Mean Girl Wipeout

Names have been changed.

I got my first skateboard in April of my junior year. I practiced hard, mostly by myself, for a month because I was self-conscious about being a girl who couldn’t do cool “guy” things well. 

By May, I had mastered some skateboard basics. I was in an after-school program with a girl named Samantha, who I knew from book club. She asked if I skateboarded.

“Yeah, why?” I asked eagerly. 

“Ace is starting this skateboarding club, and she asked me to join because I have a skateboard. You have a skateboard too, so you should join. If you want.” I didn’t know who Ace was, but I was thrilled at the invitation. Samantha told me where to meet them after school, and I invited my friend Jaden along. 

I saw four girls at the spot, but Samantha wasn’t with them. I approached nervously. “Are you in the skateboarding club? My friend Samantha said I could join.” 

“This is the Skater Chicks,” said a girl in a crop top with brown skin, red locs, and black lipliner, who turned out to be Ace. “We’re an all-girls club, because there isn’t enough solid representation of girl skaters. We can skate as a group and learn from each other and grow.” She explained how she’d promote the club on Instagram.

Ace was very charismatic and carried herself with confidence and leadership. But there was an edge to her authority; I picked up that she didn’t tolerate any disrespect or let people mess with her.

I never saw girls skateboarding in social media or on TV, so I thought her dreams were worthy of support. And I wanted girls to skate with. 

Another girl, Chantelle, checked her phone and said, “Samantha can’t make it.”

“OK, we’ll just go without her,” Ace said. 

I felt anxious walking to the LES skatepark with the Skater Chicks. Besides skateboarding, it sounded like we weren’t into the same shows or hobbies. But they asked me and Jaden about ourselves and seemed genuinely interested in what we had to say. 

We spent all afternoon skateboarding, and the time flew by. As the sun set, we left the park as a group, and I asked Ace, “So.. are we in?” 

“Of course, the more members the better,” Ace said.

“Jaden too? I know this is a girls club, but they aren’t technically a guy either,” I said.

Jaden explained, “I’m actually genderfluid, which means my gender identity changes instead of staying the same.”

“Honestly the more of us in the Skater Chicks the better. We’re trying to build a space for non-male skaters. If you’re about that, and wanna support us, then you’re in the group.”

I Stick Up for Ella 

After school ended, my summer days revolved around learning new skateboarding moves with the Skater Chicks. It felt like we were making the type of high school memories you cherish when you’re old. Sweat on my forehead, dirt on my hands, and tons of pictures with my new friends. 

The main club members were Ace, Ace’s best friend Sophia, Samantha, Jaden, Ella, Chantelle, Destiny, and me. Ace scheduled meet-ups on our Instagram group chat, and they happened two, three, sometimes even four times a week. 

As the summer passed, fewer people showed up for every meeting. One Saturday in late July, it was only Chantelle, Sophia, Ace, and me. The scorching heat blazed the skatepark and boiled the four Skater Chicks. 

During a break, Ace announced,  “I wanna talk about something important. I’m thinking about kicking Ella out of the Skater Chicks.” 

“What? Why?” I said.

“She was supposed to be here and she isn’t. I don’t care if her mom won’t let her go this one time, but the same thing happened last week.” 

Sophia nodded. “Exactly.”

Ace continued, “You all are here, aren’t y’all? If we’re gonna be a club that promotes girl skaters we gotta be dedicated. If we show up to the LES park with only three people, other clubs aren’t going to take us seriously, and the school is never going to approve of the club.” 

I wondered if I was asking to be kicked out next. If that happened, who would have my back? 

My heart sank. No one was more passionate about skateboarding than Ella, and she had been the kindest to me. 

“Ace, I think this is going a bit fast. Does Ella know you wanna kick her out of the group?” I pleaded.

Ace sighed. “I didn’t wanna tell her without talking about it with y’all. If I called Ella she would have started crying. Nothing against feelings, like feeling our feelings is valid, but we’re grown now.” 

A tsunami of shame crashed in my head. If Ace called me and told me I couldn’t be in the Skater Chicks anymore, I’d probably start crying.

