Katie Christian

A True Story

I sat at the back of the classroom. Thirty students, and I was completely alone. Thirty students, and not one of them would have anything to do with me. It was all because of her. I hated her, and longed to be her at the same time. Rachel was her name. She was perfect. Smart, athletic, kind. Well, kind to everyone but me. I guess that she only hung out with me to show everyone how kind she was. The little rich girl mingling with a slightly less than well-off student, and not just her other rich little friends. I was her charity project. She would take me shopping and buy me things, which I always tried to decline, when my money ran low. She would take me to her house and let me watch her large-screen TV complete with DVD player and surround sound. I still laugh at the irony of it all. Her charity project. It's funny because that's my name; Charity.

But, after a while, she got bored with me. It was destined to happen, and I knew that. I just hadn't imagined that it would sting so much.

The thirty of us seventh graders were a Christian class in a public school. It was meant to shed light to the school, I suppose, or let a room of students pray in school without being Catholic or getting arrested. Rachel was the perfect Christian. She read her bible everyday and went to church and youth group. I believed, but I sometimes missed church and did not always read my bible. Also, I was a major fantasy nut. I had red the Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter books, along with many others. Rachel tolerated this for a while, but then decided it, and I, were evil.

It was that day, standing alone at the back of the classroom, that I knew how evil exactly that she thought me.

"Hey," she said, coming up to me, "Come here, Charity." I shook my head shyly. I did not want to talk to her. She hadn't said a word to me for a month. I was already going into light depression, which, whether I knew it or not, would shortly become a desperate loop of self-hatred.

"I'm good here," I said. I was sitting at the back of the class, reading, you guessed it, a fantasy book.

"What are you reading," she sneered, "Another evil book telling you how to be a witch and cast spells?" I sighed

"How many times do I have to tell you before it penetrates your thick skull," I snapped, "You shouldn't judge things before you experience them." That was risky, I knew. Rachel ran the class, being the most popular. She gasped and stepped backwards in horror. Had I, a mere cockroach basking in her power, dared to insult her? But I had.

Then a critical smile took captive of her lips.

"Alright, then," she said, snatching the book out of my hands, "I will experience it." She ran back to her desk with the book, smiling at her friends, who clustered around her. I leapt out of my sat.

"Sit down, Charity," the teacher called from her desk at the front of the room. I gaped at her.

"But they stole my book," I replied, "Rachel took it and I want it back."

"An unlikely story," the teacher replied, "Rachel, did you take her book?"

"No," Rachel replied, "I didn't."

"There," the teacher said smugly, "She didn't. Now go back to your desk. You will stay in with me at lunch for half an hour to remind you not to lie." I gasped at the unfairness of it all, and trudged back to my desk, my ears burning at the snickers and poorly stifled laughter of my classmates. Patiently, I waited for the bell to ring.

Eventually, it did ring, and I decided to go and get my book back. We had the same teacher after the five-minute break, and very few students left the room during this time. I approached Rachel and her band of giggling friends.

"I want my book back, priss," I told her, crossing my arms.

"You told me not to judge until I experienced," she said smugly, "So I decided to experience it."

"And?" I asked, waiting for her to go on and call me a witch again.

"And I read the first chapter and the back of the book," she said, "It has confirmed my suspicions. You are evil."

"That's ridiculous," I told her, "You know very well I am not."

"Charity," she said standing up, "Do you want to know why we are no longer friends? Hm?"

"Because I'm evil?" I sarcastically replied.

"No, not because of that," she said. I rolled my eyes.

"Here," she said, "I'll show you. Get up on that chair." By this time, most of the class was watching. I was quickly becoming their favorite sport.

"No," I said, "I don't want to."

"Now," she said fiercely. The look that she gave me would have made anyone else obey her, but I stood my ground. But the next thing I knew, I was on the chair. One of the boys had lifted me up and was holding me around the shins so I wouldn't run away.

"Let go!" I cried, trying to pry off his fingers, but another strong boy took my hands and held them behind my back. The rest of the class found this extremely funny, but I did not. I squirmed and tried to kick one of them, but that only made me come near to falling off of the chair. The gales of laughter rose higher at this.

"Let go of one of her hands, David" Rachel said to a boy behind my back. He let go of my left arm. "Thank you," she said, nodding to him. She took my hand firmly in hers. Now," she said, "I am you and you are me." I rolled my eyes. "No," she said, "Scratch that. You are a girl named Katie Christian, and I am an evil witch. Now," I bit back tears at her relations to our personalities. "Katie Christian can stand tall and nice up high, above the evil witch with God to help her. She has a good faith." I took a deep, shaking breath. "But," she continued, dropping her voice, "The witch tries to pull Katie Christian down with her to hell." She gave a hard tug on my arm. I toppled towards her and she stepped out of the way. The boy holding my ankles didn't let go soon enough, and I fell face first onto the floor. I lifted myself painfully amid jeers of laughter. "You see," she continued, smiling broadly, "Katie Christian can be pulled down by the witch's influence in the same way that you pull me down to being evil." I could not hold it any more. I raced out of the room and hid in the bath room for the rest of the day, crying.