When I was in sixth grade, I was approached by a group of the popular kids. I had only been in the school with them for a year because my family had moved, and it had been made very clear to me that I was not in the hip and trendy crowd, so you can imagine my surprise when they approached.
“We want you to write some fake love letters and hide them so that this girl finds them,” they said.
I’d like to tell you that I refused off-hand, but I didn’t. I wrote 1 or 2. And for awhile, I was in that crowd of people. They invited me to eat lunch at the cool kids table, and they even shared their lunches with me, trading their cookies for my chips and things like that. I felt really good.
Then one day, the girl who was receiving the letters practically danced into class. She was holding the letter I had written. She was also feeling really good. Suddenly, I felt really bad.
I talked to the leader of the cool kids. I said, “I have to tell this girl that it’s me. I just can’t do this.” The girl was not happy with me. I confessed to the girl who had received the letters. She wasn’t happy with me either.
Needless to say, I was no longer welcome at the cool kids table. But I’ve been able to sleep really well for years.