Bullied

          The bus ride seemed to me, in my deluded state, to be at least an hour long, although in reality it was only ten minutes out of my horrible day.  I stared out the frost-covered window trying desperately to hold back tears.  Trees whizzed by, adding a headache to my already long list of troubles.  The dingy yellow bus that had become to me a hellhole rolled to a stop in front of my house.  I grabbed my book bag, wincing at the pins and needles coursing through my legs, and walked down the narrow gray aisle to the front of the bus.  The bus driver opened the door with a squeak and I stepped out onto the icy driveway. 
          As soon as the bus was out of sight, I ran to the back door and fumbled with the key I held in my shaky hands.  When I had won the battle with the door, I threw my bag on the floor and ran up the steep stairs to my room, not paying attention to the fact that I was getting Mom's nice carpet muddy.  I slammed the door shut as hard as I could and threw myself on my bed.
          Then the tears came, and they came in a huge flood that soaked my pillow.  Why did they do this?  What makes them so much better than me?  I couldn't figure it out.  Then my confusion turned to self-pity.  Why am I so ugly?  How come I can't do anything right?  I'm such a loser.  Maybe they have a right to pick on me.  Why can't I be more like them?  Slowly my grief turned to rage.  "They're such bitches!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.  "They have no right to do this to me!  What did I ever do to them to deserve this!"
          Memories of their taunting remarks rang through my head.  The way they would always try to trip me at recess.  The way they would make fun of my hair, my shoes, and my big nose.  The way they could take what little self-confidence I had and shred it to pieces, no matter how hard I tried to ignore them.  The way they would criticize everything I did or said.  The way they would exclude me from everything.  Nothing was out of the bounds of their teasing.
          Not able to control my anger any longer, I grabbed a stuffed bear from beside the bed and took out all my rage and torment on it, punching its innocent little face and envisioning it to have two heads, on which were painted the faces of my tormentors.  "They can both go to hell!" I shrieked.  I fought with the bear until I was drained of energy and slumped on the bed, my face buried in the damp pillow.
          When I had finally calmed down and got ahold of myself, I came to the conclusion that I shouldn't let them get to me like this.  God would take care of them.  I would just try to ignore them.  If I did this enough, they would eventually stop because who wants to make fun of someone who doesn't get riled up?  They would lose interest and find someone else to pick on - at least I hoped so.
          Suddenly I remembered that my mom would be home soon.  I couldn't let her find out that her only daughter was the class reject.  And so I went into the bathroom, tried to disguise my red, puffy eyes as best I could.  Then I went back into my room and tried to cheer myself up so she wouldn't suspect a thing.  I would put on a bright, cheesy smile and she would never know.
          However, deep down, I knew she would find out.  If not today, then tomorrow or the next.  But maybe tomorrow would be a better day.  Maybe tomorrow my smile would not be false.  Maybe tomorrow I would not have to disguise my tear-stained face.  Maybe tomorrow I would not have to put on this miserable act of happiness, because I would truly be happy.  Tomorrow would be different.  Yes, tomorrow would be better.