BULLIED

Story 21

This is my story on bullying.

First grade

I moved from my old town into a new school. I didn't want to move because the old house was small from my parents' point of view, but cozy from mine. I was intimidated by all the new kids. I didn't even know their names, yet I was expected to be friends with them. Eventually, though, I knew what role I played in the school. I had a best friend that was identical to me, and for a while, everything was fine. Kids called me weird, but I was okay with it. I loved my best friend, and she loved me back. But I was still always scared of the kids and rarely spoke to them.

Fourth grade

We did a project on the moon while we were studying the solar system. My best friend worked on the project with me. I took the project very seriously, because I've always loved the solar system. But when it was time to present, every single person in the class kept cackling like hyenas. My friend and I were both shy and nervous to present. We were confused about why everyone was laughing. I felt trapped in a cage of giggling, not allowed to escape. The teacher seemed to be very interested in her lipstick, but not in the class. Eventually, I ripped the project into threads. I was driven to tears. The teacher still wouldn't pay attention to me.
When we were done presenting, I asked a student what was so funny. She just giggled, looked me right in the eyes and said, "you were both so scared and (friend) was shaking so much that her fat was jiggling. " Those words echoed in my head for months, and I wondered what was wrong with me that I only had one person who liked me.

Fifth grade

This is the year when everything changed. I stopped being friends with (best friend) because I decided she was too cool for me. This was where I messed up. Nobody besides (best friend) ever loved me. Why would I think that would change?

It was also the year when we got lockers. There was one day that I don't remember much about. Except pitch black. I was shoved into a cold, cramped, square of metal. A foot by a foot. No matter how loud I shrieked, nobody heard me. Nobody would ever hear me. No matter how loud I would scream. It was as if I was invisible. Eventually, a janitor took my out at the very end of the school day. The kids who shoved me in the locker never got in trouble, but I wondered what I did that made them hate me so much. I decided that there were a lot of things to hate about me and I felt hopeless. I was going to tell somebody, but decided against it. Who needs to hear my whine about my life?

This journal entry pretty clearly sums up sixth grade:
8-26-2014

Summer rain pours down my back and onto my cheetah print leggings. Rain is one of my favorite things, but it makes me feel cold and sticky tonight. It's fine, Summer, I murmur to myself over and over, even though it is obvious that nothing is okay. In a day, I would be in a horrific building most kids call school.
I'm not going to pretend that I didn't love school two years ago, but everything changed seemingly overnight in sixth grade. Before sixth grade, I was always THAT girl. That girl, who is either unnoticed or hated. That girl, who may be stepped on and smushed because it seemed as if no one could see or hear her. You get the picture.
By the time sixth grade rolled around, I was sick of being that girl. My mom told me to stick to who I was, but I didn't know who or what I was. Maybe I was supposed to be popular, I told myself. That's also how I coaxed myself into sitting next to the two most popular girls in the grade on the first day of sixth grade. Their names were friend 1 and 2, and I was about to be their latest best friend. Usually, friend 1 and 2 grew out of their friends the same way that their long legs grew out of their Seven jeans.
As sixth grade progressed, I still didn't know who I was. Friend 1, 2 and I became closer, going to the mall every Saturday, flirting with every guy who walked by.
Towards the middle of the year, I didn't know myself. Still. I just knew who I wasn't. I wasn't friend 1 and 2. They made up a code to talk about people behind their back. An ok sign meant ass hole, a thumbs up meant bitch, and a clap meant slut. They also had symbols for every girl in the grade, so that they could talk about girls even in front of their faces. They called short people weird, and they always told me that they were girly. Why did girls have one adjective just for themselves? So that they could be made fun of? And why did friend 1 and 2 perpetuate these stereotypes and call innocent sixth graders sluts? I waited and waited and waited for them to catch on and say that they were sorry, but they never did.
Mostly, though, friend 1 was the problem. She had a boyfriend. She was famous in the middle of the year because she was the first girl in the girl to date. And she didn't just have a boyfriend. She had a football-playing boyfriend. What more could you expect from a girl like friend 1? In January, she told her boyfriend that I was in love with him. As in, mad, crazy in love. That I wanted to marry him someday. In fact, she told this to the whole sixth grade. I'm not sure how she painted this picture in her head. I hated her boyfriend.
On April Fool's Day, she put a sign on friend 2's back that read "Kick me." Except that, as she was putting it on friend 2's back, the principal walked by and she put my hand on the sign to make it look like it was my idea. I spent my lunch at the principal's office, listening to the principal rant about bullying, as friend 1 was putting the sign on friend 2's back. And I am not exactly the school troublemaker.
Before friend 1 and boyfriend started dating, Friend 1 had an insane crush on boyfriend (you know, the one that I was supposed to have on him.) She didn't want to flirt with him in person, so she asked me to do it for him. By calling him daddy. Eventually, boyfriend thought that I had mental issues, but somehow believed that friend 1 was the greatest person alive. After all, which boy doesn't fall for those blond curls that fall at the shoulders in loose waves? Or for those intoxicating blue-green eyes and rosy pink cheeks? Or for that body that the boys in the grade decided was "the best choice" in fifth grade? This was fifth grade, when I was still friend 1 and 2's number one target, and when I was probably too busy reading to notice all the latest gossip.
At the same time, though, friend 1 made me feel loved. She always told me that I had a place, as long as I was friends with her. I figured out that the whole year, she was ditching me to go over somebody else's house who invited her later than I did. So why did I still love her? Because she was one of the only people who loved me. And I absolutely loved being loved by her.