I used to shiver around her.

She was tall for our age, standing about half a foot more or so with an intimidating acquaintance no one would want to make twice, let alone at all. Her IQ was probably thirty points below us, but she made all that up in size and brawn. Her name was Mary; everyone knew her as Scary Mary. She was anything but what her biblical name suggested. I personally think it was a deliberate misnomer, a joke between her parents, a curse cast upon us unfortunates.

We met during lunch when I was just sipping my apple juice. When our eyes first connected, the feeling I experienced was what I imagine would be like if someone had decided it would be great fun to pour ice in my veins. I felt nothing but coldness spreading throughout my body as her steely eyes grazed right through me, making me feel small and useless, futile to the strengths of people like Scary Mary. That was exactly what she wanted. She marched right up to me and stopped a few inches away, her shoes practically touching the tips of mine. Peering at me with a combination of dislike and interest, she bent her body to loom over me and blocked my sight of everything but her big face.

“What’cha starin’ at?”

I was transfixed. I could not open my mouth to reply for the life of me, and I don’t know if I should have anyway. I was a young, improvident girl at the time and could not foresee what would happen to me for simply just making eye contact.

Scary Mary stuck her face into mine more, making our noses touch. “I said,” she growled ominously, “what’cha starin’ at?”

“Nothing!” I squeaked, causing her to wince. That wasn’t good. She glared murderously as she stood back up to her full height, towering over me like she had before. I tried to shuffle away backwards, but her hand swiftly came out and grabbed the collar of my shirt. Yanking on it, Scary Mary smiled sadistically before grabbing the juice box from my weak grasp, and then she proceeded to pour the contents down my head.

From then on, I was completely aware of exactly who she was. Not just a tall figure of violence to me, but the all-around school bully. Scary Mary was smart enough to realize her strengths and weaknesses, using them to her advantage to prey on the smaller, vulnerable kids. There wasn’t a person who wouldn’t give her what she wanted. If she demanded for your milk, you gave her your whole lunch tray; if she made a swipe for your homework, you gave her your book bag and everything in it. And from my particular experience, I learned to obey these rules faithfully like a Christian followed the Commandments.

In the third grade, I met my best friend, Sara. She had tried jumping off the swings to conquer the playground record, but instead she ended up with a scraped knee and wet eyes. Not a kid hesitated to point fingers and bestow the fateful title of crybaby to her, making her only cry more in vain of comfort. Finally taking pity upon the poor girl with the bloody leg, I knelt down and patted her back while yelling at the kids to shut up.

Sara looked at me through her teary eyelashes and gave me a watery smile.

From that day, Sara and I were inseparable. Always encouraging each other, we made sure to do everything together and to do it well. We didn’t criticize each other like other friends do; no, we kept to positive reinforcement and took care of each other like we were family. People quickly spread news of our sudden friendship, whether through witnessing the situation at the swings or through the strong communication link we all call gossip. At lunch our schoolmates would see Sara unwrapping an extra cookie from her lunch pail to give to me, and before class they would see me carry her books because her arms were too thin and incapable.

I remember one day when Sara and I stayed after school to help our lovable teacher and we witnessed yet another interaction between a helpless kid and the dominating monster. Sara and I were skipping while singing some songs we heard from a recent movie when we saw Scary Mary shoving a kid against the wall mercilessly, shouting her usual nonnegotiable demands. Frightened, we scampered away to the exit.

“You need to bulk up, Sara,” I said as I carried our English books. “You need to get stronger if you want to make it in school.”

She laughed as we walked and lightly touched my arm. “Why? You’ll always be there to protect me, won’t you?”

I just smiled and nodded emphatically.

But as a concerned friend, I admonished her about that on more than one occasion. Each time we encountered a Scary Mary beating, I would worriedly mention the bully’s strength and love to prey, and Sara would just laugh and say, “Why? You’ll always be there to protect me, won’t you?”

And each time, I would do the same smile, the same nod.

In the fifth grade one Monday morning, I came to school and found Sara across the hall, kneeling on the floor. I was about to yell to her when I realized there was more to the situation than what it seemed. Sure enough, from the corner of the hall stepped out an intimidating figure I could recognize anywhere. I couldn’t move. It was like a horror movie, like someone just poured ice cold water down my head and in my throat, numbing my body and freezing my insides. I recognized the feeling. Scary Mary’s voice floated down the hallway to my ears as she gave a kick to the whimpering girl on the floor. “Next time jus’ listen to me, or we’ll have to do it the hard way again,” Scary Mary said in an almost bored tone, hurtling her leg against Sara’s limp body again. Then suddenly, Scary Mary looked up and met my eyes from across the hall. She looked at me impassively for a moment and then smirked, like my presence was of absolutely no threat. And I knew it wasn’t. Sending one more swift kick, Scary Mary spat on the motionless figure and turned around the corner, disappearing.

It took me about five seconds to register her leave before I sprinted down the hall to reach my friend.

