. . . Boobgate . . .

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Fifth and sixth period classes are cancelled on Monday because we have an assembly in the gym. That means no PE or science for me, and no PE or social studies for Rose, and we're this-close to breaking out in song and doing a jig. Assemblies are an excuse to goof off or for me to catch up on my Twitter feeds.

That is, until I find out what the assembly is about: anti-bullying and life skills. A seventh-grade student killed herself last year when she got teased for dressing like a boy, and for wanting to be called Jason instead of her legal name of Jaiden.

I didn't know her but I am especially sensitive to anyone and anything connected to suicide. It's like I can feel their pain. It hurts. I hate it.

Jasper finds us at the very top of the bleachers. Since we're eighth graders now, we finally rule the place. In between feeling guilty for thinking I could ignore the reason for the assembly, I raise my chin and try to look strong and proud, like I belong.

Principal Greene introduces Hannah, a blonde woman who begins by saying that she used to be Darrell. I try not to do a double-take, but it's hard-I'm searching for clues of a male who used to be female, and feeling more than a little uneasy with the idea that someone born a boy didn't feel like a boy. How does that happen?

Hannah tells us how it's tough enough just to grow up, but if you add sexual identity complications, it can be hell on earth. Some people gasp when they hear the word, and I roll my eyes. Bunch of kids.

As I'm listening to her story, I suddenly notice that people are whispering and pointing to the back of a kid two rows down to the right of where I'm sitting. Rose pushes me aside so she can get a better view, but she only sees the same thing I do: the back of what looks like Mike Newton's head. So she taps the shoulder of the person sitting in front of us, whispering in her ear. The girl then taps the person in front of her, and before I know it, we have the story.

"Someone put a sign on Mike Newton's back with an arrow pointing to his butt that says enter here."

Rose and I trade looks of amused horror. Who would dare? Mike has a nasty temper, so someone's head is definitely going to roll for this.

In the middle of one of Hannah's stories, Mike shoots up from his seat and turns to glare at the people behind him. He knows something is going on, but he doesn't know exactly what.

"Do you have something to add, young man?"

Mike whips around to face the front of the gym and Principal Greene, who looks as surprised as Mike does.

"Uh, go Indians!" Mike yells.

Principal Greene's hands are on his hips. "Sit down."

Mike turns as red as the shirt he's wearing and sinks back down as a few people laugh, but the atmosphere Hannah created doesn't really leave any room for joking. Everyone feels it.

"What would you do if you saw someone you didn't know being bullied?" She asks. Even though it looks like she's directing her question at Mike, I gulp and swallow hard.

"What if the act of you stepping up for this person, which verbally lets the bully know his actions are wrong, saves this person's life?" Hannah shrugs, then adds: "If my friend hadn't done that for me, I wouldn't be here today."

But she looks so together, I think. So pretty, strong, and like the world is at her fee—

"Or, what if you don't say anything, and later you find out that the person you saw being bullied put a shotgun to his head and blew a hole through his brain? Would you care then?"

I suddenly see Mom's feet swinging in front of me and jump. Everything goes blurry as tears fill my eyes.

Rose leans close. "Bella?"

I shake my head, trying to get rid of the memory, but it morphs into what Mom's face looked like that day. Gray, red, eyes vacant and bloodshot, and tongue protruding. Mom.

"Bella!"

I fall against Rose's shoulder with a choked gasp. She rubs my back as I try to get myself under control, and people are turning to look at me.

Meanwhile, Hannah continues. "Every day there is an average of over 5,400 attempts at suicide by children in grades seven through twelve. Four out of five people who put the gun to their head and blew their brains out, told others that they were going to blow their brains out, and weren't heard, or were ignored."

Hannah rages and paces across the floor, an incandescent conductor of despair and anger.

Oh god, I wonder, did Mom? Did I ignore Mom while she was telling me that she wanted to die?

I stare down at my knitted hands as Hannah begins sharing some of the signs of people thinking of suicide might say.

I'd be better off dead.

I hate my life.

I won't be bothering you much longer.

My body relaxes slightly as I realize Mom did none of those things. I didn't miss any signs, and thank God I'm not any more horrible now than I was five minutes ago. But it still sucks because I had no idea Mom was suicidal, and shouldn't there be a manual or something so it's not so complicated, so it doesn't hurt so much now?

"You okay?" Rose whispers.

Not really, but I nod anyway. Just when I think I'm past what happened to Mom, it somehow crops back up again. Of all places, why did it have to be at a public school assembly?

"I used to say those things," Hannah tells us. "I tried to take my life once. Yeah. I ate a bottle of Ambien. Thought I'd just go to sleep and never wake up." She takes a breath. "I got lucky. I was found in time to get fed ash—which tastes just like it sounds—and got my stomach pumped. I could have died. I should have died. I almost did."

