I bend over and finger my key chain, determined to escape into the world of Little Miss Piggy and Mini Kermit the Frog. I try to ignore the teasing around me. I try to ignore Andrea, who is seated across from me, arms over her head, yelling at them to stop. I try to ignore the bus driver, who isn’t paying attention at all. The best thing I can do is ignore, I think. But something makes my eyes turn upward, my ears tune into the cruel words. Andrea is wearing a red coat today. Her eyes roll around inside her huge glasses. She’s an autistic girl. And that automatically makes her a magnet for bullying. Henry, a boy in the back, yells names at Andrea. More kids try to grab her hat and jewelry. Her backpack is in the middle of the aisle. Somebody grabbed it and threw it there. That’s where it’s staying for now. I can see some kids are glad they’re not getting picked on. Like Sean, who can’t keep a friend for more than a week. Some kids tease him behind his back. Others simply ignore him, sending an anti-Sean vibe and signaling to everyone, even the youngest kids, that he’s not cool to be around. So of course he is laughing his head off as Lucas, sitting behind Andrea, pops up and yells, “Freak! Freak! Freak!” over and over in her ear. “Stop it!” she screams. No one listens. Somebody flashes his middle finger up at her. I gasp. Everybody knows what that is. It’s terrible and mean. Andrea is in a hostile atmosphere. Kids go out of their way in an exaggerated fashion to avoid touching her. “If I ever see anything like this again, you’ll have me to answer to.” When she gets off at her stop, everyone forgets her. Like me. When I get off, I run to my house. My room is so quiet, the walls a peaceful shade of blue. I forget that Andrea probably isn’t very happy right now, and I forget that Sam and Lucas are home safe, with no consequences. * * * The next day, I am tense as I climb on the bus. The moment Andrea gets on, she says, “Hi, guys!” in a piercing voice and waves. Sam screams, “Look out, here comes Andrea!” Somebody sticks a kick-me sign on her back as she walks past. When she sits down, someone else grabs her hat and throws it out the window. In a clear, strong voice, I hear someone say, “Mr. Dave, stop the bus.” Everybody’s eyes turn. Melissa, a fifth-grader, rises up. The driver slams on the brakes. Calmly, Melissa walks down the aisle, quietly gets off the bus, picks up the hat from the street, climbs back on, and returns it to Andrea. Then she faces the bullies. “You need to leave Andrea alone. Period!” Her words are loud. Melissa takes Andrea’s arm. “Come here, Andrea,” she says. Andrea gets up. Melissa wraps her arm around her. “Look,” she demands. All of us look. The bus is silent. The driver is staring in the rearview mirror. “This girl deserves respect,” Melissa tells them. “All of you ganging up on her at once is cowardly. It’s malicious. It’s cruel.” Everybody nods. Even Sam. “If I ever see anything like this again,” she says to Sam, Lucas, Richard, and George, who are the leaders of the bullying, “you’ll have me to answer to.” She doesn’t say this violently, but in a quiet voice. “And all of you.” She motions to us. “Did you ever once stand up for her?” We shake our heads. “That goes for you, too. All of you say sorry to her.” “Sorry,” we all chorus. “It doesn’t make any sense to bully people who are afraid of you like she is. I know you think that mercy is for weak people. Think again.” She lets go of Andrea. Then Andrea starts to clap. And then Rochelle, in the last seat, joins in timidly. Her seat partner, Abby, starts in. It’s like one of those waves you do at baseball games. Everybody starts clapping, the ripple going through the whole bus. Everybody claps, even the bullies. Then Rochelle stands. And everyone stands. It’s a standing ovation. Everybody gets to their feet gracefully at the same time and claps. Boys whoop and holler and whistle. Lucas even takes off his baseball cap. The bus driver gets to his feet and claps, too. I’m clapping my hands so hard they’re about to fall off, so I run up the aisle and throw my arms around Melissa, who pulls me to her, and we’re giggling and then laughing as we bounce up and down, hands on each other’s shoulders. Then everybody’s up out of their seats and hugging Melissa, and hugging each other. Everyone’s laughing, light shining from their faces. If this was a movie, there would be happy, up-and-down light fiddle music playing right now. Even the fiddler would be doing a tippy-toe dance and rhythmically making the bow fly up and down. Then Rochelle hugs Andrea. Kids are high-fiving Sam and the other boys. And then we all try to hug Melissa and Andrea at once. They’re squashed in the middle and we’re crowding around them. All of a sudden I realize how backwards we had been thinking. Brave to us was riding a horse through a deep dark woods to rescue a treasure. Brave was risking your life to save princesses from wicked stepmothers. Now I know there is a kind of brave that involves the possibility of a hundred children rising against you. It involves the risk of not being safe from the bullies anymore. It involves, most importantly, you saying one little sentence that could change something forever. Sadie Perkins, 11 Madison, Wisconsin Sarah Uhlman, 13Morrisville, Pennsylvania
Bullying
Wear Your Pajamas
