“I am very self-conscious as I step over the backpacks strewn in the aisle. Do not fall.Do not fall.”

“Call me crazy,but something about throwing myself blindly backward seems not so smart.I can't see where I'm going, and it's hard to fearlessly toss my entire weight back.Then Kimi, in all of her bossiness, takes control of the situation and basically threatens my life if I don't do it.I don't want to look bad in front of these girls; plus, I tell myself, I'll beone step closer to accomplishing the ten goals of Project Ericka.Deep breath drawn, prayers said, I lean back over their arms...and voila! I do a back flap! (A very slow back flip-kind of like a back bend over Mackenzie's and Laura's arms where I get stuck, leaving Kimi and Sarah to grab my calves and heave me over-but a back flip nonetheless!)”

“I pound my fist into my palm, furrowing my brow.My dad chokes on his dessert. I am emboldened."I want to wear the maroon and gold-the same maroon and gold you two wore when you fell in love all those years ago. Without that maroon and gold, you never would have fallen in love at prom, and I never would have been born. I am maroon and gold."The drama builds."I have spirit! Yes I do! I've got spirit, how 'bout you?" At this, I wildly wave fierce spirit fingers and heartily attempt the splits.Key word: attempt."Ow!" I cry, my crotch a foot from the floor, pain burning my groin.At this, neither of my parents can hold it anymore and, along with their eye rolling and head shaking, there is gut-wrenching laughter. I fall over to one side-sweet relief.”

“Asking Wolf to couples' skate is like bungee jumping without a cord-it may be the bravest thing I've ever done in my life.Or it could be the stupidest.There's only one way to find out.I look him dead in the eyes, summoning up both my courage and my sense of reckless abandon, but before I can even speak one syllable-"Oh!" he says, looking over one shoulder and dropping his hands. "Kaitlyn's free now. I gotta get over there!"He rushes off, blowing me an air kiss.My mouth should get used to falling open when he's around, either from his good looks or from his total lack of comprehension of all things polite. Did that just happen?My face in my palms, I lean on my elbows against the rail, invisible, and fall into an intoxicating state of self-pity.”

“Okay,like I could write about being new to this school and feeling really self-conscious already, you know, 'cause I'm new and haven't really gotten my growth spurt yet...in any capacity."This gets a few chuckles and I plow forward."Then,at this meeting, maybe some cool, hot jock is sitting next to me and asks me to stand up, only to have the entire classroom staring at me as I say, 'But I am standing up!' Except,you know, funnier."A few kids giggle and the big guy next to me grunts, "Pretty funny."I smile over at my new comrade and smack his massive shoulder like we're old friends.I'm going to have to get his name."I mean, obviously it'd be better than that. But I just think it'd be good comif relief," I add, doing what my dad calls laying it on thick. "And we could put it near the pet obits to balance out all the high-school-is-depressing-enough vibes!"Now the laughs are easy and everyone's smiling, and I feel myself loosen up a bit. Just like Mom and Dad with cheerleading, these folks are cracking under my spell, and I start really amping up the drama."And I know I couldn't use 'Traumarama' as a title since Seventeen already does, but I'm thinking 'Trauma and Drama-Terrible Tales of Teenagedom,' or something like that, with some real-life gossip mixed in.”

“Fuming, I reach for the stick at my feet; however, this is the precise moment that a small black garter snake slithers out in front of me. I do what any normal fourteen-year-old girl would do: scream my head off, dance in spastic horror, and throw my tobacco knife into the dirt-completely missing the snake. I look to Luke for help, but he's laughing hysterically, which really gets my already hot blood boiling. Wrists on sweaty forehead, breathing totally out of control, I walk around in a circle until the disgusting little reptile slithers away.I am-offically-over it.”

“Now it's just that dishwater blond," my mom continued as she snaps the last roller into place.I get up and kiss her on the cheek. "Thanks, Momma," I say, looking in the mirror over the mantel to check my pink plastic Afro head. Dishwater? Seriously? Way to build the self-esteem before the most important day of my life, I think; but what I say is, "I'm gonna go get ready for bed.”