How to Fail at Being a Teenager

Level Three: "That's Gay"

"What do you want?" I looked up from my phone to see my younger sister, decked out in a jean skirt, a lace-lined tube top, and way too much makeup for her age, standing in my doorway.

Megan just stared at me, her eyes narrowed slightly. I know I did the same thing- picked people apart to get to their core- but I hated it when she did it. It's like she thought she could do it better than me. Nobody could. "I need a ride. To Jane's house."

I scoffed, looking her up and down. "No you don't."

"What?"

"You're going to Ricky's." I said. Her mouth opened defensively, but before she could get the words out, I interrupted her. "I know because his house is right across from Jane's, and I know that because you told me last week, right before I blanked out from boredom." Megan rolled her eyes, but I went on. "And also, you've never worn a jean skirt in your life. It's probably not even yours. Same with the tube top. Not to mention that the last time I saw you wear mascara was when you insisted I take you the that one party where you threw up on Janelle Congo and had to go home."

I'm not sure why I was being such a dick that day. Maybe it was because I was grounded, or maybe it was just that older brother thing where I'm required to be an ass to my younger siblings or I don't get paid. Eh, either-or.

She shook her head, turning to go. "That's gay, Carlo." She hissed under her breath.

"That's what?" I heard her, I just thought I might be going mad. That's another first for my sister. I've never heard her say 'that's gay' either. I wonder if she meant it as in insult, or if she actually thought I was gay. Whatever way it was, I wasn't about to ask.

She whirled around, her face nonchalant, but her eyes fiery. "I mean, that's kinda gay that you know who's house I'm going to based on my outfit."

Oh. She meant real gay. "That's not gay, Megan. Your skirt's so short, I can literally see your ass."

She just tugged the hem down and stomped away. Damn, was I that dramatic as a freshman? I sure hope not.

Whoever that was, it wasn't my sister. My sister wore sweatpants and hoodies that belonged to some junior she would've met after one of her basketball games. (Although, what junior comes to freshman girls' basketball games for fun, I'll never know). If you're lucky, you'd catch her in a pair of ripped jeans, but not without a baggy t-shirt or one of my sweatshirts that she stole from my room without asking. She was a sports girl. Yeah, her friends wore skintight tanks and shorts that barely covered the places it needed to, but Meg wasn't like that. She was, for the most part, like the girl version of Max. So much so, that I sometimes got worried that they'd end up together. Thank god, that never happened.

The one part of the Meg I knew that wasn't like me or, really, the rest of my family, was that she was crazy, crazy popular.

Like, a thousand likes per post as a fucking freshman popular.

Like, going out every single Friday night, and not coming back until Saturday evening popular.

And I had never been so jealous of someone in my life.

I don't know why I was so unpopular. Maybe it was because I said 'evening' instead of 'night' like a normal person. Maybe it was because I just wasn't normal, period. All I knew was that the most important thing was for me to become known. I wanted what Megan had. I wanted people to smile at me in the hallways, and to call out my name, running after me, tripping over their own feet just so they could catch up to me and say hello. At least, that's what I imagined people did for her.