There’s one of those girls in every class. The type of girl that all of the other girls hate but really want to be, and the type of girl that all of the guys just plain want. For us it was Stacy White, a creature of almost perfect proportions, befitting of the classic cliché: “All the right curves in all the right places”.

Some of us said that the hardest part about being a male in our class was simply watching her as she strode around the school. She would walk down the hallways with a deliberate swagger. A bouncing sort of gait to her step that just begged the guys to stare (maybe it wasn’t deliberate, but it sure looked that way to me, like she just knew she was hot shit). Her brunette hair was cut in one of those trendy new razor style doos that framed her face perfectly and she was that rare type of woman who didn’t need makeup to look absolutely stunning, as a matter of fact, my friends and I were of the firm belief that makeup ruined the purity of her.

Two things. It is actually quite a thin implication that identifies the narrator as a young male admirer rather than a young female competiter. The line, "my friends and I were of the firm belief that makeup ruined the purity of her" is the only solid clue in that direction...and if the reader assumes that she did wear makeup, then the tendancy of even that clue is obviated. Either you should strengthen the implication that this is a male admirer of the girl, or eliminate it. Which depends on how you want to tell the story...since I would imagine that at some point the narrator is going to become an active investigator of the reasons for Stacy White's suicide, I would vote for revealing the narrator's identity early. Otherwise he/she will only be able to remain a passive observer (which will negatively affect the value of using this voice).

The second point is related. The overall voice feels like that of a young person...but one with better than average literary skills. I wouldn't hesitated to strengthen the literary skill into the realm of being nearly implausible for a high school student and play up the overall youthful perspective at the same time. This will yield a very interesting character, a kind of idiot savant of the word, if you will. Whether it is a boy who has suffered the idiocy of a juvenile crush or a girl that has suffered from idiotic envy of some over-developed teen, that contrast with the literary talent piques our interest (as well as drawing us into the voice of the narrator).

And of course this dichotomy should be carried into the rest of the character as revealed by the story. Inexperienced but intelligent, passionately selfish but with a core of integrity, the peculiar vices of youth set against opposing virtues.

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There’s one of those girls in every class…the type of girl that all of the other girls hate but deep down want to be, and the type of girl that all of the guys can’t stop thinking about. Back then it was Stacy White, a creature of almost surreal perfection befitting of the classic cliché: “All the right curves in all the right places” and with a little attitude thrown in. In fact, every time she walked by my friend Tom would always slap his palm on my shoulder with a sigh and say:

“Ya know Sam; the most difficult thing about going to this school is simply having to watch her walk around.” And then he’d shake his head and walk off like his heart was broken in three places. And he was right. I remember she would walk down the hallways with a deliberate swagger, a bouncing sort of gait to her step that just begged the guys to stare (maybe it wasn’t deliberate but it sure looked that way to me, like she just knew she was hot shit). Her brunette hair was straight but not flat or boring, no, it was always kind of bouncy, with little curls at the ends, and wisps that floated around her face like some saintly halo. And the best thing about her was that she had this rare simplicity about her beauty. She was the type of woman who didn’t need makeup to look absolutely stunning, as a matter of fact, my friends and I held the firm belief that makeup would somehow take away the simple beauty of her and make it needlessly complex.

Yes, Stacy White was the dream, the goal, and the idol of just about everyone in the little world of Winthrop High School, was that girl until one day in 1977 - July 23rd to be precise – the day she ceased to exist in this world…the day she committed suicide and no one knew why…which oddly enough seemed to be just the way she wanted it.

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I just want to say that I completely disagree that the gender of your pov character was at any point in doubt. Girls do envy the "Stacy White" of their class, but we never put it like that. We never admit it.

Putting it in dialogue like you did broke the magic for me. The first version had me remembering the "Stacy White" of my own high school, then the last paragraph shocked me into some semblence of reality. Oh yeah, she was a real person, I suppose. You never really think of her that way, whether you are male or female, do you?

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Some of us said that the hardest part about being a male in our class was simply watching her as she strode around the school.

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If I was in any doubt in the first paragraph about the gender of your character, this cleared it up soon enough for me not to care. All I need is a name for you main character in relatively short order, but because of the voice and the tone of the tale, I don't even miss it yet.

Oh yeah, one thing. (I'm going back to your original and pretending the rewrite doesn't exist.) Cut this part:

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(maybe it wasn’t deliberate, but it sure looked that way to me, like she just knew she was hot shit).

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That seemed unnecessary and broke the flow.

