He would sometimes wait for me to get done with school to pick on me. He used to call me mean names when we walked passed each other as he shoved me like it was on accident, even though I knew he did it on purpose and that he intended to hurt my feeling. One day he would say he was my friend if I gave him an answer or two but the next he would act like nothing even happened the day before. He treated me like I was trash left to be feeling like I was the only person in this world that had a “Friend” like that. I didn’t tell anyone for a while. Not my teachers, siblings, or even my family. My parents still don’t even know. My other friends at that time never really understood that I was getting bullied but that’s because I didn’t tell them either. It was really complicated because whenever someone saw that I was down and they asked if anything was wrong, I would act like nothing had happened the rest of the day but inside, only I knew that I was being bullied in the sixth grade.

I was miserable. The whole day that was all that I could think about. I could never get out of my head and it would distract me from doing my work in some classes that I had with him. He would throw paper balls at me in the class when the teacher turned her back. He would sometimes trip me when I went to sharpen my pencil. The whole class would laugh and he would say it was, “An accident” but either that was truly an accident or his foot crossed my foot every time my pencil would need a fine tune.