Ally looked down at herself and realized she was the only one wearing pajamas Of course she was going to go. Ally Paulson invited to Mallory Freshman’s birthday bash? It was outrageous. Ally brushed her dirty-blond bangs out of her eyes as she dialed the number Mallory had given her on her phone to RSVP to Mallory’s party. It was just a dream come true. Ally had come from being an unknown nothing to being one of Mallory Freshman’s friends! Mallory Freshman—the most popular girl in the whole school! “I’ll be there!” Ally squealed, finding that was all she could say to the answering machine. She was too nervous to leave a long, thoughtful message. Ally plopped down on her bed, overwhelmed with excitement. She was actually going to be hanging out with the popular crowd! Brrrring!! Brrrring!!!! Ally’s pink polka-dotted, old-fashioned-style telephone rang on her side table. She picked up the phone and merrily squealed, “Hello?” “Ally.” It was Rachel, Ally’s best friend since preschool. She was a really nice person but too dorky to be seen around. “Movie night at the church this Saturday, you in?” Ally wanted to say yes; the church always chose good movies for them to watch, but Saturday would be Mallory’s birthday bash. She had to reject the offer. “Sorry, Rachel, but I already have something planned.” “What?” Rachel asked curiously, always having to be a part of everyone’s business. “Mallory Freshman’s birthday bash.” Ally answered in the most arrogant way she could, as though she’d been invited to dine with the Queen of England. “Mallory Freshman?!” Rachel exclaimed. “Holy smokes!” “Yeah,” Ally replied in an I’m-too-cool-for-you kind of way. She could just imagine Rachel’s jaw dropping, her almond-colored eyes large in surprise. “Well,” Rachel chirped happily, “maybe I’ll be invited next time and we can carpool!” Ally didn’t know what possessed her to be so mean all of a sudden, but all she could think of to reply to that was, “Don’t expect to be invited to a party like this anytime soon.” With that, Ally Paulson, newest popular girl, hung up on her nerdy friend. * * * Friday night, the night before the party, Ally got an instant message from Ruby, one of Mallory’s best friends. It said, “Ally, Mallory told me to inform you to wear pajamas on Saturday. There’s going to be a pajama contest and she didn’t want you to feel left out,” followed by a smiley face. Ally received the message after Ruby had logged out, so she just made a mental note to find some pajamas for Saturday. * * * Finally, Saturday night came. Ally wore her pink polka-dotted button-up silk PJs with matching shorts and a pink robe. She even managed to dig out an old pair of bunny slippers. She thought she might be going too far, but she knew that she’d win the contest now! * * * When Ally arrived at the door to Mallory’s house, she could feel the base from the party music and hear screaming kids. Her heart pounded nervously to the beat of the music. Whatever it takes to fit in with the right people, Ally told herself. When Ally was just about to walk in, she could hear a few girls whisper, “She’s here!” When she opened the door, the room fell quiet except for the loud rap music coming from the basement. Everyone stayed silent for a few more seconds and then began bursting out in laughter, Mallory Freshman among all of them. Ally looked down at herself and realized, right then and there, she was the only one wearing pajamas. She felt her face grow hot and red and then ran out the front door before everyone could see her cry. She remembered her father saying, “Don’t let the bad guys see you sweat.” In this case, she didn’t want the bad guys to see her cry. Ally ran up and down the curb and then finally sat down in a nice place about a quarter of a mile away from the party. She could feel a sharp pain in her stomach, replacing her tingling excitement she felt earlier, and began wishing she could just sprout wings and take off somewhere else—somewhere other than where she was. “Ally!” She heard Mallory’s voice from about 200 feet up the block. “Ally!” Mallory drew closer and closer, accelerating and then slowing down as she neared Ally. Ally hid her tear-stained face in her pajama pants, not letting the bad guy see her cry. “Ally.” Mallory sat down beside the sad, blond-haired girl in the pink PJs. “It was all Ruby’s idea. Seriously. And we all thought it was a joke and you’d laugh about it like us.” “Stop making excuses for yourself,” Ally spat back, fighting back her tears, turning her head away to insure their eyes wouldn’t meet. “Al-ly!” Mallory whined, emphasizing the “ly.” “You’re making me feel like the bad guy here!” “Well then,” Ally looked up and wiped her face with her sleeve, daring herself to look into the eyes of Mallory, “you feel like what you are.” With that, Ally took off down the curb, far enough away to call her mom and be driven home without Mallory trying to come back to make more excuses for herself. Mallory stood there watching. Ally dared not look back, but she could feel Mallory’s ice-blue eyes piercing into the back of her head. “I’m so sorry, Al,” Ally’s mother told her as they rode out of Clear Meadow estates, leaving Mallory’s house far behind them. Mrs. Paulson looked back at Ally through the rearview mirror. Ally didn’t know what to say, so she just kept looking out the window. Then Ally’s mother struck an idea like a miner finding a jackpot of diamonds. “Why don’t you go to the church movie with Rachel?” Ally thought that was a great idea, but Rachel wouldn’t want to see her. She just grunted, “Yeah, I
