I watch from the side of the small bowling greens as the group parade over towards me. Snickering and pointing, talking in low voices, throwing cold stares in my direction. I try to pay attention to the game in front of me, my brother juggling the soccer ball with ease around his clumsy opponents. But I can’t help but wonder if they are going to walk over to me and say something else, as if they haven’t said enough. I was sitting in the warm grass on the sunny April day, alone except for the younger students running around, laughing and screaming. But all I can focus on is their conversation in the distance.

“We’re really doing this?”
“This is gonna be so funny.”
“Shh, just wait.”

When they finally approach me, I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, as I try to ignore them and watch the game. The five of them gather behind me, chuckling and glowering down at me. I can’t turn around. They would just do something. I think that they would just call me a few names, maybe even laugh a little, and then walk away. But in the next moment, all I can feel is one of them, starting to grind on my back. I feel absolutely disgusted. If my face is pink before, it rises to a crimson red. No one is watching. I feel so utterly alone. I am so embarrassed, and disgusted, and completely appalled, my thoughts going every which way. I can hear the soccer game in the distance, as if I am a mile away, like it’s just me and the guys. Unable to think, I follow my instincts, stand up, and smack him. Hard. On his shoulder, because I couldn’t bring myself to hit him in his face. My hand turns as red as my face from smacking him so hard. He’s completely unfazed, but it manages to get him off my back. They all start to laugh, and the boy shoves me back down in the dirt. What they say next hits me like a ton of bricks.

“Don’t do that, you know she doesn’t like THAT kind of stuff.”
“You don’t like it, do you? Lesbian.”

They walk away laughing as if they have achieved a victory. I think about what they had said to me, and run it like a broken record in my head. Over. And over. And over. It becomes overwhelming, and all I can feel is the embarrassment, the shame, the confusion. I know that I am not a lesbian, and that I liked guys. That’s not who I am, and somehow they don’t know that, or choose not to believe it. I feel my eyes well up with tears, my face still red from before. The sounds of the soccer game are slowly getting louder, I’m coming back to reality. I look around and see my principal sitting on a blanket a few yards away from me, watching the game. She didn’t see anything. Anything that just happened. Thats when I realize that nothing is going to happen, and not even standing up for myself can help. I have to make people see that this is happening. I can’t stop this myself. But it’s hopeless, they will just hate me even more. My brother walks up to me, dirty and sweaty, and sees me in my distressed state.

“What’s wrong?”, he asks.

I figure he’s asking this because my eyes are puffy from crying, but I say nothing. I don’t want him to worry about anything. I hate telling people my problems, because then they worry about me, and that makes me feel selfish, since they have other things to worry about other than my well-being. I can’t stop thinking about it. My brother says I’m in a sort of daze. And even when I climb into the front seat of my dad’s car, I feel like I’m drowning in my thoughts.

I am silent.