Mrs. Calone's second-grade classroomsmelled of crayons and sticky white paste. An ugly brown carpet coveredthe entire floor with blue clay ground into it.

I was the onlyAsian girl in the classroom, everyone else was Caucasian. It didn'tmatter to me that I looked "different," and my friends didn'tseem to care.

Then one boy, Hunter, started to make fun of me."Hey, look, I'm Chinese," he would say, pulling at his eyes. Iwasn't even Chinese; I am Korean.

For the longest time I didn'tsay anything. I tried to ignore him even though he made me feel bad andextremely self-conscious. He made me feel ashamed of my race, andconstantly reminded me that I looked different. He singled me out allthe time.

One day I was sitting on the bus, anxious to gethome and show my mom the picture I had drawn of her. My thoughts wereinterrupted by the familiar sound of Hunter's voice. "Hey, look,I'm Chinese," he taunted. This time, I did not sit in silence. Hesaid it again, and I told him to shut up. When I was younger shut up waslike a curse word. I told him to shut up over and over again. But hedidn't stop. I stood and pushed him as hard as I could. He fell backinto his seat. I told him that making fun of me was wrong and heshouldn't do it anymore.

He sat there, staring, and I knew he waslistening. I think I scared him, because since that day, Hunter nevermade fun of me, or anyone. I was proud of myself, and so were the kidson my bus. Hunter was a bully, but not anymore.