Last Summer at Camp
I sat on my bunk and waited for the dinner bell to ring The boat thrummed, vibrated for a few seconds, then stopped completely. “All right! All right! Everybody out! Everybody out!” yelled the driver. The whole scene made me think of some classical book or movie. But I liked it. It made me think of how much I loved camp last year—how excited I’d been for months leading up to now to go back. I shoved the little sliver of homesickness that was already crowding into my throat and grinned. Things were starting to look familiar. There were hills covered in tiny dots of brownish-gray that would be our cabins. There was a colorful, big dining hall, big enough to feed eighty kids three times a day, with signs all over it that said Recycle or Camp Three Rivers 1990. And the counselors were lined up on the dock, ready to meet and greet us, ready to attempt to impress our parents. All of them wore T-shirts that said Camp Three Rivers on them in big blue block letters. Counselors. Last year I’d had the perfect counselor. Pretty. Young. Sweet. Smart, but not nerdy. Cool, but not stereotypical. I hoped for her. I prayed for her, despite my not being religious. I… “Zoe? Are… are you Zoe?” asked a voice, rapidly cutting off my stream of reminiscence. I looked up. It was a counselor. She was on the chubby side, smiling, and young. Looked nice. I nodded. “I’m Lyla,” she smiled-said. You know what I mean. When people say something, but you could really tell what they’re saying even if they weren’t saying it. Only people with big smiles can do this. Definitely not me. “It’s great to meet you,” Lyla said. “I’ll be your counselor this year!” I had no idea what to say. It’s not like, in that moment, I really could’ve said anything. I managed a weak smile. “Your cabin will be Heron Hill, and your junior counselor will be Emma,” she went on. “I’m so so glad to meet you! This’ll be the best session! Ever!” The cabin—my cabin—was small. Really small. I eyed my bed—the only bed left unoccupied. I eyed the kids playing outside. I looked up at my parents, and suddenly what used to be only a sliver of homesickness became a small, heavy coin, pushing, pushing, pushing me to beg my parents to take me back home. In five minutes, I thought, they’ll be gone. Gone—for twelve days! Twelve days with no Nicky to toss a ball with, no Dad to embarrass me in the supermarket, no Mom to brush my hair even when I don’t want her to… After my bed had been set up, and the goodbyes had been said, and I’d seen with my own eyes my parents walking down the steps and onto the boat, I stood there, perplexed, almost. I sat on my bunk and waited for the dinner bell to ring. The food was one of the elements at Camp Three Rivers that could never fail. It was always the same delicious, kid-friendly, home-cooked food that even the pickiest of the picky eaters loved. I’d get to meet the rest of my cabin at dinner. I’d start to settle in. * * * “So,” I said, thirty minutes later, sitting around a table with the rest of my cabin, plus Lyla and Emma, our junior counselor, “what’s everyone named?” We went around. “Emily.” “Nora.” “Lily.” “Meghan.” Suddenly, a girl opened the door to the dining hall, looked around, smirked, and came over to our table. “I’m Mia,” she said. She didn’t just say it. She said it in a way that lets you know who’s boss. I shrunk back a little. Paranoid, I know—but better safe than sorry. I decided I’d keep my profile low around Mia. “Oh,” said Lyla. “Hi, Mia. Have a seat.” She stood for a minute, staring at us like there was something obvious that we were forgetting to do. “Move,” she finally said to me. Not wishing to make an enemy on the first day of camp, I obliged. “Nice… hair,” I told her, trying to make peace. It was. It was long and golden and highlighted pinkish-red. “The highlights are nice.” Mia scoffed and didn’t say anything. Not a good sign. * * * The rest of the week went on. I rode a boat, made some nice friends, drew outside or in the art shed, and tried to tell myself that everything was going great. But it wasn’t. Whenever I walked into the cabin, be it bed, changing into a bathing suit for free swim, getting ready for dinner, or fetching something that I’d forgotten in my trunk, Mia was there, ready to tease us, laugh at us, make mean remarks about us, annoy us, or tell us off. And she never ran out of ways to hurt people’s feelings. Never. “Write about what a great time you’re having!” my dad had said as we kissed each other goodbye. So I did. I wrote home every night about activities, about my newfound friends, Nora and Meghan, and the delicious dinners that Margot, the camp’s cook, had most recently prepared. I didn’t write anything about Mia. * * * One morning, as we were getting ready for breakfast, we were all sort of acting silly, playing around. Nora jumped on Mia’s bed. “Whee!” she shrieked. Mia laughed, too. That was one of the few times I’ve ever heard Mia laugh. Nora did it again, three times over. Everyone giggled. “Stop it,” said Mia. “Move. I have to put on my clothes.” Nora got off but kept giggling. She made a puppy face at Mia. “Just a little bounce?” she asked. Mia’s face turned stony. We all knew this wasn’t a good sign. “Nor-” I said, trying to warn her. “One more little, bitsy time?” Nora pleaded. “One more? Just one more?” “No!” Mia yelled. Then her face hardened
