Unfiltered Story #254759

(This happened some years ago. The way my school system is set up, there are five elementary schools, one middle school, and one high school. Middle school at the time starts at sixth grade and they just kind of dump everyone together into classes and don’t really start sorting the smarter kids into their own classes until seventh grade. This means I’m in classes with some kids I really don’t mesh well with. One of the guys decides he has a crush on me a few months into the school year. He’s a dumb jock type who really plays into the stereotype. He has no respect for our teachers, he’s constantly disrupting class, and he and his friends seem to only talk about sports. Something I very much hate. My only break from this group is when I go to band class and Spanish class. I otherwise ignore them since I want nothing to do with them, that is until he tries unsuccessfully to get my attention. After that, he gets a cheerleader that I am most definitely not friends with but who is also in the same classes as us to talk to me.)
Cheerleader: (My name), (guy) has a crush on you.
Me: He does?
Cheerleader: Yes. You have to call him.
Me: Why?
Cheerleader: Because he has a crush on you and it would be rude to ignore him. He’s on the basketball team after all.
Me: So?
Cheerleader: Look, here’s his number. You better call him.
Me: Why? I don’t like him. He’s loud and obnoxious and crude. He has done absolutely nothing to make me think I want to spend any of my time with him outside of school.
Cheerleader: He’s not loud and obnoxious.
Me: Yes he is. I’m not gonna call him.
Cheerleader: You better, or you’re gonna make him cry. You don’t want to make him cry, now do you?
Me: I’m not gonna call him. Especially since he doesn’t have the guts to ask me himself.
Cheerleader: Just call him.
Me: Whatever.
(I don’t call him that weekend. On Monday during lunch, the cheerleader hunts me down and confronts me.)
Cheerleader: Why didn’t you call (guy)?
Me: Because I said I wasn’t going to call him.
Cheerleader: You made him cry! He’s heartbroken. If we lose the game this week, it’s your fault.
Me: I don’t care about any game.
Cheerleader: Make it up to him. Call him tonight. You still have his number?
Me: No, I trashed it. Don’t bother giving me another copy. I’m still not going to call him.
Cheerleader: You have to!
Me: No, I don’t!
(And that is how I earned the reputation of being “undatable” all throughout middle and high school. The cheerleaders made the rest of my middle school experience miserable, but it wasn’t so bad once I got into seventh grade and was placed into the classes for the smarter students, and none of those kids were in the same classes as me anymore. They still tried to get to me in high school, but by that point, I was firmly in the band program and honor classes where they couldn’t touch me. I believe the guy ended up graduating a year behind me since he failed too many classes and was kicked off the basketball team our freshman or sophomore year of high school.)