Try:
Seventh grade was a prison. I was kept inside multiple square rooms given different names like ‘ELA’, or ‘History’ for seven hours, with only a 30-minute lunch break. I was depressed, angry, and constantly bullied by someone I remember well, but for the sake of the story, I’ll call her Kiya.
Kiya was by far the tallest girl in class (she was taller than some teachers I kid you not). Kiya was on the school’s cheerleading team, and she could get what she wanted from anyone. Their desk, their lunch, their spot in line.
At first, I thought she liked me. She had called my eyes ‘pretty’. I was used to this, as everyone called my eyes pretty for their unique hazel color. But the boy she liked had a crush on me, and not much later she began to bully me.
My attempts to get rid of her bullying were weak. I would say I was standing there, when she’d cut me in line. She didn’t move. I’d try to ignore her when she’d make fun of me.
Doing nothing led to me thinking about it all day. Why would you let her do that? Why did you just sit there quietly? These words rotted in my head day after day. Kiya bullied me until I broke.
It was music class.
All I could think about was the demon across the room. Earlier when we were heading to music Kiya was standing behind me.
“Ew, I don’t wanna stand behind her! She has dirty teeth!” She had yelled about me, and some boy chuckled at this.”
That insult had sat marinating in my brain for the whole class. I couldn’t take it. My chest was heavy, filled with the pressure of hatred and anger I felt towards Kiya. Despite me, the class was chatting and sounded like a full football stadium. Today was our school’s pep rally, which is basically a bunch of games and activities to boost our school’s spirit. I had no idea what it was at the time, but our math teacher, Mrs. Prond, came to take us straight to the gym for it.
It was right then as I saw the line form. It was right then as Mrs. Prond told everyone to line up. It was right then when I realized, I couldn’t live like this. I couldn’t live with the fear of Kiya always trailing behind me. Scratching at my brain. Toying with my heartbeat speed.
I had to do this. I turned to Mrs. Prond.
“What is a pep rally?” I asked her because I knew I most likely wouldn’t be around here long enough to see it.
The muscles around her eyebrows wrinkled. “I don’t know. I believe it’s a-”
I forgot the rest of what she said. I only know that I said “oh,” and somehow, Kiya was right beside me, all perky, probably about to tell Mrs. Prond some crap. I didn’t care.
I wouldn’t be afraid my whole life. I pushed her. Right there and then, I pushed her.
She zipped back and clawed at me like an irritated cat. “Imma-woop-yo-butt!” She cursed and spat out mean rimarks as she tried to slash me apart. Still, I tried to dodge her slashes.
Grabb their hair! Mom’s voice echoed in my head, so I grabbed onto her stupid ponytail and held on like it was a life-rope thrown out to me.
She stopped fighting me once her head was sideways.
“Let go of my hair,” She told me, surprisingly calm.
“Then stop hitting me!” I wailed, my voice thickening. Gosh, when had I started crying!?
Mrs. Prond then pulled us apart and I was sent to the dean’s office.
As I stomped down the hall I heard Kiya crying too, while talking to someone behind me.
Fail:
In the dean’s office I barely needed an explanation. I just said “I had a fight with Kiya,” with a straight face, and he nodded.
While I sat down, he got up to get the teacher's point of view I guess.
I sniffled. Snot practically ran down my throat like a river.
My face hurt. I didn’t know tear drops could sting so bad.
I wiped the droplets off my face to see they were droplets of blood.
Crap, what had she done to me?
I had to see myself. I couldn’t go to the bathroom, so I looked at the most reflective thing in his office, which I believe was a silver leg of his desk and saw two small tears in my face. Ouch.
It turned out I had gotten scars that would take days to heal up. I ended up costing Kiya her ‘cheerleading show at the pep rally’, which I paid for with 3-days of suspension.
That was a bad experience, but I realized that I shouldn’t have fought her over some dumb insult later on in the day. I should have just let it go. But me being the overthinker that I am, I let her rude comment swirl around my brain until I couldn’t take it anymore.
Try Again:
Nowadays I am able to let things like that go. I combat my overthinking by giving myself time to think about it and moving on. If a mistake I made is just rotting in my mind, I’ll ask myself: What am I so mad about? Could I have changed what happened? What can I do in the future to prevent this outcome?
I’ll write about what happened, and what I could do next time to prevent the bad outcome. I don’t feel completely better, but my mind feels eased enough to move onto other things.
I still have a bit of that girl from before. The me who dwelled on her mistakes, the girl who feels like she always does things wrong. But I fight her with the older, more doughty me, who knows with time and practice I can and have improved myself for the better. Nowadays I shake off a little insult. And good luck if you wanna bully me.
Hey there! I’m Shila! I’ve loved books since I could read, and decided I would write books I wanted to see written for others! Check my children’s book Imagination on Amazon!
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