Sometimes the simplest words can break you. Unfortunately, I found this out the hard way. It was in seventh grade, mid-October. The school year was turning out to be much more stressful than I expected. Lunch was starting, and students rushed to greet their friends in the cafe. Sighing, I plopped down my lunch tray and sat alone at a table. I chewed slowly, my head down, even though I was ravenous. I didn’t want to attract too much attention, or else a teacher would ask me why I was sitting alone.

As I ate, I stared longingly at groups of friends laughing to my right. The table closest to me consisted of several jocks, probably football players. Their voices rang, loud and boisterous. My gaze lingered on the “nerds” sitting near a pole. The nerds were a very diverse group, consisting of computer geeks, anime enthusiasts, and future politicians. I tried joining their group one time, but even they could not accept me. I was too foreign to them, an angelic prodigy with a brain too large to compare.

I blinked and turned my head. One table away, a group of teachers were talking about who knows what teachers talk about. No one asked me why I was sitting alone. Administrators paced back and forth like guardsmen, but not one of them even glanced at me. And so I sulked, all alone in the lunchroom. I had never felt lonelier in such an amicable environment.

Lunch was almost over. Advisory groups were starting to clean the tables. I was almost finished with eating my food. Suddenly, a boy dashed to my table and sprayed Windex all over my food. How rude! I thought. 

“Hey, you didn’t spray my food, did you?” 

Without looking at me, the boy shrugged his shoulders and ran away.  I glowered and shook my head.

“Hey!” A rough voice bellowed from behind me. It was one of the jocks. A football player. “Hey, short girl!”

My cheeks burned. I was aware of my unfortunate height, but something in the guy’s tone made it sound derogatory. I felt a vulnerability that I never felt before. I had no friends or teachers to defend me. Not mustering enough courage to face the jock, I grabbed my tray and scurried away. The jock’s friends snickered behind me. I nearly ripped the heavy door off its hinges as I burst outside. I exhaled slowly. The earth seemed to be spinning too fast. I spotted a classmate standing alone, hunched over. I shuffled towards her.

“Hi, Celine,” she said, her eyebrows scrunched. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” My throat tightened. “I feel really bad.”

Without warning, I stuffed my face into her shoulder and sobbed. Fat tears rolled down her freshly ironed sleeve. She stroked my back.

“It’s okay, Celine.”

Now that I look back on this incident, I realize that the jocks in the lunchroom were just trying to scare me. With no friends sitting with me, I was an easy target. But their words should have meant nothing to me. I have built up some confidence since then. And if I am not brave enough to stand up for myself, I can always rely on the friends that I now have.