Apparently, I’m still in a fight with my high school friend.
My years at school were pretty run-of-the-mill. It was an age where only a small handful of people had a Nokia 2100 and your besties were ranked in popularity via your Myspace top friends.
I was never deemed particularly “cool” or “popular” but wasn’t ostracised from any peer group. I was — a little like my academic abilities — average.
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I did, however, encounter a lot of “disagreements” within my friendship circle.
There was one particularly memorable incident. It was a conflict that split up even the closest bonds and forced everyone to essentially ‘pick a side’.
I really wish I could skip the part where I have to explain what actually happened. It was petty. It was trivial. And it was navigated by 17-year-olds crawling through hormone sh*t storms and identity crises’.
The argument was about a netball team.
The team had worked hard all year to be in the grand final despite one of their players (Monique) breaking her ankle at the beginning of the season.
When it came time for the grand finale it was decided that although Monique’s ankle had healed by the end of the season she’d not be permitted to play in it.
I know — how infuriating. Many tears. Much drama.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of argument that played out with a few bitchy exchanges furiously typed on MSN messenger or crumpled notes passed around a classroom.
Instead, it was the type that seeped into all facets of school life and affected us all — even teachers went into a mild form of damage control behind the walls of the mysterious staff room.
One Tuesday morning all the girls were prematurely pulled out of their classes.
We were sent to the sports stadium to sit on little plastic chairs in a circle and were lectured on how to ‘get along’.
I was stoked because I got out of a maths class but now in hindsight, I realise maybe we all should have listened more intently to our English teacher delivering her amateur TED Talk. Monique never got over it. Ever.
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