The Perfect HB Girl
By Jamie Spain
We have all been there: tumbling up the staircase against the 7:59 tide, rushing because being late means yet another lunch detention and you are already wearing leggings. You finally reach the clearing at the top, narrowly avoiding getting hit with the door (seriously people, there are two doors – open the other one), when you are just about to let out a cry of victory, you see her. She floats down the hallway with a Coach backpack and high-heeled boots. Her outfit is on point and her hair and makeup are flawless. She makes you regret the bird’s nest bun, which we lesser folk are forced to do when given the choice between sleep and attractiveness.
With her steady 4.0 GPA and her impeccable manicure, you will find this majestic female preparing for her business and finance internship while studying dedicatedly in the library. Her balance between sleep, school, and social life seems unreal, even after you have heard she has perfected the art of surviving on less than 4 hours of sleep a night. When you pass her in the halls and turn around for a second glimpse, because you are obviously intimidated by this wild beast of perfection, you spot her muscular sports-player bod, rocking the messy ponytail and enough ribbons on her book bag to supply a dozen Christmases. She wears shorts in mid-winter as she laughs in the face of pain, and other things like losing, all of which which are quite possibly not in the HB dictionary.
This particular morning, you are surrounded on all sides. Nowhere to go. You briefly think about emptying your backpack of its 25 metric tons of books and sprinting off to the Writing Center to hide, but you know that even there isn’t safe. This area, although free of this perfect girl, hosts the award-winning writers, who speak in foreign-esque tongues about philosophy and the meaning of life while munching on Swedish fish. So the art room seems like a good option…but then you remember the artistically talented people tend to hangout there and although there isn’t yet, we have all thought of putting a written warning on the door that whatever artless stranger wanders in will feel even less talented than before. Next, you strain your ears and hear the tell tale sign of a violin prodigy practicing her solo for the future Cleveland Orchestra. Maybe if you jump out of the window, the science research girls will have pity on you and let you in through Mrs. Hunt’s room.
Somehow, the perfect HB girl seems to be everyone who isn’t us. You can make
an argument that the lovely souls who maintain a wonderful GPA and participate in every extracurricular, while being president of half a dozen clubs, are easily the face of perfection at HB. You can make the same argument for our star sports players who retell their wins at morning meeting. Not to mention, the writing, art, and science awards HB manages to dominate in every contest. It feels like unless we win every award possible, we will not live up to HB standards. It is stressful and immensely difficult to attempt to be something we are not. Although I’m sure I’m not the only one spending ungodly hours of the morning pouring over history notes, our grades and science awards don’t tell people who we are inside. You can rack up as many extracurriculars as possible, but unless they mean something to you, they won’t mean anything to others. Instead of deciding our life by trying to impress others or fit in with higher standards, we need make our moves based on what we feel comfortable with and enjoy. I will never be an artist or creating my own robot from scratch. It doesn’t matter if I am talented or not, if I like it, it is worth it. Just because you can’t do these things either doesn’t make you any less of an HB girl. The only way to look the part is to be yourself. There is no perfect face of HB. We all have our things that make us special, it is just hard to see it in a school full of such talented people. Just because one girl can paint a Picasso doesn’t mean she is a David Beckham
on the fields. We all have our things, just look out for yours instead of focusing on someone elses.