Chapter Seven: GETTING BULLIED
993 Words
Xenia
By the time I arrived on campus that morning, I already knew it was going to be one of those days.
The kind where everything feels wrong before anything has even happened.
I blamed the weather.
It was easier than blaming my anxiety.
My backpack felt heavier than usual as I crossed the courtyard toward the medical sciences building. Students moved around me in groups, laughing, talking, making plans for the weekend.
I adjusted my grip on my books and kept walking.
Most days, I preferred staying invisible.
Invisible people attracted less attention.
Less attention meant fewer opportunities for embarrassment.
Unfortunately, life rarely asked what I preferred.
My first lecture was anatomy.
I slid into my usual seat near the middle of the classroom and immediately focused on unpacking my notes.
For almost twenty minutes, everything was fine.
Then the professor asked a question.
Naturally.
“Miss Kingsley.”
My stomach dropped.
Several students turned toward me.
I stood slowly.
The answer was easy.
I knew the answer.
The problem was never knowing.
The problem was speaking.
“The blood carry oxygen through the—”
A laugh interrupted me.
Then another.
Then another.
Heat immediately rushed into my face.
The professor cleared his throat.
“Carries.”
I swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
My voice sounded smaller than I intended.
“The blood carries oxygen through the body.”
The professor nodded.
“Correct.”
I sat down quickly.
The laughter faded.
The embarrassment didn’t.
For the remainder of the lecture, I kept my eyes fixed firmly on my notebook.
Pretending not to hear was a skill I had mastered long ago.
Pretending not to care was much harder.
After class ended, students began filing into the hallway.
I joined the crowd and headed toward my next lecture.
That was my first mistake.
The second mistake was not noticing Vanessa Hartwell.
Vanessa was beautiful.
Rich.
Popular.
And unfortunately aware of it.
Her father apparently owned half the city.
The other half probably belonged to one of her uncles.
She stood surrounded by her friends near the hallway entrance.
I lowered my head and continued walking.
Maybe if I moved fast enough—
A foot appeared in front of me.
Too late.
I stumbled.
My books slipped from my hands.
Pain shot through my elbow as I hit the floor.
Not enough to seriously hurt.
Enough to sting.
For a moment, silence followed.
Then laughter.
I looked down.
A small red scrape had appeared on my elbow.
Nothing serious.
Just enough to be embarrassing.
“Oh my God.”
Vanessa’s voice dripped with fake concern.
“Are you okay?”
More laughter.
I slowly gathered my books.
“I’m fine.”
Vanessa tilted her head.
“You should be more careful.”
Her friends laughed again.
I knew exactly what had happened.
So did everyone else.
But nobody said anything.
Because Vanessa Hartwell was Vanessa Hartwell.
I stood.
Adjusted my backpack.
And walked away.
My father always taught me that not every battle deserved a response.
Still.
That didn’t stop the humiliation from burning in my chest.
The rest of the morning passed painfully slowly.
By lunchtime, I finally escaped outside.
Fresh air usually helped.
At least a little.
I found an empty bench near the athletic field and sat down.
The football team was practicing nearby.
I paid them little attention.
Until something struck my shoulder.
Hard.
A ball bounced onto the grass beside me.
The impact wasn’t painful.
Just surprising.
I looked up.
Several players were already staring in my direction.
One of them jogged over.
The football captain.
Daniel Foster.
Tall.
Handsome.
Popular.
The type of person who had probably never experienced social anxiety a single day in his life.
He picked up the ball.
Then smiled.
Not kindly.
The other kind.
The smile people wear when they’re already laughing at you.
“Oops.”
His teammates snickered behind him.
Daniel looked at me.
“Didn’t see you there.”
More laughter.
I knew he had.
The field was practically empty.
My grip tightened around my books.
For a moment, I considered responding.
Really responding.
Not apologizing.
Not pretending.
Not smiling through it.
But the words refused to come.
They always did.
Daniel bounced the ball once.
“Sorry.”
He didn’t sound sorry.
Not even slightly.
Then he walked away.
His teammates followed.
Still laughing.
I stared down at my books.
For several seconds, I simply sat there.
Quiet.
The scrape on my elbow stung.
My chest felt tight.
My eyes burned.
I hated that.
More than the bullying.
More than the laughter.
I hated feeling weak.
I hated feeling small.
I hated that after all these years, people could still make me feel like I didn’t belong.
A notification appeared on my phone.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then I saw the name.
Kira.
A smile immediately tugged at my lips.
The message contained a photograph.
Kira stood proudly beside what appeared to be a tower made entirely from pillows.
The caption read:
DADDY SAYS IT IS A FIRE HAZARD.
A second message followed.
NANNY WHO IS RIGHT?
Despite everything, I laughed.
Actually laughed.
Students turned to stare.
I didn’t care.
For the first time all day, I didn’t care.
Me:
Your daddy is probably right, baby.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
I WILL NOT TELL HIM YOU SAID THAT.
A snort escaped me before I could stop it.
The heaviness in my chest eased slightly.
Not completely.
But enough.
I looked at the photograph again.
Kira’s smile.
Her missing front tooth.
The ridiculous pillow tower.
And somehow, the day didn’t seem quite as awful anymore.
Not because the bullying hurt less.
It still hurt.
But because somewhere beyond this campus, there were people who looked at me and saw more than my accent.
More than my mistakes.
More than my broken grammar.
People who simply saw me.
And for now, that was enough to keep me going.
- Writer
