Bullies can cry

“Oh no, here she comes,” said Sam.
         “Who?” I asked, putting my math books into my locker.
         “C’mon, Gina, you know who,” she said. She rolled her eyes when she saw my blank expression.
         “Eliza’s coming, you dumbo,” she said, “I’ve been trying to avoid her all afternoon!” Suddenly, Sam slammed her locker door. “Come on, she’s headed this way!” she said, frantically pulling me into the dark girl’s bathroom.
         “That was a close one,” said Sam, turning on the lights.
         “This is ridiculous,” I said. “Your shirt is not that bad.”
         “Yes it is. Look at it!” she said, pointing to her white and red T-shirt. In the beginning, it had been a white shirt. Then at lunch time, Sam had been putting ketchup on a hot dog. When she was trying to get the cafeteria ketchup machine to work, her
T-shirt’s color scheme had changed drastically.
         “Why don’t you just wear your gym shirt for the day,” I suggested.
         “That sweaty thing? Ew!”
         “Why should she even care? It’s just a stain. It’s not like you’re doing anything that bad.”
         “Well, Eliza might think it is that bad. I’m not taking any chances.” Sam brushed her black hair out of her face. “I’m so glad it’s the end of the day!” she exclaimed.
         Suddenly, the door creaked open. Sam dove into a stall. I leaned against a hard, white sink and tried to look cool.
         A 1st grader walked in. I sighed and straightened up into my usual slouch.
         “Why were you lying on the sink?” asked the little girl curiously.
         “Oh um, no reason,” I said. I’ll practice at home, I thought, consoling myself.
         “Coast’s clear, Sam,” I said. She stepped out.
“Good. I hate being in a cramped little stall if I don’t have to be,” she said, opening the door and walking out into the open.
The door opened again, and before Sam had time to move, in walked Eliza and Chocolate.
“So now that he touched it, I have to burn my shirt,” said Eliza, and they both giggled.
“Hi Gina, hi Sa- OMG!” Chocolate said, catching sight of Sam. “Like, what happened?”
“Oh, um…” said Sam looking at the floor.
I jumped to the rescue. “The stupid ketchup machine exploded on her. They seriously need to fix those things.”
“Totally,” said Eliza, smiling.
”They need to fix everything at this school.” said Chocolate.
“I know, right?” Eliza laughed, her copper hair bouncing just right. Chocolate glowed, like a puppy who had just heard the words “good dog!”. I was almost jealous.
“And the sinks, like, always are leaking,” said Chocolate, eager to get more reward.
“Um, yeah, you just said nothing works, so obviously the sinks wouldn’t, would they?” Eliza held out her nails in front of her and inspected them.
“Right,” said Chocolate. I could almost see a tail between her legs.
“So, anyways, why don’t you change?” said Eliza.
“Yeah, you could wear your gym shirt,” said Chocolate.
“Well, she would have—” I began.
“But it was too sweaty,” said Sam, finally talking.
“Um, sweaty?” said Eliza, looking up from her nails.
Oblivious to Eliza’s tone, Sam went right on talking.
“Yeah, I get so sweaty after I do pushups. I don’t know why but…” said Sam, trailing off when she saw Eliza and Chocolate’s faces.
“Ok, TMI much?” said Chocolate, disgusted.
“Totally,” said Sam, nervously smiling. I mentally groaned, realizing that Sam had no idea what TMI meant.
“Ok…” said Eliza, “We have to go now. Bye Gina, Bye Sam.” She and Chocolate swiftly left. I could hear them laughing in the hall.
“Not good,” said Sam, sliding down the tiled wall into a sitting position. “What did I do now?”
“TMI means ‘too much information,’” I said, starting to do my brown hair into a bun in the mirror.
Sam thought for a moment. Then her face sank.
“Why can’t I do anything right?” she moaned.
“Well, you can explode a ketchup machine pretty well.”
She glared up at me. “Some friend you are.”
“Hey, I was just kidding,” I said, taking a scrunchie off my wrist.
“Yeah, but Eliza and Chocolate weren’t. What are they going to tell everyone?”
“Maybe they won’t gossip about it,” I said, letting my hair fall.  Then I realized a fact. My own optimism wasn’t even able to convince me that that was true.
***
         I sat a seat to the right of Eliza in History. Sometimes, when Mr. Allston’s lecture became too boring, I couldn’t help watching her.
         Today was different. Eliza wasn’t snickering or passing notes. She wasn’t even leaning back in her chair, half asleep.
         Eliza sat stiff as a board, her eyes fixed on something that wasn’t there, or perhaps I just couldn’t see it. Two slow tears slid down her cheeks. In her hand was clutched a small object. When she put it down on her desk while she fished out a pencil from her bag, I could see what it was.
         I was amazed. Usually Eliza wouldn’t touch mediocre jewelry.  But there sat a small, beaded bracelet. The beads were plastic and alternated pink and blue. I could see a word written on three beads. I couldn’t read it, because as she clasped it back in her hand, all I could make out was an S.
***
         We filed in to the gym. I felt my gym shirt. How bad does this look? I thought, feeling Eliza’s presence nearby.
         “Ok, Everyone, let’s do some stretches!” called out Ms. Swenson.
         We touched our toes. We did jumping jacks. Then I realized what was coming up. Please, I thought, let Sam not sweat. Please…
         “Five push ups!” Ms. Swenson’s voice blasted across the floor. “10 half pushups if you like!”
         “Ok, ok watch now,” I heard Eliza saying to Dianna.
         I watched Sam, struggling to do the task. Slowly, a bead of sweat dropped down her nose. Eliza and Dianna snickered. Two more came down her cheek. Dianna started loudly laughing, and Eliza joined in. I saw another drop of salt water come down Sam’s cheek. But this time, it wasn’t sweat.