At lunch, Sara and I found ourselves a small table near the entrance doors. She unwrapped a cookie for me like she did everyday as I settled our books down on the table. We continued lunch as we normally did until Scary Mary walked by. Now with a new meaning for fear instilled, Sara cowered and trembled until Scary Mary walked away to another table. I eyed my best friend sadly.

Sara noticed and unconvincingly shrugged. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, dismissing it with a bruised hand, “I’ll be fine.”

“I was there. I could’ve done something.”

Sara half smiled to me. “You can’t always protect me.”

Then why had I always nodded?

The following day at lunch as Sara unwrapped a chocolate chip for me and I was dropping her Math and English books down on the table, Scary Mary came to our table and plopped down on one of the chairs facing us. Immediately Sara froze and looked down at her shaking hands. I tried to act as casually as I could as I bit into the cookie.

Scary Mary glared at me for a moment before her face broke out in a disgusting, wide smile. Her eyes narrowed with a malicious glint, reminding me disturbingly of an evil Cheshire cat. She folded her arms and said patronizingly, “Be a good girl an’ hand over your cookie.”

She was talking to me. I purposely bit off more of the cookie, making her flinch as if it was actually her flesh I was sinking my teeth into. I took my time chewing as I pondered over my next move when suddenly Scary Mary slammed her large hand on the table. “Give it NOW!”

Instinctively, I was up on my feet. Sara was still concentrating on controlling her hands as they shook more now. She was determined not to let Scary Mary give her any chance to beat on her again by remaining silent. As I looked over my friend’s desolate body, hunched over as a poor attempt to appear invisible, a fire in my body flamed up, and with newfound courage I found myself swallowing the last bits of the cookie in my mouth.

“You want this cookie?” I held up the half-eaten one in my grubby hand. Scary Mary impatiently jerked her head forward. I gulped and pushed my chair away and made my way around the table to the frowning bully.

By now I had the entire cafeteria’s attention. People were frozen in their spots. I could see one girl sipping milk through her straw with the milk suspended halfway through and a boy whose mouth was open as he was about to consume the lasagna on his plastic white fork. I swallowed once more before holding the cookie up again and turning my attention to Scary Mary.

“You want this cookie?” I asked again. I could feel my legs beginning to give way to anxiety as I led up to my next move.

“Jus’ give it,” Scary Mary sneered, her eyes glaring at me distrustfully.

With reason, too.

“Okay.” In one motion, I held the cookie up above Scary Mary’s head. Then, before I could even think of stopping myself, I crumbled the cookie up in one hand, letting the bits and chunks fall delicately into Scary Mary’s tidy hair. Shock was coursing through her eyes as she stared at me. But it seemed as if my mouth and hands had a mind of its own as I asked, “Would you like my juice too?” and grabbed my juice carton. I poked the straw through and turned it to Scary Mary’s shocked face, and unblinkingly I squeezed the carton, juice squirting out wildly and dribbling down Scary Mary’s face.

When the juice was out, I just dropped the carton and stared at Scary Mary. What had I done? I knew I was about to get put away in a hospital as soon as Scary Mary realized what just happened. It was only a matter of time now; my life rested in the fates.

But Scary Mary just sat there, stunned. Her eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets and her mouth was opened wide, resembling a goldfish. She was speechless; for once, the bully did not deliver the expected.

Then as if my fate wasn’t already sealed for embarrassing the strongest, biggest girl in our grade, something happened. A giggle. I turned my head and there was Sara, with a hand over her mouth as her eyes were lit with laughter. It only took the cafeteria a few seconds to follow, but soon the rest of the students began laughing, the noise escalating quickly. By the time Scary Mary was finally blinking again, the whole room was deafened by screams and hoots as kids snorted milk out through their noses and pointed fingers at the bully who used to point the finger. Even the teachers were chuckling against their will, not even entertaining thoughts of helping the target of the laughter.

Scary Mary was sweating considerably, creating evident dark marks under her arms and around her collar. Before the laughs could die down, Scary Mary screeched the loudest shriek I’ve ever heard and then bolted from her seat towards the restroom. Along the way she tripped, giving the kids more reason to laugh, but she got scrambled back up and continued wailing until she reached the doors.

I waited for the ceremonious guilt that usually settled in my stomach as aftermath. But it did not come. I looked over to my best friend and saw her smiling brighter than she had all day. “Come,” she said, pulling my chair back to the table. “You can have another cookie.”

No more was there a Scary Mary; no, Scary Mary was dead. She now went by Mary to us kids and to the teachers. She didn’t shove kids around and nor did she demand them to give her their possessions. She was newly reformed into a better person through a bitter experience. Sara and I weren’t afraid of her anymore either and had even invited her to sit with us for lunch once. Unsurprisingly she had given us a shaky smile before refusing politely, quickly turning away to run to another table. Mary as a new person eventually was able to make friends and even raised her grades in class. I remember once asking to borrow a pencil in the middle of Math class. Mary willingly obliged, whipping out a number two in a second, sharpened and everything.

I used to shiver around her. Now I smile.