I look at her with a new appreciation. She escaped death. It must feel like more than I could ever begin to imagine. Upside down, inside out, awful and terrifying.

"I got help. I found out that people do care. You can help prevent a suicide, and you can avoid it yourself because I am here to tell you, people, that that feeling of wanting to die does. Not. Last. And you can make a difference in someone's life if you see them exhibiting the signs. Just listen to them, that's all they want. That's all I wanted—someone who'd hear me."

She pauses, then takes the time to try and make eye contact with as many people as she can. "Take a chance," she says. "I dare you to try and make a difference."

By the time the assembly ends, I'm feeling better, feeling energized. If I ever come across a bully, he better take two giant steps back. I flex my hand with the bruises, which have faded from purple and blue to yellow. Punching frigging hurts, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I had to. Even if it meant suspension.

But I'd sure hope helping to save a life would keep Dad from grounding me again.

. . .

On Tuesday morning, a little piece of paper is stuck between the slats of my locker. Actually, almost all of the lockers in the hallway have paper sticking out from them.

"What's that?" Rose wants to know.

I open the piece of paper.

My name is Mike Newton and I like to look at girl's boobs without their permission.

Mouth gaping, I show it to her.

"Holy you-know-what," she says.

"Did you—did you do this?"

"Hell no. Does that look like my writing?"

I give her a look. "It's not handwritten, it's printed."

Who at this school, besides Rose, Jasper and Principal Greene, knows why I punched Mike last Tuesday? It's not like we'd broadcasted it.

There's a lot of laughing in the hallway surrounding us as people find more of the messages.

"I wouldn't want to be Mike Newton today," Rose snickers.

She looks suspiciously jolly. "You did this, didn't you?"

"Uh-uh. Wasn't my idea."

I give her a dark look.

"Jasper?"

"Maybe it was Mr. Greene," she says.

Suddenly my neck is grabbed hard. Fingers dig into my muscles and I yelp.

"You did this," Mike says and shoves me against my locker. I stumble into the open door and bash my head on the corner. Sharp pain shoots across my forehead.

"Leave her alone!" I hear Rose yell. "She had nothing to do with it, it was all Edward, me and Jasper. If you have a problem with it, you need to talk to Edward."

Gasping, I turn to see them glowering at each other.

"In fact, Edward wants to talk to you today," Rose says and shoves at Mike. "After school. He said he'd be waiting for you."

"Aw, fuck," Mike growls.

There's a crowd around us now. "Ohmigod, Bella's bleeding!"

I raise my hand to my throbbing eyebrow and wince. It hurts. When I take my hand away, I see blood. A lot of blood.

"Just what is going on here?" An authoritative voice barks. I don't know who it is. I don't care. I'm in serious pain.

Rose hands me a wad of Kleenex and smirks at Mike. "Guess who's going to get suspended this time?"

. . .

Mike does get suspended, but I can't even enjoy it because Dad has to come pick me up and take me to get stitches, something that hurts like hell and makes me howl like a baby. Afterwards, my eyes are puffy and my face is splotchy from crying. I even have a big bandage taped above my eye. Now I look Mike Tyson.

"What's going on with you and Mike Newton?" Dad wants to know on the way home.

My head leans against the passenger side window. Thank God the eyebrow that got hurt is the left one, or I wouldn't be able to rest my pounding head against the vibrating window. Which feels kinds of surreal.

"It was an accident," I tell him because I just don't feel like discussing Boobgate with him anymore. Or with anyone really.

"Listen, Bella, I'm sorry, but I don't want you getting into fights at school. Especially with boys."

"It wasn't a fight," I say dully. Mike grabbed and shoved me before I could even think to defend myself.

"What's this about? Notes that Mike Newton likes . . . looking at . . . girls?"

I sigh. Dad couldn't sound more embarrassed or awkward if he tried. "I guess someone found out what Mike tried to do last week, and got mad that he didn't get suspended, too."

Dad is silent while he chews on that.

"What exactly did he try to do?"

I'm so mad that I'm on the verge of tears now. "I told you, I told— Do we have to talk about this now? Please. Thinking hurts."

Talking hurts. Just breathing hurts.

In answer, he lets me drift against the car window.

. . .

Edward's pretty green eyes are dark and glowering, and there's a furrow between his brows.

"Rose and Jasper filled me in," he says shortly. We're in the basement. Dad's given me a reprieve on the no-TV thing, but he still has my phone.

I just look at him unhappily. My head still feels lopsided from the swelling and the bandage that feels like it's covering the whole side of my head. I feel awful inside and out, and I hurt.

"I don't want to be like Mike Tyson," I tell him. "It sucks."

I flinch from his hand when it raises near my hurt eye, and he looks hurt in turn.

"Bella."