There’s one of those girls in every class...the type of girl that all of the other girls hate but deep down want to be, and the type of girl that all of the guys can’t stop thinking about. Back then it was Stacy White, a creature of almost surreal perfection befitting of the classic cliché: “All the right curves in all the right places” and with a little attitude thrown in.

Some people said that the hardest part about being a male in our class was simply watching her as she strode around the school. And they were right too. I remember she’d walk down the hallways with a deliberate swagger, a bouncing sort of gait to her step that just begged the guys to stare (maybe it wasn’t deliberate but it sure looked that way to me). Her brunette hair was straight but not flat or boring, no, it was always kind of bouncy, with little curls at the ends, and wisps that floated around her face like some saintly halo. And moreover she had this rare simplicity about her beauty. She was the type of woman who didn’t need makeup to look absolutely stunning, as a matter of fact, my friends and I held the firm belief that makeup would somehow take away the simple beauty of her and make it needlessly complex.

Christine has a point about girls not openly admitting that they envy the Stacy White of the class...but the guys don't normally think about that either. A young male's hormones will insure a remarkable degree of blindness on that and several other subjects. Since this is clearly being written after an intellectual awakening of sorts (for the character) it is perfectly acceptable in the context.

I notice that the one line (which I missed) where you associated the writer as being one of the guys has been changed in this last version so that there is no use of "us" that refers to "guys".

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my friends and I held the firm belief that makeup would somehow take away the simple beauty of her and make it needlessly complex.

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Here's the image I'm trying to get at, and none of you seem to be getting it.

Think Stephen King's "It" or "Stand by Me" the narrator is now older, like you said, middle aged, and looking back at an event in his high school years. I'm having trouble giving the impression that this passage is any opening in which the narrator is reminiscing of sorts to a tragic event in his high school days, but which (we'll later find out) changed his life. I'm not really sure how to accomplish this I guess.
What I can't seem to get across is that there's a specific attatchment that the narrator has to Ms. White, perhaps even that he knows something that no one else did about her death. I'm just finding it difficult to get that across.

In the prior version, this was still a youth growing up...with the date change, it's a creepy man that hasn't grown up. If you go with making the narrator an older man, then you have to take into account that he's had decades to get over his infatuation with this girl, he's had decades to come to an accommodation with the fact of her death, and he's old.

I'm only just over thirty and I don't think of the girls I went to highschool with in a sexual context anymore...though I might if I met them again (but then it would be the adult woman, not the teenage girl). And that's the ones that didn't commit suicide, sabe? And I'm pretty youngish for a thirty year old, unmarried, long hair (I don't know what that has to do with it, but you might). I would find it creepy if another guy my age went on like this about a girl he knew in high school that committed suicide. All the guys just plain wanting her, her curves being in all the right places, her bouncing gait making all the guys stare...it would creep me out a little. But a guy in his late forties or early fifties?

It's creepy. A boy working through something like this can talk like that, and I appreciate the candor even as I smile at his youth, but an old guy talking about some ancient history with a girl that never got to grow up...it's just yucky.

You got across that the narrator knows (at the time of writing) something about how and why S. White died. You also implicitly promise that the story will reveal what the narrator knows and how he discovered it. But even the fact that it is still unknown to everyone else looks much worse with an older narrator looking back on things.

I've rewritten it agian but I fear to post it. I've attempted to make Stacy appear less Sexy and more cute, also added a last line to try and make the hook a little more suggestive. And from the narrator's POV she should now be more of a memory, like you said, than an object of lust. I'll admit this is more difficult than I'd imagined...here goes:

There’s one of those girls in every class. For us, it was Stacy White…the type of girl that all of the others hated but deep down wanted to be, and the type that all of us guys just couldn’t stop thinking about. A creature of almost perfect proportions, befitting of the classic cliché: “As beautiful as the day is long” and with a little attitude thrown in.
Some said that the hardest part about being a male in our class was simply having to watch her walk around the school. And they were right too, everything about her was enchanting. Her brunette hair was straight but not flat or boring, no, it was always kind of bouncy, with little curls at the ends, and wisps that floated around her face, which held the world’s most perfect smile. She had this rare simplicity about her looks, the type of girl who didn’t need makeup to look absolutely stunning, as a matter of fact; my friends and I held the firm belief that makeup would somehow ruin her simple beauty.
Of course, at the time none of us knew why we were so fascinated with Stacy, it was just a given…an overnight happening that made us realize that there’s a whole different half to our species. Somewhere in that void between 7th and 9th grade the ladies figure out our weaknesses, while we’re out playing ball.
Yes, Stacy White was the dream, and the idol of just about everyone in the little world of Jefferson High School, was that girl until one day in 1977 - July 23rd to be precise – the day she ceased to exist in this world…the day she committed suicide and no one knew why…which oddly enough seemed to be just the way she wanted it.

