Footsteps echoed down the almost empty hallway. The only other sounds were teachers keeping their classes late to finish a lesson and the murmuring of small cliques.

I was alone. All my friends were at an Honor Society meeting.

I passed the corridor door and started walking down to my empty homeroom.

A boy walked to my left. Blond, tall. Athletics Talent.

Athletics Talent, where the richer, more well-off boys dominated.

Another walked to my right. Brunette, short. Athletics Talent.

Athletics Talent, the group of popular, athletic boys in my gifted and talented school, who know how to shoot a basketball from the farthest end of the court and still make it in the hoop.

I heard squeaks of high-end sneakers behind me. Athletics Talent.

I stopped walking.

Athletics Talent, who made me start to dislike myself all over again: my chubby face, my almond-shaped eyes, my short height, my need for glasses, my ethnicity, my writing...

Athletics Talent.

The boys in front of me stopped too. The blond one turned, his grey eyes menacing. "What's the matter? Tired already?"

I didn't answer.

"Obviously," came the voice that made me want to shrink down into an even shorter stature. "'It''s anorexic, what can you expect?"

The insult was a blow to my gut, and I took a step back, only to be shoved toward the wall.

And like that, the three monsters in trademarked clothes moved in, raining down insults and malicious comments.

"B****," the brunette sneered.
"Stop tryin'na be pretty. You're not." The blond's icy eyes flashed with anger.

The word "pretty" was the only world that sounded softer than the rest. I stayed silent.

The ring leader, the tallest of the three, made a guttural sound of disgust. His flaming red hair was just as hotly tempered as his words. "I heard you cut before sixth grade. You're such a sad, sad soul." A pretend smile of remorse.

Once of his henchmen seized my books and threw them on the ground. Then the insults and shoves started again. Hair-pulling was added. I shut my eyes.

Teachers didn't bother to come out of their classes--they've tried before, but their attempts were futile to stop the madness. Here, Athletics Talent rules the school. But even through almost three years of torment, all the names and degradation were needles dragging underneath my skin.

"You're an ugly piece of s***."

"Four Eyes."

"Whore."

"Freak."

"You're dumb for a chink. I bet your parents are too disappointed in you to care."

"Leave her alone," said a different voice.

Silence. I could hear jaws unhinging and the cracking of necks as their heads spun the other way.

"You aren't serious, Michael. You can't be." The blond's voice was laced with disbelief.

"She didn't do anything to you, Nick, so let her be."

"Dude, this 'it' likes you." The redhead seemed dazed.

"Then that's between me and her." He spoke through clenched jaws. "And she's not an 'it', Jay."

There was grumbling, but pairs of sneakers squeaked down the hallway and around the corner.

And finally, I opened my eyes.

Michael was picking up my notebooks in the same order as they were before. It reminded me of the numerous times when he bumped into me and made a book fall out of my arms. Perhaps he was making up for all those moments?

"You don't need to do that," I stuttered. "It's fine, I got it."

He picked up the last one and locked gazes with you. "You sure? Your hands're shaking."

I looked down at my trembling hands. I hadn't even noticed.

"You don't have to act tough." He walked closer and held out my belongings. "Just keep your head up and do what you do best. Don't kill yourself over a stupid comment, 'kay?"

I took my things and nodded. "Thanks, by the way."

He hesitated before flicking out strands of my shoulder-length hair that were stuck under my bookbag strap. "I always felt jealous of Asian hair. It seems perfect all the time," he stated matter-of-factly, and I felt warmth flood my cheeks.

There was a moment of silence as we just stood there.

Michael murmured, "I really don't know why you like me."

The words caused me to smile, genuinely smile.

"I really don't know why either."

The classroom doors opened, and the remaining students were dismissed.

Michael smirked, turned around, and headed for the stairwell behind him.

I continued on my way to class, putting his advice in my once empty pocket.

The bullying stopped the next day.