Sometimes think that “if only” must be the two most depressing words in the English language. How many times have you said to yourself, “If only I’d studied harder” or “If only I’d been there five minutes earlier.” If only I’d had the courage to speak up last fall, I wouldn’t be regretting it now. Marion transferred from out of province into our class last September. She had straight dark hair stopping abruptly at chin-length and one of those porcelain complexions you see in magazines, although she never wore any makeup. Despite her naturally good looks, the better-dressed girls in our class didn’t view her as a serious contender in the fashion stakes as she always wore the same uniform of well-pressed jeans, flat shoes and a cardigan. Marion sat opposite me in the next row and I could see by her marks that she was no slouch when it came to hitting the books. She kept pretty much to herself, although I would occasionally exchange remarks with her while we were waiting for the next class to start. I learned that her family had emigrated from Korea a few years back. Disliking the big city where they had initially settled, they opted to move to our small midwestern town and open a family business. I was intrigued with her story and once asked her to come over after school, but she replied that she had to work every day directly after school. I thought maybe she was shy or didn’t like me, so I left it at that. “So, Marion, tell us. Does your father work in a grocery store or is it a Chinese laundry?” The trouble all started the first morning I wore my new jacket to school. Earlier in the summer, my mom had said that I would need a new winter jacket for school. Unfortunately, my mom’s budget for clothes usually means the bargain basement at the local department store. I knew that the name-brand jackets that some of the kids wore were priced beyond our means, but I thought perhaps I could do better than bargain basement this time. I had done odd jobs all summer and saved every dime. Armed with the cash to hopefully pay the difference, I finally convinced my mom to take me to the local ski shop where there was a sale. My mom was dubious about getting a real bargain in a specialty shop, but at last she agreed. Finally, the red quilted jacket that I’d coveted for weeks in the store window was paid for and safely in my clutches. As we left the store, my mom must have sensed some of my exuberance because she smiled at me and said, “Well, you certainly look nice in it.” Then she sighed a little, her brow furrowing up anxiously and said, “Don’t misunderstand me. You know that I want you to have nice things, but don’t forget it’s what’s inside you that counts, not the packaging.” “Sure, Mom,” I said absently, thinking only of wearing my fashionable apparel to school the next day. My new jacket elicited a few surprised stares from the “in” crowd at school the next morning. Even Steve, who sits ahead of me in class, turned around before math and said, “Hey, nice jacket. So, do you ski or what?” I felt myself flushing. Steve had actually spoken to me! With his streaky blond hair and confident manner, Steve positively exuded cool, or so most of the class thought. Marion looked at me from across the aisle. “I like your jacket,” she said quietly. “I think it’s a pretty color.” Steve was still half-turned in his seat, listening. He stared at Marion as if he was seeing her for the first time and then said loudly with a sly grin, “So, Marion, tell us. Does your father work in a grocery store or is it a Chinese laundry?” I was stunned. I could feel my face turning hot in disbelief while the rest of the class sat waiting expectantly. Marion looked straight back at Steve and then said with a quiet dignity, “My father owns a convenience store. My sister and I help out there after school.” Our math teacher came in just then, so no one had a chance to say anything else. I couldn’t concentrate on the lesson. How could Steve have said something so intentionally, well, racist? I glanced over at Marion, but she was suddenly absorbed in her math book and didn’t look up. After morning classes, I didn’t know what to do. I followed Marion to her locker and began awkwardly, “Listen Marion, I’m really sorry about what Steve said. He had no right to talk to you like that.” Marion looked at me the same way she’d looked at Steve and said calmly, “Maybe you should have told Steve that.” She pulled out her lunch bag from her locker and headed down the hall, without so much as a backwards glance. I got through afternoon school somehow and went straight home. Mom asked cheerfully, “So how was school? Was the new jacket a big hit?” “Sure,” I muttered, but she must have noticed that I was somewhat subdued because she looked at me in a questioning way. Then she asked, “What’s the matter? Did something happen at school today?” I put my books down on the kitchen counter and tried to explain what had happened. Mom listened while I concluded rather lamely about not speaking up on behalf of Marion because I was afraid of being picked on as well, but my argument sounded weak even to me. All my life I had loathed people who tried to put down other people or laughed at their expense. Now I felt like I belonged in that company. I didn’t sleep very well that night. Long before dawn I was awake for good, staring at the darkness and trying to find a way through the maze of trouble that
Bullying
The Shooting Star