I groan and settle into a fetal position. That way he can't touch my head, and I don't have to look at anything. He takes me by surprise when he curls his body around mine, somehow sensing that I just want to be babied and cared for right now.

"I'm sorry for what he did to you," he says and runs his fingers through my hair. I make a sound of contentment. "I feel like it's my fault for all of the messages around the school. I obviously didn't think it through."

His touch is gentle, but his voice is anything but. In fact, he sounds this-close to doing violence.

"Don't worry about it tonight," I tell him. "Please don't be mad tonight, okay?"

Combined with his touch and the pain pills kicking in, I float softly into a dream where I feel his lips touch my forehead, my nose, my cheek.

. . .

On Wednesday, I learn that Mike isn't the only one upset about the notes.

Jessica and Lauren confront me by the sinks in the restroom. "Mike told me what happened," Jessica says with ice in her voice.

I finish washing my hands and grab a paper towel. "Oh really? What'd he tell you?"

"That you can't take a joke. That you think he wanted to look at your boobs." And she curls her lip in amused disgust while she looks at my chest. "Or, what you think are your boobs."

I might not be a C-cup like Jessica, but these twin bumps on my chest aren't some kind of unfortunate growth. They're definitely boobs, and Mike definitely wanted a look. But Jessica doesn't want to hear that.

"Hey, you're probably right," I tell her and edge toward the exit. "He probably just wanted to see what color my training bra was."

"I didn't know they came in any color but ugly," she snarls. "And I'm sure he could care less about what's under your fugly t-shirts. You dress like a bum."

"Except for the no-showering thing, I bet bums are really comfortable."

Lauren steps to the left, halting my progress. Her sweater couldn't be any tighter if she inhaled. She's bigger than Jessica and me combined. "He doesn't like you, you know."

"Definitely not." I point to the bandage on my head.

"He didn't do that, either," Jessica yells. "You're just a damn klutz."

I am a klutz, but she's in denial. Is that why she's so angry?

"I swear," she says and steps up to me until we're nose-and-nose. "If I hear of anything else you've done to get him in trouble, you'll be sorry."

Whoa. I'm already sorry, and I haven't even done anything to Mike Newton. "As far as I'm concerned, Mike Newton is stricken from my vocabulary."

"Stay away from him."

What?! "Tell him to stay away from me," I huff.

Jessica's pointer finger shoves me back and to the side. "That won't be a problem, you flat-chested gutter slut."

I'm still reeling at the name she called me long after they've left.

. . .

"I used to think it was a joke, but Jessica really does think I'm after Mike," I tell Rose and Alice. "She actually thinks I want him to look at my boobs!"

Alice pats my shoulder. "You poor, poor thing. Are you traumatized?"

"Yes!"

"This calls for chocolate." Rose pulls a bag of Hershey's Miniatures from her duffle bag and dumps it onto my bed. She and Alice fight over the regular Hershey's, while I go straight for the Special Darks.

"My hero," I say around a bar of chocolate. I feel better already.

Rose snaps a bar in two. "We need to take care of her."

"No! No more taking care of things. Just let it be. It'll die down."

Rose stares me down. "I won't let her harass you."

"She's not harassing me. I don't think. It was just the one time—"

My door abruptly opens. "What was just the one time?"

It's Edward.

"Um, nothing. Girl talk," I say and try to wave him back out the door.

Alice is aghast. "Are you spying on us?"

Edward glares at me, then looks at Alice. "Bella won't tell me anything anymore."

I give him an exaggerated duh look. "You can't protect me from everything, Edward. Besides, I can handle Jessica if I need to."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, then paces once, twice across my room.

"Alright. I'll let you handle it," he says, but I don't trust him. He doesn't look defeated. He looks determined or something.

"What was that about?" Rose wonders after he leaves.

Alice shakes her head. "Something tells me we're going to find out sooner or later."

And we do. A few days later, Edward is going out with Jessica. Dad lets him take her to dinner and a movie, something that I'm just floored about because Dad says I can't date until I'm 18, and Edward's not even 17. Plus, Edward asking Jessica out hurts my feelings more than I thought possible. I cry about it once late at night, and once on the evening of their date, and try not to hate myself about it all.

Jessica is verbally ecstatic about their date all over school. Even if Edward wasn't a catch just because he's older, he's good-looking, smart and athletic. Apparently he knows how to French-kiss a French man under the table. And he's a gentleman, because he opened all of her doors for her and held her hand.

I want to kill her.

I want to hate him.

Now that Jessica is unavailable, Mike suddenly decides he likes Jessica and Jessica decides she doesn't like him after all. So while she and her hench-girl Lauren no longer bother me at school, Jessica bothers me in my dreams. She bothers my heart.

I can't talk about it to Edward. Worse, he doesn't make me. If anything, he avoids me, and I don't think I've ever felt so low in my life.

. . .

Suicide facts were taken from the jasonfoundation dot com website.