“”Is your mom a maid? Oh, she’s not? Don’t take it personal but I couldn’t tell by the way you and her usually dress. I’m sorry, you dress like a drab and, am I offending you?”
It must have been my imitation Doc Martens and my Levis that gave it away. Or maybe she just did this to me because I was a freshman. I was dumbfounded by this girl’s comment and her sugary, cotton-candy-like tone.
I gave her the evil eye and walked away as I have done in response to these remarks all through my years of school in the Beverly Hills School District. Back four years ago, I would have gotten a new wardrobe but now I just refuse to care. Well, welcome to Beverly Hills High School.
Students are cold and mean. Every single day I wake up to go to school and wonder why I need to put myself through constant criticism and bull. I just want to do my work, get the grades, succeed and eventually leave this all behind. I feel like I have been married to the same school for seven years and I can’t get a divorce.
Sports cars and nose jobs
Just as in the movie “Clueless,” looks seem to be everything in this school. This year the girls are in pancake M.A.C makeup, tight black cigarette pants, tight black shirts, leopard-print fake fur jackets, platform shoes, nose jobs and Club Monaco bags. They roam the streets of Melrose and Beverly Hills with their credit cards.
The rich kids get sports cars or nose jobs for their birthdays. Pagers are also popular, but I haven’t seen too many cellular phones yet. Even Prom Night is overdone. It takes place at the same hotel as the Golden Globes, and features a spectacular show of limos, tuxes and sequined gowns.
You are not accepted for what and who you are until you become what the “other” students are. Take a typical conversation in my history class and you’ll understand what I mean.
“Nice shoes,” Girl One said.
“You like them? They were on sale for $100,” Girl Two said.
“Oh, but for $50 more you could get the kind with the stripes.”
“Where, where?”
“I saw the striped ones at Fred Segal.”
“Cool. I’ll return these and -get those. Thanks.”
Notice how Girl One pretends to admire Girl Two’s shoes, but makes a suggestion instead. Girl Two gives in to the peer pressure and converts to the ideas of Girl One.
The male population has recently recovered from a strange fashion disease. About two years back they sagged their pants to their knees and wore baggy shirts like gangsters from the “hood.” Oh, please! Luckily, the phase has passed, and they’ve gone back to civilian clothing.
But what do I know? I’m a plain jeans-and-combat-boots girl who knows nothing about fashion. I’m just a dumb girl who thought it was rude when some guy knocked over my fries in the cafeteria and then exclaimed, “It’s not my fault!” I’m just a loser who patiently waits in line, instead of rushing to the front and cutting everyone else off. And it bugs me when I hear whites say quietly, “There are too many of them,” referring to the many Persians at our school. I’m glad that my school has a mixture of people from different races, but I wish they would mix more. Tolerance is fakely practiced here.
But the educationis pretty good
You’re probably asking why I don’t leave Beverly if I hate it so much. The fault lies in the people, not the school. Why leave because of the people? I’m in the middle of my junior year and none of this bothers me any more than a foul smell. Despite the shallowness and selfishness of my classmates, Beverly has a lot to offer me.
The teachers are understanding and challenging and we have a hardworking and fun-loving principal, Mr. Bushman, one of the best principals around. He comes to all the school events and supports our teams and groups through thick and thin. When our band uniforms got moldy because they were kept in a moist closet, he took them in his own car to the cleaners. From what I have heard about principals, they don’t do laundry. In the Opinion page of our newspaper Highlights, we’re always bagging on the administration—but Mr. Bushman never says a word. Once we wrote that assemblies are stupid, another time we criticized the school for buying a pricey table. He even gave me his home phone so I can call him to get quotes.
In addition, we have our own television station (KBEV, channel 6), web site, planetarium and a basketball gym that opens up into a pool.
I’ve probably obtained the best education in the world. I’ve gotten to participate in a great journalism program, a great musical program and high-tech science labs. Every year, at least one person at the school scores a perfect 1600.
I’m tired of the media attention our school receives. Sometimes I do get sick of being criticized and made fun of. Whenever I tell somebody where I attend school, they ask me if I’m friends with Brenda and Dylan. Hello, they left the show, like, so long ago! Here’s my favorite question from strolling tourists, “Where’s the Peach Pit?” Let me let you in on a secret, there isn’t one. I’m tired of the questions, weird interjections and accusations that I’m a snob.
And to make it worse, I’ve started to say “Beverly” with a valley girl accent. Oh well, I guess you can’t hide everything.”