Lolly

Age 13

We were starting our third year of middle school. I didn't see Lolly much anymore. I just saw her in flashes. A flash of black and bleached hair. She was hanging out with a different group of people nowadays but they were still older than her and this time, they weren't just girls. I still didn't like them. And even though I rarely ever spoke to Lolly anymore, I still missed having her around. And I still cared. I didn't want her to get all messed up.

Middle school was hard. But in many ways better. It gave me the opportunity to start fresh, to start new. I got rid of my bullies. I kept mostly to myself but I started hanging out with a group of guys from math class who didn't do as well as I did but stayed out of trouble and were generally not bad to be around. For the first two years, math had become my favourite subject. Or at least, my favourite class. Mr. Jeffrey didn't just make it fun, he made it interesting. Everyone respected Mr. Jeffrey. And I think they respected him because he respected us. He didn't treat us like other teachers. He didn't treat us like dirt. He never punished us. That's not to say he didn't keep discipline. But when we were being loud, he'd just stop talking and wait patiently for us to stop too. I thought it was a bad idea at first, but eventually we all wanted Mr. Jeffrey's approval I suppose. Once a week, on a random day, he'd bring cake and every person who'd done their homework would get a slice. Sometimes, we'd even have lessons outside. Mr. Jeffrey didn't harbour any hatred towards us. He was strict but kind and he joked with us a lot. If he wasn't everyone's favourite teacher, I don't know who was. The past year, more people passed his class than any other. I got an A. My mum cried when I showed her.

But everything changed that year. The first class, there was no Mr. Jeffrey. Instead there was a stubby man with no hair who told us Mr. Jeffrey left for another school and he was the new teacher. It was a betrayal. How could he leave us like that? We needed him. Everyone instantly hated the new teacher so he made sure that at least, if we hated him, he was going to give us something to hate him for. He was horrible. He yelled at us when we were being loud which ironically led to more of the rough boys rebelling and shouting out. I hated math that year. I hated everything about it.

I was walking home from school one day. I had missed the bus so I had to go home on foot. A few metres ahead of me, I saw the corner shop, a dingy little store which sold all sorts of stuff. Lounging about outside the door were a bunch of older-looking kids. They were eyeing me or so I thought, and whispered to each other. When I looked at them, I realised that they weren't looking at me at all. Instead, all their attention was focused on the inside of the store. I sped up my pace. If they were going to steal something, I couldn't get caught up in the middle of it. Just as I was passing them, out of nowhere, bursting out of the shop door a person came shooting out in a flash of black leather and wispy hair. She was laughing. Not far behind came the shopkeeper, cursing as he forced his stubby legs forward, despite probably knowing he stood no chance of catching up to the shop thief. Maybe he was chasing her because whatever she had stolen was worth a try. Maybe he was safeguarding his pride. Whatever the reason, it only took him a few seconds to break down, huffing and puffing while the kids outside his store a second ago scurried away hurriedly and the girl ran right across the street, to the other side, then began running along the pavement. And not wanting to be the only one left at the scene of the crime, I quickened my pace and fled the scene. But my eyes kept following the girl, long after she thought no one was seeing her anymore. And as she rounded a corner, I caught her gaze. And something in my chest sunk. Because in that split second I had confirmed what I had been hesitant to confirm moments ago. It was most definitely Lolly.

The weeks ahead weren't hell. But they might as well have been. I told no one about what I had seen Lolly do. Who would I tell? My mum? She was taking on even more hours at her job if that was even possible. She had more important things to worry about. And besides, who would even care? People did this all the time. It was that kind of neighbourhood where crime and drugs weren't just a norm, they were expected. So why did I feel like this was a betrayal?
Perhaps we all want to believe the best in people. Perhaps we'd all like to give the people we care about the benefit of the doubt. But there was no benefit to be given after you see it with your own eyes. And as much as I tried to deny it or make up excuses for her in my head, I knew that she had known perfectly well what she was doing when she did it. And I also knew that the Lolly I had grown up with was gone. Had disappeared behind a mass of yellow hair and an unwavering facade. At least for now.