now.”
Mom and I stood up. She and I were the same height; the short genes of Dad’s family had thankfully passed me by.
Principal Nelson took speedy steps into the waiting area. He looked Mom straight in the eye, his square-jawed face serious. “Mrs. Levine, my apology for the wait. I pride myself on being prompt, but it’s been busy this morning.”
Mom didn’t answer. Principal Nelson caused a stir when he got the job, beating out several older candidates. A lot of moms gossiped about how cute he was. Mom thought the hullabaloo was ridiculous.
Mom and I followed him to his office. He immediately closed the door, motioned us to take the two seats opposite his desk, and sat down in his high-back chair. I put my backpack down at my feet.
“Mr. Nelson.” The authority in Mom’s voice surprised me. Clearly, she was making up for lost time. “I’ve instructed Rebecca to report any incidents that constitute harassment as stated in the school’s anti-bullying policy. She’ll provide both a written and verbal report.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Mr. Nelson raised his voice. “However, we cannot take action unless there is proof an incident happened. That being said, our staff has gone through additional training on how to handle these matters. I stand by our policies, and I stand by my staff and my students.”
Mom softened her tone. “Well, it’s difficult to prove incidents happen. Sometimes we’re too busy to notice. Frankly, people don’t want to believe such things happen at their school. I want your personal assurance that Derrick isn’t in any of Rebecca’s classes.”
“As you know,”—Mr. Nelson kept his tone sharp—“it’s against school policy to determine class assignments based on parental requests. However, in this case,”—he leaned over and draped his hands on the desk—“I’ve made an exception. Derrick isn’t in any of Rebecca’s classes.”
He looked at me, and I saw compassion in his eyes. “Your locker won’t be near his. It’ll be by the seniors. Is this okay with you?”
Okay with me? Of course it was! “Yes, it is. Thank you.”
“I see you did well in Israel.” He nodded at me. “Straight A’s.”
“That’s my daughter!” Mom bragged as the bell rang.
Principal Nelson stood up and handed me my schedule before I could say anything. “If you hurry, you won’t be late for Homeroom.”
Mom trailed behind me as I left the office. “That went well. The rest is up to you, Rebecca. Walk with your—”
“Mom, please.” I swung my backpack over my shoulder. It was my time: Time to show everybody I wasn’t a loser. Time to continue on with my life. Time to evolve into the person I was meant to be. I didn’t need her to tell me what to do. I was gonna saunter down the hallway like I owned it.
“You okay with your schedule?” Mom asked.
I eyed my schedule. It was fine. English was my first-period class.
“Text me if you change your mind about lunch.” Mom reached toward my shoulder. “You have lint on your jacket.”
I backed away, even though I couldn’t stand lint, either.
It felt totally déjà vu as I marched through the office door and made my way down the corridor. Lockers slamming. Kids talking to each other—some walking, some congregated by classrooms. My backpack was heavy, practically overflowing with school supplies. Mom had suggested coming in over break to organize my locker. I had refused, insisting it was unnecessary to make an extra trip to school. I’d thought it might crack my momentum.
My heart thudded. Fairview High. My school.
For years, I had hated it, the place where I felt the worst. Yet, it was still part of me. Treading through it again, my confidence wasn’t shattered, nor did I feel hatred. For the first time, I felt satisfied I had come home.
I pulled out my phone. The situation could turn at any moment. After my suicide attempt and the harassment complaint, I became more than just the school
Mom and I stood up. She and I were the same height; the short genes of Dad’s family had thankfully passed me by.
Principal Nelson took speedy steps into the waiting area. He looked Mom straight in the eye, his square-jawed face serious. “Mrs. Levine, my apology for the wait. I pride myself on being prompt, but it’s been busy this morning.”
Mom didn’t answer. Principal Nelson caused a stir when he got the job, beating out several older candidates. A lot of moms gossiped about how cute he was. Mom thought the hullabaloo was ridiculous.
Mom and I followed him to his office. He immediately closed the door, motioned us to take the two seats opposite his desk, and sat down in his high-back chair. I put my backpack down at my feet.
“Mr. Nelson.” The authority in Mom’s voice surprised me. Clearly, she was making up for lost time. “I’ve instructed Rebecca to report any incidents that constitute harassment as stated in the school’s anti-bullying policy. She’ll provide both a written and verbal report.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Mr. Nelson raised his voice. “However, we cannot take action unless there is proof an incident happened. That being said, our staff has gone through additional training on how to handle these matters. I stand by our policies, and I stand by my staff and my students.”
Mom softened her tone. “Well, it’s difficult to prove incidents happen. Sometimes we’re too busy to notice. Frankly, people don’t want to believe such things happen at their school. I want your personal assurance that Derrick isn’t in any of Rebecca’s classes.”
“As you know,”—Mr. Nelson kept his tone sharp—“it’s against school policy to determine class assignments based on parental requests. However, in this case,”—he leaned over and draped his hands on the desk—“I’ve made an exception. Derrick isn’t in any of Rebecca’s classes.”
He looked at me, and I saw compassion in his eyes. “Your locker won’t be near his. It’ll be by the seniors. Is this okay with you?”
Okay with me? Of course it was! “Yes, it is. Thank you.”
“I see you did well in Israel.” He nodded at me. “Straight A’s.”
“That’s my daughter!” Mom bragged as the bell rang.
Principal Nelson stood up and handed me my schedule before I could say anything. “If you hurry, you won’t be late for Homeroom.”
Mom trailed behind me as I left the office. “That went well. The rest is up to you, Rebecca. Walk with your—”
“Mom, please.” I swung my backpack over my shoulder. It was my time: Time to show everybody I wasn’t a loser. Time to continue on with my life. Time to evolve into the person I was meant to be. I didn’t need her to tell me what to do. I was gonna saunter down the hallway like I owned it.
“You okay with your schedule?” Mom asked.
I eyed my schedule. It was fine. English was my first-period class.
“Text me if you change your mind about lunch.” Mom reached toward my shoulder. “You have lint on your jacket.”
I backed away, even though I couldn’t stand lint, either.
It felt totally déjà vu as I marched through the office door and made my way down the corridor. Lockers slamming. Kids talking to each other—some walking, some congregated by classrooms. My backpack was heavy, practically overflowing with school supplies. Mom had suggested coming in over break to organize my locker. I had refused, insisting it was unnecessary to make an extra trip to school. I’d thought it might crack my momentum.
My heart thudded. Fairview High. My school.
For years, I had hated it, the place where I felt the worst. Yet, it was still part of me. Treading through it again, my confidence wasn’t shattered, nor did I feel hatred. For the first time, I felt satisfied I had come home.
I pulled out my phone. The situation could turn at any moment. After my suicide attempt and the harassment complaint, I became more than just the school
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