Note to Readers: This is a fictional story. Any similarities to real persons or events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

I watched numbly as the young and fragile girl, as delicate as a butterfly, was completely torn apart by the older kids. Her lank hair fell in front of her pale face as she curled up in a protective ball, retreating into her shell as she had done so many times before. She seemed so tiny there in the hallway of our high school, and this just made the bullies more confident. They felt big. They felt strong. All at this poor girl’s expense.

Could I say or do anything? No. I would just be tormented like her. I didn’t want to be called names like “Loser” and “Dork.” Teachers flicked the bullying issues away as if they were pesky flies buzzing around their heads. They could care less that the girl trudged to school every morning, a knife at her heart, filled with apprehension about the day. While most of the kids in the school dreamt about wild parties and showing off their brand new iPods at night, the girl dreamt about alternate routes she could take between classes to avoid getting spit on, or being purposely pushed against the metal lockers, tears of both physical and emotional pain stinging her eyes.

I didn’t even know the girl’s name. As I sat with my friends at lunch, my eyes wandered over to the back table where she was sitting alone in the shadows, shrouded in darkness. For a second, I saw my face where hers was, imagining for a brief moment what it would be like if I were her. “Who’s that girl over there?” I asked my best friend, Chandler.

“That retard? I think her name’s Lisa or something like that. Why do you care?” Her tone was accusing, and she gave me a sharp look as she examined her flawless face in her compact mirror. Light from the mirror danced around like a neurotic dove. Suddenly, Chandler had an idea. “Hey, watch this.” She angled the mirror so that it hit Lisa directly in the eyes. Giggles erupted from my friends.

“Leave her alone; it isn’t worth it!” I snapped, pushing the mirror down.

“You siding with the reject?” Chandler taunted in a poisonous voice.

“NO! I just–maybe we can think of something better to do to her later,” I blurted out, without even thinking.

“Whatever.” Chandler lifted her rail-thin body from the long wooden bench. My three other friends stood up with her. “We’re going to chill with the guys. Wanna come?”

“No, thanks,” I mumbled, staring into my food. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

They left, swinging their 200 handbags and tossing their perfectly highlighted and blow-dried hair. I chanced a look back at Lisa’s table. She was gone.
Lisa had made so many social mistakes. I guess that’s why everyone hated her so much. She never wore any makeup, and her usual garments were drab, dirty sweaters and extremely ragged jeans that hung loosely on her bony frame. She was nerdy, usually hiding behind a chemistry textbook or her huge glasses that were taped from being broken as the particularly bold jocks punched her in the face after school. Her dusty-colored hair was greasy and hung in strings. The entirety of her was basically grimy and unwashed.

I then caught sight of her, throwing away the remains of her bland cafeteria lunch. The sleeves of her gray sweater were rolled up because it was so hot out, and as she swiftly stacked her tray on the shelf, I saw fresh cuts on her wrists, making eerie tic-tac-toe games on the bony white limbs. Her colorless eyes met my blue ones, and in fright, she looked away. Before I knew what was happening, a jock stuck his foot out and tripped her. She fell, her glasses sliding off her nose and hitting the linoleum floor with a clatter. The boys laughed and one of them took her glasses. They began playing a game of catch with them.

I never learned if she had gotten her glasses back that day. A sick feeling had filled my stomach and I immediately went to my next class in a haze of confusion and hidden sympathy for the girl.

The teachers were dishing out work so hard that, in my concentration, I completely forgot about the poor little social outcast–Lisa. But when I was walking home, I heard the pained cries of a helpless girl. I was about to keep on walking, but instead I headed down a filthy alley and came face-to-face with a circle of mean-looking juniors from my school. Huddled in the middle, trembling, and clinging to the shredded remains of what had once been a library book and another object that looked like a wallet, was Lisa. Spitballs nestled in her dirty hair like snowflakes. I tried to keep my face as blank and expressionless as possible as I guiltily watched.

“Give us the money, road scum,” demanded the biggest boy in a gruff voice. The girl shook her head, tears streaming down her face, her grotesquely scarred arms still protectively wrapped around her wallet. I couldn’t face it anymore. I turned and ran, my brand new sneakers thudding on the pavement, and my pained heart thudding in my chest.

I picked my way through dinner and scribbled my way through three hours of homework that night, Lisa’s tortured face haunting what should have been my carefree soul. I went over to the couch so I could watch some TV, and as I lifted the newspaper to find the remote that I knew was hiding under it, the headline caught my eye: Teenage Girl Commits Suicide. Thankfully, the article wasn’t about anyone I knew, but I read it anyway. My eyes skimmed over the page as I took in that the girl just couldn’t take it anymore; she had been severely bullied in her freshman year of high school, and since she had no one to turn to, she took an entire bottle of Tylenol to end everything. That’s when something clicked in my head: Lisa was really in danger. If I didn’t do something, her lifeless face could be staring at me from the newspaper, the photo printed in grainy black and white.

The next day, my friends came up to me, looking delighted. They smoothed their expensive miniskirts and prodded at their rhinestone hair clips, their eyes gleaming. Something was up. “Guess what, Quinn?” they chattered to me. “We sent Loony Lisa the Lousy Loser a fake love note from the hottest guy in school. She completely fell for it!” They stopped their shrill laughing when I didn’t laugh along with them.

I gulped. “Just leave her alone. You guys are being so immature.” I raced through the double doors. I had just destroyed my popularity, but for some strange reason, I didn’t really care.

I found Lisa after I followed the familiar sound of her heartbreaking sobs. She was curled up behind a garbage can. I kneeled next to her. “Lisa?” I said gently. She didn’t react. “Lisa,” I tried again. “My name is Quinn. I–I was wondering if you wanted to be my friend.”

A year has passed since that one special day. Lisa and I are preparing to give a speech on bullying–to the entire high school. I’m sweating, my face flushed with both excitement and nervousness. Lisa gives me a thumbs-up, and she brushes back her beautiful auburn hair. She asks me to look her over, and after straightening her flower pin on her brand-new tweed blazer, we got out on stage together. Now that her mom has remarried and has a job, she’s no longer homeless. But she’s not treated kindly just because she can afford cool clothes now; she’s treated kindly because I helped everyone learn what a special person she was on the inside.

We conclude our speech by saying that when you see someone being bullied and you do nothing to stop it, you are basically saying that bullying is okay.
I risked everything to become Lisa’s friend, but I gained so many rewards. Chandler and her gang weren’t really my friends. I didn’t need them. Some days I miss my old life as a popular kid, but when I look into Lisa’s bright and smiling face, I know that I would have done it all over again. I think I even saved her life.