TEN PERCENT
So I'm a noob here, but my other writing community was getting pretty lame so I was hoping this one was...better? Whatever. I have to warn you I am a HUGE teen novel nerd so whatever. This is called Ten Percent, but it's not done.
I was such a good person. At 17 years old I had never taken a single alcoholic drink in my life, consumed any illegal substances, or engaged in any criminal activity. I strove to always be the best, no matter the situation and I was completely devoted to my Alma Matter, Douglass High School.
I was not the brightest of the bunch, but I pretended to be for a long time. I pretended to do many things, but I knew I was a good person. For me, what I lacked in skill, I though I could make up in morals. My best friend once told me my deadly sin was envy; and I believed him. In my mind, nothing was wrong with wanting to be the best, and if not the best, then among the best. The best, to me though, turned out to be something different to the rest of my high school.
As a student I had been working my ass off for the past three years just to keep up with my peers. Some time between middle school and high school, either by an act of God or by natural selection (whatever helps you sleep at night), I began to notice something different about the smart and cool people. They had become the same. The two traditionally separate groups had converged into one mega, omnipotent group of super teens that conquered every aspect of the high school world. The band geek had become popular with his mighty minions following him and his body had become muscular and tan. The head cheerleader with her lean, smooth body was taking every AP course available and winning science fair trophies. The quarter back not only killed on the field, but on the stand as well, as part of the debate team. Every cliché had been shattered with the smart kids becoming beautiful and the beautiful people becoming smart. Before junior year had even started you couldn’t even remember who the originals were anymore. They all seemed so perfect with their beautiful faces, sculpted bodies and perfect GPA’s. It made me want to barf…except not really.
What I really wanted to do is become friends with them and hang out with them and learn their secrets to success. To do this I decided to do what any poser would do…and pose. I became a chameleon of high school and joined every club from band to student government, even running for offices and pretending like I cared for various and random causes. On the weekends I would do community service at all of the popular places and work out at the gym, religiously. After half a semester of sucking up to obnoxious sponsors, organizing charity events for countless animal shelters and God knows what else, and having sore (though non-existent) muscles for weeks, and wearing every colored polo on the planet I realized becoming involved in these activities wasn’t enough. With only a week left in my junior year, time was of the essence. The final step in becoming successful would probably become the hardest thing I ever had to do. I needed to break into the top ten percent.
In the state of Texas, if you graduate from your high school in the top ten percent, you are legally promised admittance to ANY Texas public school. No matter if your graduating class is 100 or 1000, or if your valedictorian has a 104 or a 94; top ten percent of any high school will get you a free ticket in to any Texas public school. So now you know the criticalness of being in the top ten percent. It is crucial, if one wants to become a smart/beautiful, because if you can’t get in to the University of Texas then really, you just do not have any business even pretending to be a smart/beautiful.
With 550 students in my class I needed to break the 55 mark to crack the top ten percent. After some quasi-accurate math, reasonable deductions, and mostly intelligent guesses I figured I would need at least a 99 GPA to be in the fifties range. With our valedictorian firmly holding on to a 107.6 GPA and the tenth ranked person with a 103.4 I felt stupid hoping for a measly 99.
The obvious place to start my path of academic excellence was my counselor of course, but that was easier said than done. If stereotypically the nerds hung out in the library and the jocks were always in the gym then the counselor’s office had to be the place where the smart/beautiful’s hung out.
As I entered the small cramped office I quickly assessed about six smart beautiful’s (four of which had GPA’s higher than 101) were having casual conversation with the counselor, Mrs. Martinez. Everywhere in the office I was reminded of what I wanted to become. Pictures of the genetic marvels adorned the wall behind her desk; I needed to be on that wall. On her computer Joe Rubio had left a post-it reading “Number 7 in Ranks, Number 1 in Your Heart.” I wanted to be number 1 in her heart. After about five minutes of me staring at the counselor and the students laughing and talking about wonderful, collegiate things I finally became noticed. Standing in the office full of the most intelligent and gorgeous people in school, I felt like I was in an episode of Nip/Tuck, going in for surgery to be transformed. “Make me beautiful,” I wanted to say.
But becoming beautiful wasn’t as simple as a trip to the counselor’s/surgeon’s office. You couldn’t get a metaphorical face lift on your GPA or get some liposuction on those shitty grades you got freshman year (stupid geometry). It was more like getting prescribed Trimspa or one of those stupid diet pills. To complete my transformation I would have to take every AP class, study over time, do every extra credit assignment, join more clubs and become part of one of the Big Four’s executive boards.
Even though I had signed up for every AP class possible, Mrs. Martinez revealed that my GPA was at a 97.37 and my ranking currently stood at 72. As this information left Mrs. Martinez’s lips I could’ve sworn I heard everyone in the room snicker. They were laughing at me; and honestly, I would’ve laughed at myself too. “See you guys in the fall.”
