The Endless Cry

At my old middle school I would sit in the back, and I would never talk. My goal was basically to be invisible. I was nobody’s first choice, but at least I wasn’t their last. But high school is going to be different. You only need one thing to survive it. Popularity. A thing I don’t have. Since kindergarten I’ve never been popular. That’s going to change this summer. New school, new me.

During the summer I went shopping, and I bought clothes that barely passed the dress code, make up, and shoes. Not just any old shoes. I bought high heels. I practiced walking around with them all summer. The shiny red heels were worth the blistering pain on my feet.

A few days later, school started. I woke up at five in the morning, four hours before school started. I curled my hair just enough for it to be considered wavy, not curly. I put on my pink lip gloss, mascara, eyeliner on my top eyelid, and, instead of using my glasses, I put blue contacts on. I looked beautiful, like the models I saw on television. I stared at myself in the mirror. The girl looking back was nothing like me, she was perfect. I spent an hour the previous day picking out my outfit. It was a simple, yet elegant black dress that hugged my skin in an uncomfortable way, but it looked stunning on me. Instead of a backpack, I carried a fake designer purse that could not fit all my class materials and my lunch, so I just packed the school supplies.

When I arrived at school, the reaction was not what I expected. The most popular girls at our school had chosen to wear sweatpants and sweaters, so, of course the rest of the school did too. I certainly got someone’s attention, the kid who bullied me at my middle school for being quiet. This time he bullied me about trying too hard. Usually I would just cry in the bathroom during lunch, but I forgot I wore mascara that day. When I arrived at my class after lunch, the mascara dripping down my face was very visible, and my classmates bullied me more. I overheard some of them say “she’s such a crybaby.”, “did she really wear heels to school?”, and “I was in her class in middle school. She was such a loser that she cried in the bathroom every day.”

I went home, dejected, and I realized that it’s better not to be noticed, than ridiculed. The itchy fabric of my dress caused a rash, and I put on my pajamas to cry in my bed once more. I just couldn’t win.

I woke up the next day, still in my pajamas, and I biked to school. The tears hadn’t fully dried on my sweater, so I cried some more. I had gone full circle.

They didn’t notice me. Nobody noticed me. We had to pair up for a group project in World History, and I was the odd person out. There was an even amount of people in the class, yet I still had no one to partner with. I sat alone in my chair, doing the work of two people while a group of three didn’t do anything. People chose them, but why not me?

My room becomes messier each day I sit in sorrow. The bed, usually as neat as my alphabetized bookshelf, now as messy as the coffee stain on my carpet that I was too lazy to fix. The mirror now covered, for I couldn’t stand to look at what I had become. Every day felt the same as I forgot a little bit of what happened on the first day of school.

Each day I get more courage. Maybe I was just going about the wrong way. Reputations take time to build. If I answer one question in class today, maybe I could build up to being a part of the smart girl clique? I sat in my bed that night. My eyes, usually soaked in tears by now, were dry. Just take it one day at a time.

Today is the day. I strolled into my history class, and sure enough, a question popped up. “What year did World War I begin?”. I raised my hand just a bit. It was enough so that the teacher could see, but I wasn’t straining my arm. I answered the question in the most confidence I could muster, “1914”. With such a simple and short answer, I didn’t think anyone could comment on it, yet someone did. He was in the seat next to me. A choice he didn’t make himself, for the seats were assigned. I’m always sitting next to the chaotic kids because I guess the teachers think I will calm them down. “She speaks!” He shouted in my face, “It’s a miracle!”. Maybe it was because I thought this was finally my break to become popular. Maybe it was because I had been hyping myself up for the last few weeks for this exact moment. Maybe it was because I had been bullied my whole life, but today I snapped.

I just cried. It felt normal, but I just knew that the class would make fun of me more if they saw me. I ran out of the class without thinking about anything else. I left my backpack, and I ran to the bathroom. The tears streaming down my cheeks so familiar as I sat in the bathroom stall. I hadn’t even realized that another girl was in the stall next to me, but instead of laughing or gossiping, she whispered, “You okay? Do you want to talk about it?”. This was what I had wanted for years. Someone who could be my friend. I opened the door, and I hugged this mysterious girl. “Yes,” I said, “I would love to talk about it”.

She ended up becoming my best friend. I didn’t care about anything else in the world but her. No matter how sad my life got she would always be there for me, and I would always be there for her. I consider it a miracle that I got in the stall at that exact moment.

Every day, after school, we chat about anything and everything that happened that day. I never realized how much time it takes to have a friend, but it’s so much more fulfilling than crying. Somehow we found each other, and we both got better because of it.