As for the creepiness...it was probably the shock of getting a picture of this hormonal kid going through a tramatic period in his life and then being presented with the image of guy more than a decade my senior.

Just out of curiosity, about how old are you?

I'm wondering because one piece of advice I gave you was right for first image, dead wrong for the second. The whole "us guys" thing is wrong, wrong, so wrong with the older narrator. He can (and should) refer to himself and certain close friends of that age as 'us', he shouldn't ever refer to the entire peer group of that time as 'us'. He's too old to identify with them anymore (or he's really creepy).

I'm going to go through and pull out some lines and sort of rewrite them from an older perspective. Stacy [was] "the type that all of us guys just couldn’t stop thinking about." But in retrospect, "all the boys in that class were completely infatuated with her." "A creature of almost perfect proportions" (Mccreepy alert!) becomes "at the time, we couldn't imagine anyone being more desirable." Note that here I've used the word 'we' only after the qualifier, 'at the time', which distances the writer from the 'we' mentioned. Stacy was such and such "with a little attitude thrown in." This is a little vague, but I'm going to translate it freely as, "more self-confident than other girls that age."

"Argh!" you cry. "Your slashing the poetry out of my text!" No, I'm removing the romantic infatuation with the girl that is natural for a kid but creepy for a mature adult. I was that age once, and there were plenty of girls in my classes that were beautiful examples of budding young women. But I don't look back on them with anything like the same attitude I had when I was younger. They were children! So was I. If by some sort of time warp I went back to meet them in real life, I would laugh at the notion of a romantic relationship with them. Even if it were just my brain being sent back to inhabit my then teenaged body, I would still laugh. Unless the issue were pressed, and then I would feel creeped out.

Let me give you a specific (and non personally threatening) example...this one girl was a senior when I was a junior. I was impressed by her 'maturity' and easy superiority to the parochial concerns of those of us that would have to spend another year in high school. Looking back, I laugh at myself for being so impressed. We were all kids.

Another girl, cheerleader, in lots of my AP classes (not as smart as me, nobody was, but she was a lot more studious). Pretty in sort of an everyday way, the young version of the girl you take home to meet the parents. She came to school one time seriously distraught because she'd run over a squirrel (this was Northern Virginia, during that season every year crows would migrate to the area from hundreds of miles away because of the amount of roadkill). I knew that this wasn't a reasonable response on her part (true, I never ran over any squirrels, but that's because I would try to hit them ). But I thought, in all seriousness, that it was sweet, a really good sign of character. I look back...she was a girl that had run over a squirrel for the first time. Sure, I'm fond of her in retrospect, but that memory is a child's memory of another child.

I'm not even going to talk about the various girls with whom I fell in love. Even though I figured out fairly early (compared to my age, at least) that falling in love didn't mean anything in the cosmic sense, I still did it. But the charms that utterly conquered my youthful senses...I have utterly different standards for womanhood now. Not just different in physical terms...in fact, not very different standards in terms of physical beauty. Men are programmed by biology to seek out the youngest females capable of successful reproduction, after all, and we are culturally programmed to seek out youthful beauty as well.

But even in that sense...those barely post pubescent bodies aren't sexually desireable to an older man (not to one that can tell the difference, which some can't). And those childish minds? Please! Can you imagine trying to have a meaningful conversation with a girl that age? You'd have to do all the talking, and you might as well talk to a plant (plants actually do understand what we say, though...I'm not quite sure how this is possible, but it's been demonstrated to my satisfaction). If it was my job to talk to teenage girls about stuff, I would do it. But I would hardly regard "has the mind of a teenage girl" as a plus for a prospective partner, or even sex object. Even an ingenue has to have more maturity to be any good.

I really shouldn't rant like this, since there are probably a few teenage or near teenage girls on this forum, along with the boys that still find them fascinating. Speaking to you, trust me, we find you charming as teenagers. We love you very much and aren't ashamed to admit that we were teenagers once too. It's appropriate and even sweet for you to be so young in heart and mind (and even body, though I think some of you may already suspect that a more mature body is better...don't rush it, these things come with time). And don't be insulted, really old people look at me just the same way.

There's actually a world of difference between an 80-30 relationship and a 50-15 relationship...not just legally either. But you have a point, a lot of people don't see the difference (frankly, when I see a 30ish woman going after an 80ish guy, I tend to think of her as the creep...she's old enough to know better, and he's gotten too old to remember ).

Doesn't matter, though. It's still creepy, and older people (presumably the main audience for 'reminiscence' lit) will pick up on that.