I was such a good person. At 17 years old I had never taken a single alcoholic drink in my life, consumed any illegal substances, or engaged in any criminal activity. I strove to always be the best, no matter the situation and I was completely devoted to my Alma Matter, Douglass High School.
I was not the brightest of the bunch, but I pretended to be for a long time. I pretended to do many things, but I knew I was a good person. For me, what I lacked in skill, I though I could make up in morals. My best friend once told me my deadly sin was envy; and I believed him. In my mind, nothing was wrong with wanting to be the best, and if not the best, then among the best. The best, to me though, turned out to be something different to the rest of my high school.
As a student I had been working my ass off for the past three years just to keep up with my peers. Some time between middle school and high school, either by an act of God or by natural selection (whatever helps you sleep at night), I began to notice something different about the smart and cool people. They had become the same. The two traditionally separate groups had converged into one mega, omnipotent group of super teens that conquered every aspect of the high school world. The band geek had become popular with his mighty minions following him and his body had become muscular and tan. The head cheerleader with her lean, smooth body was taking every AP course available and winning science fair trophies. The quarter back not only killed on the field, but on the stand as well, as part of the debate team. Every cliché had been shattered with the smart kids becoming beautiful and the beautiful people becoming smart. Before junior year had even started you couldn’t even remember who the originals were anymore. They all seemed so perfect with their beautiful faces, sculpted bodies and perfect GPA’s. It made me want to barf…except not really.
What I really wanted to do is become friends with them and hang out with them and learn their secrets to success. To do this I decided to do what any poser would do…and pose. I became a chameleon of high school and joined every club from band to student government, even running for offices and pretending like I cared for various and random causes. On the weekends I would do community service at all of the popular places and work out at the gym, religiously. After half a semester of sucking up to obnoxious sponsors, organizing charity events for countless animal shelters and God knows what else, and having sore (though non-existent) muscles for weeks, and wearing every colored polo on the planet I realized becoming involved in these activities wasn’t enough. With only a week left in my junior year, time was of the essence. The final step in becoming successful would probably become the hardest thing I ever had to do. I needed to break into the top ten percent.
In the state of Texas, if you graduate from your high school in the top ten percent, you are legally promised admittance to ANY Texas public school. No matter if your graduating class is 100 or 1000, or if your valedictorian has a 104 or a 94; top ten percent of any high school will get you a free ticket in to any Texas public school. So now you know the criticalness of being in the top ten percent. It is crucial, if one wants to become a smart/beautiful, because if you can’t get in to the University of Texas then really, you just do not have any business even pretending to be a smart/beautiful.
With 550 students in my class I needed to break the 55 mark to crack the top ten percent. After some quasi-accurate math, reasonable deductions, and mostly intelligent guesses I figured I would need at least a 99 GPA to be in the fifties range. With our valedictorian firmly holding on to a 107.6 GPA and the tenth ranked person with a 103.4 I felt stupid hoping for a measly 99.
The obvious place to start my path of academic excellence was my counselor of course, but that was easier said than done. If stereotypically the nerds hung out in the library and the jocks were always in the gym then the counselor’s office had to be the place where the smart/beautiful’s hung out.
As I entered the small cramped office I quickly assessed about six smart beautiful’s (four of which had GPA’s higher than 101) were having casual conversation with the counselor, Mrs. Martinez. Everywhere in the office I was reminded of what I wanted to become. Pictures of the genetic marvels adorned the wall behind her desk; I needed to be on that wall. On her computer Joe Rubio had left a post-it reading “Number 7 in Ranks, Number 1 in Your Heart.” I wanted to be number 1 in her heart. After about five minutes of me staring at the counselor and the students laughing and talking about wonderful, collegiate things I finally became noticed. Standing in the office full of the most intelligent and gorgeous people in school, I felt like I was in an episode of Nip/Tuck, going in for surgery to be transformed. “Make me beautiful,” I wanted to say.
But becoming beautiful wasn’t as simple as a trip to the counselor’s/surgeon’s office. You couldn’t get a metaphorical face lift on your GPA or get some liposuction on those shitty grades you got freshman year (stupid geometry). It was more like getting prescribed Trimspa or one of those stupid diet pills. To complete my transformation I would have to take every AP class, study over time, do every extra credit assignment, join more clubs and become part of one of the Big Four’s executive boards.
Even though I had signed up for every AP class possible, Mrs. Martinez revealed that my GPA was at a 97.37 and my ranking currently stood at 72. As this information left Mrs. Martinez’s lips I could’ve sworn I heard everyone in the room snicker. They were laughing at me; and honestly, I would’ve laughed at myself too. “See you guys in the fall.”