Darren Milar sighed as he walked into the schoolyard. All around him kids were laughing, running, and playing. The sound of tetherball chains as they clinked against their metal poles rang out as Darren passed. When kids started school again, they were sometimes nervous, excited, or a little sad. But that was nothing compared to what Darren felt. Ever since kindergarten, Darren had been the outcast. The nerd, if you had to put it that way. Other kids had had loads of friends, and turned against him. Darren had only one friend, Ian, and Ian was just as nerdy as Darren, without the glasses and braces. The start of school meant Darren was back to rude notes on his locker, people laughing at him in the corridors, and Ian telling him to ignore them. But he couldn’t ignore them, and already Darren knew, the second he walked into the schoolyard, that he was off to the start of another terrible year. And so it was, another terrible first day back. In the corridors, even kids younger than him, sixth-graders, laughed at him. As usual, in classes, teachers told him that he had extraordinary talent, while people sniggered and pointed behind the teacher’s back. Ian is never laughed at, thought Darren, looking around at Ian. He was sitting, working in his math book. How does he do it? thought Darren desperately. * * * Later that night in bed, Darren lay propped up on pillows, looking at the stars. He had heard that there would be shooting stars tonight. He was thinking of a wish, and it wasn’t hard. He closed his eyes and whispered, “I wish I was popular at school.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “I wish I was popular at school” But when he opened his eyes, nothing had happened. His wish hadn’t come true. * * * The next day at school Darren had totally forgotten about his wish. He and Ian were talking when suddenly, a hush fell over the blacktop. That was not normal, even the tetherball chains weren’t clinking. Darren and Ian stopped talking and looked up. Standing in front of them was the prettiest girl Darren had ever seen. She had long red hair that reached nearly to her waist, and eyes as green as jade. A few freckles were scattered across her nose. She could have been a model if she hadn’t had the ugliest scowl on her face, if her faded jeans weren’t torn at the knees, and if her Good Charlotte shirt was still black, instead of a smoky gray. Darren was paralyzed. He didn’t know whether she was an angel or a devil. Fortunately, he was spared the moment of trying to speak because the girl asked him, “You go here?” “Y- yes,” he stammered. “Good. Then you’ll be able to tell me where the principal’s office is.” She looked at him like a tiger examining its prey. “D- down the hall, f- fifth door past the water fountain.” He thought he must look like an idiot, stammering next to her speaking confidently. She didn’t even thank him, just walked away, leaving him and the rest of the school staring after her, her sandals clip-clopping loudly on the dead-silent playground. When the bell rang ten minutes later, the school was still frozen in awe at the girl’s entrance. Darren was suddenly the center of attention for once, and people kept asking him about the girl, because he had seen her best. Then, in history, Darren finally got to learn about her. “Class, we have a new student today” said Ms. Kent, after the class had settled down. “She has been on vacation in Mexico, up until yesterday. Dear, would you like to come and introduce yourself?” The girl walked up to the front of the class. “My name is Claire Guerrerro,” she growled. “I like punk rock bands. My favorite color is black, and I play the guitar. Any questions? Good.” She walked back to her seat. “Well then,” the teacher replied, “I’m sure you’ll all be very nice to Claire. Now please open your book to page 102 …” But barely anyone was listening. Claire opened her book and didn’t look at anyone. Darren had a bad feeling in his stomach, and gulped. Just one more person to pick on me. Soon Claire did become the most popular kid in school, but she chose her friends carefully, and they were almost all boys. If Darren thought this was bad, the worst was yet to come. Two weeks after Claire arrived, Darren came to school and looked around at their usual table. It was empty. This was odd, because Ian was usually dropped off by his older brother Alec pretty early. Darren sat down, and looked around for Ian. He found him quickly, but his heart sank. Claire’s group, which was usually prowling around and scaring sixth-graders, was now sitting down at a far-removed table. They were talking to (Darren shut his eyes tight) . . . Ian. Darren couldn’t believe it. Claire had taken his best friend from him. Now Ethan Lowell was talking to Ian, who pointed at Darren. The whole group looked over and laughed. Zach Parker said something, and the group cracked up again. Darren felt like crying. He tried to sit with them at lunch, but Ethan Lowell said, “Sorry, no room here, but there’s a spot for you at the nerd table.” Ian looked uncomfortable, and shifted in his seat. Marilyn Fisher said, “Don’t worry, Darren. I’m sure you’ll find a place to sit.” He didn’t realize she’d put a KICK ME sign on his back. * * * The days passed, and Darren became more and more miserable. He tried sitting with his sisters, but they talked about fashion and other girly stuff. He tried as hard as he could to be friends with Claire, and he was practically down on bended knee. One day as he sat on the
The Shooting Star
