The Story Of A Girl
I walked into his first class of the day. Nothing seemed different or unusual, just a normal day. I sat down and talked to some of my friends. Just as the bell rang I caught something in the corner of his eye. There was a new student in my class. She was small looking and seemed very unhappy. I waved at her as she looked up.
Class started and all throughout the hour, I noticed people leaning over to talk to her. I smiled.
'She going to be popular apparently' I thought. After class I realized how wrong I was. I was leaving the classroom when I noticed tears streaming down her face. I walked up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"What's wrong?" I pulled her off to the side and helped her calm down. She told me everything that had been said during class. I gaped at her. The whispers people were throwing at her were death threats and insults.
The next bell rang and I ran to my next class, leaving her there alone to face the horrors herself.
I couldn't concentrate during the rest of my classes. I knew I should help her, but what would my friends think if I hung out with someone so uncool? Would I become uncool as well? Would I be the one getting the death threats and insults? I was so deep in thought I hadn't realized the teacher had called on me.
"Mr. Hedgehog!" She shouted, face flushing slightly. I jerked my head up.
"Yes, Ma'am?" I stuttered.
"What is the square root of 46?"
I grabbed my calculator and punched in the question.
" 6.78" I told her, slipping back to his thoughts. She turned back to the board.
'I've got it! I'll be a casual friend! Say hi when I pass her. Talk to her every once in a while. Eat with her at lunch occasionally. That sort of thing.' I smiled and started to pay better attention.
Several weeks passed and my plan had worked for the most part. She was quiet during class, but when I sat with her, she would chime in with interesting stories about where she came from. Or funny things she would make up on the spot. I enjoyed seeing her happy. Her jade green eyes bright and sparkly, her smile warm.
Then at the end of the day, she would sit alone on the bleachers and stare at all the kids leaving. She sat there, alone and distant. She had no after school activities, no places she had to be right away. She just sat there, in deep thought.
Four months after she moved here, her schedule didn't change. Until, to my surprise she was riding my bus. I asked her why she was on and she told me it was her birthday and her aunt wanted her to come over. I told her happy birthday and went to my seat. Several of the people who had harassed her every day she's been here quickly filled the seats around her, blocking the bus driver's view of her. Several guys held her arms and legs down while girls spit in her face and pulled her bright pink hair out. They pulled and rubbed her ears till they bled. Then, laughing, they took out markers and wrote "bitch" over and over on her shirt.
I wanted to help, but I didn't know what to do. I would have helped, I should have helped, but I didn't. I sat there and watched it happen. Then the bus pulled up to my stop. I quickly walked off the bus and took one last look at her. Her silent cries for help screamed through her eyes. I looked away and the bus rode off. I walked into the house, the image of her burned into my brain.
She killed herself that night. She had walked into her aunt's, went to the spare bedroom, and slit her wrists. Her funeral was that Friday. I went out of respect and guilt. I met her mother and as soon as she knew who I was, she hugged me. With tears streaming down her face, she told me about how her daughter told her wonderful stories about me. How I played catch with her and hung out at the park with her after school nearly every day.
I realized that, when she was sitting on the bleachers after school every day, she was making up stories to tell to her mother when she got home. Her mother hugged me again and the last thing she told me has stuck with me my whole life.
"If you had been on that bus with her, then maybe she would still be with us"
I walked home after the funeral, the oddly warm fall air blowing around me. I heard a sound that sounded like a whisper. I ignored it at first, but then I heard it again. I turned around to find the silhouette of that sweet pink hedgehog I had seen lying in a coffin not twenty minutes ago. I knew I should have been scared, but her presence was surprisingly calming. She smiled and waved at me. Then, in a sweep of wind picking up the leaves, she was gone. I sighed and, again, heard the faint whisper. This time, I understood what it said.
"Goodbye, Sonic. I love you..."
I looked up at the leaves sailing through the air that had taken her image away. Then, with tears that refused to cease falling for days afterward, I silently whispered back,
"Goodbye, Amy. I love you, too... and I'm sorry for not trying to help you." I turned and walked away. Never feeling the guilt I had before. She wasn't mad at me. Because now, she was finally at peace.
The End