As I stood at my locker between classes, I watched the popular girls sashay through the halls in their fashionable clothes, calling hellos to the other popular kids and chatting with the best-looking guys. I envied them. While I wasn’t exactly frumpy, no one would call me a fashion diva. And guys talked to me only when they needed help with their physics homework.

I wanted more. I wanted to be one of the cool kids. Never one to shy away from a challenge, I set out to infiltrate their members-only club.

As my sophomore year drew to a close, the choir director announced tryouts for Swing Choir — a singing and dancing performance group whose membership consisted largely of the “in crowd.” I was suddenly grateful for the years I’d spent in private vocal lessons and church choir practices. With my voice teacher’s help, I selected a show tune and practiced until I could sing every line and note perfectly. I’d spent years preparing for this moment, and when I stepped onstage at the open audition, I was ready for the challenge.

Time to Shine
As I sang the first line, I saw a few mouths drop open. I’d never told anyone about my love for music. Their surprise was priceless. The music teacher, who sat in the front row of the auditorium, smiled all the way through my song, and I knew before I finished that I’d made the cut. Finally, I’d be part of the popular crowd.

When the next school year began, the choir launched into preparing for performances scheduled during the Christmas season. Though we weren’t exactly bosom buddies, the popular kids were nice to me. I figured the heartfelt girl-talk and invitations to sit with them at lunch would come in time. But as Christmas came and passed and we began to work on our spring program, they remained polite but distant. I thought I knew the problem. My squeaky-clean brainiac image was holding me back. I decided to loosen up, to show them I knew how to have fun and to prove I was cool.

I laughed at their crude jokes and threw in a few digs when they gossiped about others at school. I let some of them copy my homework and kept their secrets when they cheated on their boyfriends. They brought drugs and alcohol to practice, and while they never asked me to party with them, they didn’t bother to hide it from me, knowing I wouldn’t tell. I felt guilty that I compromised my Christian ethics in order to gain their approval and disappointed that doing so hadn’t earned me a place within their group. While they accepted my presence, I remained outside their tight clique.

We finished our big spring show and packed our bags, preparing for a weeklong tour with performances in several Canadian cities. The year was almost over, and I felt a sense of desperation to secure a place in their inner circle.

The Truth Revealed
Early one morning we boarded a chauffeur-driven tour bus and started the long drive north. The farther the bus carried us away from our hometown, the more the pop-
ularity hierarchy that kept us separated at school diminished. We left our cliques and labels behind and became 20 kids with a common interest, embarking on a grand adventure.

After a year of wanting to be in on the girl-talk and the group secrets, I received my wish. Late at night, lulled by a cozy sense of intimacy, we let our guards down and shared from our hearts. Listening to them talk, I heard confessions I never expected from these kids.

One guy admitted he felt forgotten after his parents divorced. A girl confessed she regretted letting guys use her for sex. Drug addictions, unplanned pregnancies, abusive parents — one after another spilled secrets, and I discovered the kids I admired and envied were hiding a lot of pain beneath a façade of cool confidence.

During the course of the week, my envy turned to pity. These kids had popularity, but the carefree front they presented to the world was a ploy to hide empty, broken lives. They drank, did drugs and engaged in casual sex to dull the secret pains they carried inside. I’d been blessed with a great family, a happy home, love, security and a million other benefits my popular friends lacked. For years, I thought they were the lucky ones, but all along, I had the better life.

My participation in the choir guaranteed me a place on the next year’s team, but I turned down the opportunity. Though I’d achieved my goal of forging relationships with the popular kids, I no longer wanted to run with a different crowd or change my popularity status.

After seeing that popularity didn’t guarantee happiness, I no longer despised the label I’d been given. I was content to be me, The Brain.