Darren Milar sighed as he walked into the schoolyard. All around him kids were laughing, running, and playing. The sound of tetherball chains as they clinked against their metal poles rang out as Darren passed. When kids started school again, they were sometimes nervous, excited, or a little sad. But that was nothing compared to what Darren felt. Ever since kindergarten, Darren had been the outcast. The nerd, if you had to put it that way. Other kids had had loads of friends, and turned against him. Darren had only one friend, Ian, and Ian was just as nerdy as Darren, without the glasses and braces. The start of school meant Darren was back to rude notes on his locker, people laughing at him in the corridors, and Ian telling him to ignore them. But he couldn’t ignore them, and already Darren knew, the second he walked into the schoolyard, that he was off to the start of another terrible year. And so it was, another terrible first day back. In the corridors, even kids younger than him, sixth-graders, laughed at him. As usual, in classes, teachers told him that he had extraordinary talent, while people sniggered and pointed behind the teacher’s back. Ian is never laughed at, thought Darren, looking around at Ian. He was sitting, working in his math book. How does he do it? thought Darren desperately. * * * Later that night in bed, Darren lay propped up on pillows, looking at the stars. He had heard that there would be shooting stars tonight. He was thinking of a wish, and it wasn’t hard. He closed his eyes and whispered, “I wish I was popular at school.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “I wish I was popular at school” But when he opened his eyes, nothing had happened. His wish hadn’t come true. * * * The next day at school Darren had totally forgotten about his wish. He and Ian were talking when suddenly, a hush fell over the blacktop. That was not normal, even the tetherball chains weren’t clinking. Darren and Ian stopped talking and looked up. Standing in front of them was the prettiest girl Darren had ever seen. She had long red hair that reached nearly to her waist, and eyes as green as jade. A few freckles were scattered across her nose. She could have been a model if she hadn’t had the ugliest scowl on her face, if her faded jeans weren’t torn at the knees, and if her Good Charlotte shirt was still black, instead of a smoky gray. Darren was paralyzed. He didn’t know whether she was an angel or a devil. Fortunately, he was spared the moment of trying to speak because the girl asked him, “You go here?” “Y- yes,” he stammered. “Good. Then you’ll be able to tell me where the principal’s office is.” She looked at him like a tiger examining its prey. “D- down the hall, f- fifth door past the water fountain.” He thought he must look like an idiot, stammering next to her speaking confidently. She didn’t even thank him, just walked away, leaving him and the rest of the school staring after her, her sandals clip-clopping loudly on the dead-silent playground. When the bell rang ten minutes later, the school was still frozen in awe at the girl’s entrance. Darren was suddenly the center of attention for once, and people kept asking him about the girl, because he had seen her best. Then, in history, Darren finally got to learn about her. “Class, we have a new student today” said Ms. Kent, after the class had settled down. “She has been on vacation in Mexico, up until yesterday. Dear, would you like to come and introduce yourself?” The girl walked up to the front of the class. “My name is Claire Guerrerro,” she growled. “I like punk rock bands. My favorite color is black, and I play the guitar. Any questions? Good.” She walked back to her seat. “Well then,” the teacher replied, “I’m sure you’ll all be very nice to Claire. Now please open your book to page 102 …” But barely anyone was listening. Claire opened her book and didn’t look at anyone. Darren had a bad feeling in his stomach, and gulped. Just one more person to pick on me. Soon Claire did become the most popular kid in school, but she chose her friends carefully, and they were almost all boys. If Darren thought this was bad, the worst was yet to come. Two weeks after Claire arrived, Darren came to school and looked around at their usual table. It was empty. This was odd, because Ian was usually dropped off by his older brother Alec pretty early. Darren sat down, and looked around for Ian. He found him quickly, but his heart sank. Claire’s group, which was usually prowling around and scaring sixth-graders, was now sitting down at a far-removed table. They were talking to (Darren shut his eyes tight) . . . Ian. Darren couldn’t believe it. Claire had taken his best friend from him. Now Ethan Lowell was talking to Ian, who pointed at Darren. The whole group looked over and laughed. Zach Parker said something, and the group cracked up again. Darren felt like crying. He tried to sit with them at lunch, but Ethan Lowell said, “Sorry, no room here, but there’s a spot for you at the nerd table.” Ian looked uncomfortable, and shifted in his seat. Marilyn Fisher said, “Don’t worry, Darren. I’m sure you’ll find a place to sit.” He didn’t realize she’d put a KICK ME sign on his back. * * * The days passed, and Darren became more and more miserable. He tried sitting with his sisters, but they talked about fashion and other girly stuff. He tried as hard as he could to be friends with Claire, and he was practically down on bended knee. One day as he sat on the
