“Oh.”
She sounds sad. Why does she sound sad?
The bell rings, and she doesn’t waste time packing away her stuff and scurrying off like her tail is on fire.
The next day, I spot the pigtailed girl in the locker room again at the end of recess, standing in the corner while Skinny and Ugly laugh. Something in my stomach churns when I see the tears running down her cheeks, her face burning red like she’s been crying for a while. Then she wipes them away with her sleeve and hides behind her hair when the final bell rings.
I didn’t see her at the gap in the corner during the break. I thought she found another place where she could hide from the world.
I guess I was wrong.
She runs to her classroom before the two idiots can say another word, and I watch as they cross the foyer and into the room behind me.
There was one other thing I learned yesterday: Skinny and Ugly are in my class. And Skinny and Ugly like to pick on the younger grades.
I know their type; the bad kids who think they’re invincible just because someone smaller than them can’t fight back. Like Pigtails.
When lunch rolls around, I follow them out and wait for them as they grab their bags and disappear to one of the benches near the back of the school. Before Skinny can put his ass on the seat, I sink my grip into the back of his shirt and yank backward. I kick my leg out, so he stumbles over my foot and loses his balance, landing on the ground with a solid thud.
Ugly is as stupid as he looks because he lunges for me, with no form or practice, all rage. He stops screaming when my fist collides with his face, and he rears back, squealing like a little baby.
Skinny tries to scramble to his feet, but my foot lands on the side of his ribs. “What’s your problem, dude?” he hisses, clutching his side.
“Talk to the mouse again, and I’ll do a lot worse to your stupid face,” I sneer and snatch one of the backpacks. I almost hit them again, just because it isn’t empty like mine.
“Who?” I’m not sure which one speaks.
“Pigtails.”
Without a second glance at them, I shove one of their lunch boxes into my bag and storm away. I can feel them gawking at me, probably nursing their wounds at the same time.
They won’t tell the teacher. What are they going to say?
He hit us because we were picking on the girl two grades younger than us.
I don’t think so.
She’s already there by the time I get to our spot. The rat doll thing is perched next to her, holding half a cracker, while the other is between her teeth, nibbling away like a rabbit as she reads her book.
The same pathetic sandwich is on the same useless, ripped plastic bag. Her pigtails are messier than yesterday, with one sitting near the center of her head and one just above the ear, tied with mismatching hair ties.
Her shoes are holey. A church would be jealous.
Her top is ripped.
The second she sees me, she becomes the same scared mouse from yesterday, hunching her shoulders and staring at the ground as if she’s willing me to go away.
I drop beside her, and she flinches, even though I am a safe distance away.
That needs to stop.
I’m not going to hurt her. Other people can try to.
Besides a sideways glance of curiosity, she doesn’t acknowledge me as I pull out Ugly’s or Skinny’s lunch box, clicking the side open and revealing the type of lunch I thoughtshewould have.
A banana and a decent slice of bread with chicken, mayo, and greens layered in the middle. I push a finger into the bread, checking that it wouldn’t pass as cardboard.
“Eat.” I shove the whole container in her direction and grab her untouched sandwich.
