There she is. The new girl. Maybe they won't notice her. Oh, please God don't let them notice her. Oh, no. Jack has seen her. I lead the way, my group of friends following closely behind. We approach her. Jack, the quarterback, and Kyle, the linebacker break off from our little group of 5. They grab the new girl, hold her back, as Amy and Bianca pull up her sleeves. Her arms are covered in dried blood. She has hurt herself again. The cuts are deeper this time and I wonder "Are they all because of us?" My friends turn to me, expectingly. I survey the room. All eyes are on us. They want a show. They want me, as head cheerleader, to make a complete fool of this girl in front of everybody. Just as I have for the past two weeks since she arrived. I don't want to. I know how it feels to be in her position, but if I want to maintain my new reputation as the main girl in school, if I want to keep my new friends, I have to destroy this girl. Is it worth it? No. Do I do it? Yes. I see a tear running down her face. I grit my teeth. Deep breath. "So, I see our little FREAK has been busy again." I see her flinch at the word freak. I almost apologize, but then our audience begins to cheer me on. So, I continue. I laugh in her face. I spit in her hair. I tear her down. Soon, everybody else joins in. As soon as the others surround her, I make my escape. There was no way I was sticking around to participate anymore than I had to. I know, you must think I'm horrible. To you, it's just a reputation at stake, to me it's more. See, here people WORSHIP me. They all seem to look up to me. I am something special here. But, at home, I am nothing. I am a "waste of space and oxygen," "a worthless piece of garbage." I have the bruises to back it up. And if being something, means hurting somebody, then I am going to be somebody. Because at least at school, I matter.
The bell rings. I go to 5th period, then 6th, then 7th. I asked to be excused. I head to the restroom. The 3rd stall on the left is open. I go towards. There she is. The new girl. Lying on the tile floor. Blood pools around her lifeless body. It takes my mind a moment to register what I am seeing. And once it does, I wish it hadn't. She is dead. The new girl is dead. Her wrists are slashed open, she cut too deep. The New Girl is dead. Then, I see the letter. I open it. I read it. Then, I regret it. This is because of me. This is all because of me. I have destroyed her, ruined her, broke her down, and now she was gone, because of me. And I hate myself for that.