull out of my pocket for situations where my "street cred" was called into question.

And though I had my premonitions of my relationship with the Beautiful Boy ending in an embarrassing crash and burn, I can't say I regret it. Because though he may be a cowardly asshole and major tool, he was a damn good kisser.


*her name wasn't really Tulip, but it was ridiculous and plant-inspired.