Seventh Grade: When Bullies Blossom
I once was one and now I protect my kids from them.
Orange metal locker with a padlock.
Blue Umbro shorts and a Grateful Dead tie-dye t-shirt. High-top sneakers.
A pen and a piece of lined paper torn from a Five-Star notebook.
A handwritten letter and a list of names. I was asked to sign it. Never sign your name before reading what you’re agreeing to, my mom had warned me.
A list of grievances. Advice for improvement and a warning. Change or you’re going to be friendless faster than you can read the list of girls’ names at the bottom of this sheet of paper.
A list of friends or should we say frenemies because girls are as nasty as fuck, especially in the seventh grade.
I didn’t know the girl well. We’d hung out in a group at lunch a few times. Sat near one another in a couple of classes. Did I find her annoying? Sure. Did I wish to sign my name to a letter asking her to stop bragging and wear cooler clothes?
I wish I could tell you no — definitively. I don’t remember but I hope I wasn’t a bully.
Did that girl ever get the letter? I think so. I wonder if she cried. I wonder if she threw the letter in the trash and I hope she…