“I just really think if we called her, she could at least explain herself. Can I call her so y’all can talk, please?” I said.

I dialled Ella. She and Ace talked, and Ace gave her a second chance. 

I wondered later if by disagreeing with Ace and insisting we call Ella, I was asking to be kicked out next. If that happened, who would have my back? 

Ace continued to announce at every meet-up which absent members she was planning to kick out. I was never absent; my skills and tricks steadily improved. As the Skater Chicks social media gained thousands of followers, I thought I was safe.

Gaslighting

A couple of weeks later, the group chat flooded with questions about where we were meeting. “I didn’t see a message; Ace probably just forgot,” wrote Chantelle. We decided to go to the Lower East Side skatepark we went to most often. When we got there we didn’t see Ace, but we started to skate.

Finally Ace arrived. I ran toward her, smiling: “You forgot to send the location; did you have trouble finding us?” 

“I did send the location, you just didn’t see it,” Ace said coldly.

“Really? None of us could find the location.” I was confused.

“If she said she sent it then she sent it. Stop starting problems,” Chantelle said, also cold.

Ace pulled up the message where she’d sent the location in the chat. “See? We’re supposed to be a group, a unit, but you’re over here accusing me of things I didn’t do…. How can we all be a group if you don’t trust me?” Ace said. I left that meet-up rattled, but set it aside.

Later that month Chantelle, Ace, and I went skating in Brooklyn. When it got dark, Ace announced she wanted us to talk to us as a group. But she addressed only me: “You keep getting on my nerves, and you’re making the whole group look bad. You got me wondering if you should even really be a part of the group.”

Panic filled my body. “But–” I started. 

“I’m not done.” Ace cut in. “First, you accused me of not sending the location, and I didn’t even get an apology for that.” She went on with her denunciation, and finally gave me permission to speak. 

I said slowly, “I didn’t mean to accuse you, it’s just what I thought was happening. I’m sorry. It’s just, we all thought you forgot. Not just me.”

“We’re not talking about anyone else, we’re talking about you. Stop blaming other people.”

We went back and forth in this insane way, her accusing me of things I hadn’t done and me apologizing. Ultimately, Ace decided I could stay in the group—for now.

A week later, I was ambushed in a group call among Ace, Sophia, and Chantelle. Ace explained that there was nothing she could do because I kept causing problems for the group, and the call ended. 

From Wariness to Trust

The silence in my bedroom felt incredibly loud. I forced myself to open Instagram. The group chat was gone. 

None of it made sense. I lay in bed looking up at the ceiling while tears slid down my face. I didn’t just lose a way of practicing my hobby, I lost people I thought were my friends. I spent months making sure I attended all the meet-ups after summer school and my internship, sweating in the hot sun, getting hurt doing tricks everyone else was afraid to try, all to boost Ace’s social media. 

Only Jaden stood up for me—and they got kicked out for it. 

For the rest of the summer, and into senior year, I replayed those interactions in my head.

It was hard to recover. During my classes in senior year, I was defensive in any conversation, imagining myself as a defendant in a trial. Jaden was my only friend that year, and I didn’t see them much because they were taking college classes. It was lonely and boring, but if I could be exiled for any mistake—even imaginary ones!—why make new friends? 

Fortunately, I got the chance to start over when I entered college. I enrolled in the Educational Opportunity Program (EOP), which helps low-income students and foster youth succeed in higher education. 

At our first meeting, a girl there asked if I wanted to be attendance buddies. She wasn’t intimidating like Ace was, and she didn’t seem to have any ulterior motives in befriending me (like getting more Instagram followers). She was down-to-earth and genuine.  

I pushed through my wariness into trust, and made my first new friend in over a year. And then I made more friends in college. They taught me that I don’t need to be perfect, I just need to be me. When I made mistakes with them, at first, I pulled away. But instead of plotting my removal, these friends noticed my absence and sought me out.

Making real friends helped me recover from Ace’s gaslighting and banishing me. Those true friends proved that Ace and her cliquey club were the exception, not the rule.