I wouldn't consider myself to be a "mean girl." I mean, sure, I hang out with the so-called "cool crowd," and I guess that makes me "popular," but I don't think, by those standards, I have to be one of those girls, right?
Well, mean girl or not, I have friends who are. I swear, their purpose in life is to make every single person in the school feel insignificant and pathetic. They go around, flaunting their stupid little designer bags, and, to put it bluntly, bullying people.
I am not one of them. I mean, I am, in the sense that I sit with them at lunch, talk with them in class, text them in my spare time, and hang out with them over the weekend, but not in the sense that I support their daily put-downs and "accidental" spillings of unwanted pudding on certain people's laps.
Why do I hang out with them if I think they are mean? It's more complicated than that. Sure, I may not like how they treat other people, but aside from that they are pretty good people. They are really good friends to me; always there for me when I need them, always backing me up when I need help. They aren't the stereotypical superficial harpies who sit around gossiping and have no personalities whatsoever. They are funny, and some of them even have good taste in music. Once you get past the whole bully thing, they are actually pretty nice, and probably the best friends a girl could have.
Tara and Karen recruited me into their group at the very beginning of freshman year. They declared me "pretty" and dragged me over to sit with them in the cafeteria when they saw my combat boots and my sketches. And don't bitch about how they judged me by my appearance, or only wanted to be friends with me because of how I look, because that's not how it happened. Karen has a thing for respecting people with combat boots, and Tara was intrigued when she saw my sketchbook. We hit it off immediately, and soon I was apart of their clique.
As a general rule, probably established by Tara or maybe Jules, we don't socialize with people outside our group unless necessary. I put up with these kinds of ridiculous rules and such, because they're my friends.
I'll give you a brief back story: I'm Aiden Jens, I'm fifteen, I'm a sophomore, I love drawing, I take AP classes, I ski, my parents are divorced, and I have one sister named Cassandra who was in an unfortunate bike vs. car accident when she was nine, so she now has a prosthetic leg.
So imagine my horror when a new kid with a prosthetic leg shows up at our school one November, and Tara, Karen, and Jules torment him about his circumstances, calling him mean names and making cruel jokes.
It was a Monday, right after first period, and all four of us had just walked out of French when he walked out of the office, which was right across from the French room. They all had Biology next, while I had AP Geometry in the opposite direction, which they knew, so they walked off, laughing, after telling me where to meet them for our free period. When they passed the new kid, Jules had nonchalantly shoved him, causing all his books to fall to the floor.
Horrified that they would pick on someone for missing a limb, something they have no control over, I rushed to the guy's aid. I picked up some of his textbooks and his schedule from the floor.
"Second period AP geometry, huh?" I commented, reading his class schedule. "Well, you're in luck. That's where I'm headed too."
I helped him up and handed him his things, and he gave me a strange glance; he seemed unsure if he should be scared of me or grateful to me.
I looked down, ashamed of my association with the girls who had been so cruel to him. "I-I'm really sorry about the girls. They just... they just don't think sometimes," I mumbled, trying to piece together an explanation, feeling obliged to defend my friends.
He nodded and walked with me towards math. "It's fine. It happens at all the schools I go to. They see an easy target, they attack."
"I know, but I wish they wouldn't." I replied, wincing when I thought about Cass ever being bullied like he evidently has.
"So, why the sympathy for the new guy?" He asked, changing the subject. "Do you always help your friends' victims behind their backs, or am I special?"
I laughed. "No, I usually just stand back and stay out of it."
"Then why talk to me?"
"I don't know-- I mean, actually, I do, but, ugh, they just-- they just, this time it was... it was..."
I trailed off, searching for words.
"Personal?" nameless kid suggested, finishing my thought.
"Yeah," I admitted, frowning. "How did you know?"
"Just a guess. Do you know someone like me? Missing a limb, I mean."
I hesitated, not really wanting to reveal my personal life to some guy I just met.
"I get it, you don't have to tell me. I--" he started, but I cut him off, not wanting to be mean.
"No, it's fine, really." I paused. "It's my sister. Biking accident, lost her left leg."
He nodded understandingly. "I had a tumor in my ankle bone. Fought it for a couple years, but eventually they had to replace my leg altogether. I've had this thing here since I was seven."
"Wow," I marveled, awed at how long he has had to deal with leg issues. I can't even imagine how difficult that would be.
I must have spoken my thoughts out loud, because he chuckled and said, "I'm not going to lie, it is pretty hard. But the pain goes away, and you get used to walking around with it, and eventually it's just peers that get in the way. The only problems are the way people look at you when you cross the street, the names you get called to your face, and worst of all, the things kids at school say when they think you're not listening."
I was silent through his little speech, lost in my own thoughts of Cass and my friends. Did these things happen to Cass at school? Is she bullied the way the boy standing next to me is? Do Jules and Tara and Karen really not see what they do to people? Or do they just not care?
When we reached the classroom and took seats beside each other, I decided an introduction was probably necessary.
"I'm Aiden, by the way," I said, handing him his schedule, which I forgot to return to him before.
"Nice to meet you, Aiden. I'm Tristan, but you can call me Robot."
