…with thanks to Shannon, who suggested I write about England during NaBloPoMo.
***
My sophomore year of high school was a mess.
We found out we were relocating to the UK in November and we moved in January. Those three months were tear-filled and riddled with teenage drama as I wept over a boyfriend who is long since a wispy memory and took advantage of my parents’ guilt by completely giving up any schoolwork.
I failed my health class. I failed health class.
The other half of the year was spent in a culture-shock-induced haze. I thought they spoke English here, I thought, as I struggled to navigate a terrifying new environment.
And school?
Academically rigorous and socially treacherous, the American School In London bore no resemblance to my public school back in the states.
The kid whose driver picked him up after school. The girl with the American Express Gold Card. The twins who were pissed off because they had to share a Porsche.
I ate lunch alone in the bottom of a stairwell for almost four months. I was petrified to open my mouth, both in front of my peers and in the classroom.
Can you imagine? I was silent, for days at a time.
I stumbled my way through the remainder of 10th grade, staggering to the end of the year with a fistful of Cs and Ds – and an A, of course, in English.
By the end of the next school year I had a few equally displaced pals and a terrible attitude. I loved London but school remained my nemesis.
My parents, trying to be helpful, mentioned to the dean of admissions that I had worked a weekly shift at the alternative radio station that operated out of my previous school. Let’s just say that the words “AV club” and “private school” do not belong in the same sentence.
I crushed hard on popular, artsy boys and hid behind a terrible perm, adopting a willfully cynical outlook. “The mistfit toys,” I called myself and my friends.
So imagine my surprise to find myself, at the tail end of my junior year, as incoming Prom Committee President.
I’m still not sure how it happened.
{To Be Continued …}
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Wow, what a world. Like high school isn’t hard enough. Thank you for writing about it.
I want to hear more. I want to hear more! You know how well MY expat experience is going…
You totally grabbed my attention with this one. My first time ever reading your blog. Can’t wait for the next installment.
Heidi
Can’t wait for you to continue!!!
What a difficult time to change schools, never mind moving to an entirely new culture.
My dad is a product of the British school system. I finally stopped asking him for homework help in high school because every time I did he would say, “You have learned this yet?!! I learned this when I was eight.”
I can’t believe that you ever got a D. I just don’t.
What an interesting story, looking forward to hearing more!
Yeah the D surprises me
Ha! I even got a D in college – Italian. I was certain that I could take a new language (I took French for seven years) and ace it. Not so much.
I got Ds. You go from public school to private school, and there is a HUGE academic difference. I skated by on my good looks and talent in the states and got straight As, expect in math.
I am a smart person and a very, very lazy student. Or at least, I was.
I got many, many Cs. In fact, I was so bad at math that I barely made it out of 11th grade remedial algebra without flunking. I was in “personal finance” my senior year, which was math for dummies. I dropped it, and that’s all she wrote.
And my dad was an engineer. You can imagine how he felt about that!
Oooh, this one I can’t wait to hear!
I moved at exactly the same time. January of Sophomore year. It’s hard, even without the huge culture shock.
10th grade sucks, no matter where you are! But how intriguing . . . prom committee!