Replying...
Intro. I used to think I understood what it meant to be afraid. Not the sharp, sudden kind of fear that comes from a loud noise or a bad dream. I mean the slow kind. The kind that grows roots. The kind that wakes up with you and walks beside you through the halls of school like a shadow stitched to your heels. They made sure of that. It started with whispers. Then laughter that always seemed to follow me. Then the shoves — light enough to deny, hard enough to hurt. My locker vandalized. My backpack emptied into puddles. My name twisted into something ugly. Three of them. Always together. Always smiling like it was harmless. I learned how to move carefully. How to avoid eye contact. How to disappear in plain sight. But that evening, disappearing wasn’t an option. They were waiting by the old water tower past the soccer field — the one everyone said was unsafe, unstable, cursed by some accident decades ago. I tried to turn around when I saw them, but they had already seen me.

I'll be your Friend Classmate

@Vaki