***
         The talk and laughter of the exhausted kids buzzed in my ears. I squeezed into the tiny space between kids across from Sam.
         “Hey there,” I said. Sam gave me a wave as she unrolled the top of her lunch bag and looked inside. Then she made a face.
“Ew, I can’t believe Mom would actually give me a slice of that nasty old cheese she was eating yesterday. I told her I didn’t like it!”
         Sam was holding up a Ziploc bag with a slice of weird looking cheese in it. I held my nose.
         Sam continued to dismantle her lunch. “Raisins, plain yogurt, and a cream cheese and celery sandwich,” she listed, pulling each one out. “She needs to take mothering classes, badly.”
         “Why don’t you just get school lunch like you always do,” I suggested. I looked at the wall nearby. “Here, the menu says Hamburger. You love Hamburgers!”
         Sam folded her arms. “Keep reading,” she said.
         May 20, I read, Hamburger w/… “With ketchup,” I said out loud. “Oh come on, Sam. You can’t let this ruin your life.”
         “I’m not. I’m simply going to avoid ketchup and skip gym for the rest of the school year.”
         “You know, I would think you would be above this,” I said.
         “I have been, but sometimes a girl wants to know that other people like her and approve of her.”
         “You mean Eliza? Eliza isn’t a person. She’s a bully.”
“Look, just because being a loser is ok for you, doesn’t mean it is for me. Some people like to be someone.”
         “Are you calling me a loser?”
         “Well, um, since nobody cool ever talks to you unless you the only person in the room, yeah.”
         “I guess someone as cool as you wouldn’t want to sit with a loser,” I said.
         “Fine!” Sam shoved her food into her brown paper bag. Then she picked it up and turned to go.
         “Oh, and by the way, Sam,” I said.
         Sam turned. “What?” she snapped.
         “You know who you sound like when you talk?”
         “No, who?”
         “A wanna-be, pathetic Eliza!”
         Sam lip trembled. She turned and crashed smack into Chocolate.
         Chocolate’s hamburger flew into the air. It opened, the ketchup-smeared patty separating from the bun. Flying through the air, it began its trip towards earth.
         Eliza’s shirt became the perfect landing target. As everyone turned to watch, it hit her shoulder with an audible smack.
         A gasp arose from the group of tables. Some one let out a long whistle as Eliza held out her arm and looked at it, eyes and mouth wide. The whole room was listening as Eliza cried out, “Sam Harrison! You are the most disgusting person in the world!!!” She stepped forward and ripped the lunch bag from Sam’s frozen hands. She turned upside down on Sam, the raisin’s becoming a hailstorm, the sandwich opening on her head. Eliza turned on her heel and left, followed by her many friends.
A few people began to laugh as Sam pulled the cream cheesy mess from her once blond hair. More giggles came up from the crowd as she began to scramble around on the floor. As Sam stood up and walked out of the room, I could swear everyone in the room was laughing. And the worst thing of all, the most terrible, is that even as I was staring after Sam opened mouthed, a chuckle came from some horrible place inside of me.
***
         “Sam?” I called, opening the bathroom door, “Are you in here?”
         I knew she wouldn’t be. Trying to find her was futile. After we had come back to class, she had instantly asked to get a drink. She had been gone for most of math. I had excused myself, and had been looking for her for the last 15 minutes.
         The bathroom was silent. I realized that this was the bathroom Sam, Chocolate, Eliza and I had been in a day ago. I almost left, but something in me made me call again.
         “Sam!” I said loudly, almost sharply.
         Then, I heard a sob from the back of the room. I advanced forward. “Sam, I hear you. Come out,” I called.
         I opened the door of the first stall. No one. She’s probably in the last one, I thought, but just to be sure I kept opening doors. One door was locked, but I could see little kid feet hanging off the edge of the seat.
         I had an odd thought. The more doors I opened, the more the thought kept pushing its way to the middle of my mind. Whoever was crying back there, it wasn’t Sam. There was something about the voice that was familiar, but it wasn’t Sam. I came to the last stall. It wasn’t locked. I pushed it open. No one. Where had that sob come from? I heard another. It seemed to be coming from behind the wall, muffled. I looked. There was a small space behind the last stall. It was only about a foot and a half wide and eight feet long. On the floor was a crumpled figure, covered by a sheet of copper hair. The girl lifted her face. It was Eliza. For a fraction of a second, I opened my mouth to talk, to yell, to scream at her. Then I saw her face.
         Eliza saw me standing there. “Gina?” she said. Then her body slumped. “Oh, right. You’re looking for Sam.”
         I slid down next to her. “What’s the matter?” I asked. She didn’t respond. “What’s wrong?”
         We sat in silence. Maybe it was for thirty seconds. Maybe it was for thirty minutes. I didn’t count and I didn’t care.
         Eliza sat up. “I got a new cell phone,” she said. I almost asked why that was bad, but I held back.
         “I almost wish I hadn’t.” We sat in silence for awhile more.
         “Today, my Dad called,” she says. Then she turned to face me. “My sister’s brain tumor has grown,” she said in a shaky voice, “almost three percent.”
         I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea that Eliza’s sister was sick, let alone with cancer. We sat.
         “Are you mad at Sam?” I blurted.
         “What?”
         “That is a really nice shirt,” I said.
         She looked down at her shirt. “What, this old thing?” she said, pointing at it. “Who cares about this?”
         I looked at her, confused.
“I was upset because she got ketchup on this.” Eliza leaned over and unhooked something from her wrist. She dropped into my lap.
         I picked up the pink and blue bracelet. I hadn’t noticed she was wearing it. I read the word. In cute, bouncy print the letters said: Sis.
         I looked over at Eliza. She was quietly crying. I slipped my arms around her, and I hugged that girl. I hugged that girl hard.