Dear "John,"

We were in the fifth grade. I remember it was the day after the Grammy's. I was talking about P!nk's performance with a few classmates, admiring her debut in acrobatics, when you came up and slapped me across the face, shouting "Shut up, Meg." My left cheek throbbing. Even now, I still remember that smile on your face right before you did it.

I remember some people were laughing, high-fiving you. Some people were staring at me, wondering if I was going to run to our homeroom to tell our teacher. I decided to remain silent until I got in the car ride home with my mother. I remember, then, crying in the passenger seat of her car because I didn't understand why you did what you did. I believed we were friends, but I think in elementary school, you are plainly friendly with everyone. Ironically, we also attended a Catholic elementary school that taught the importance of, "treating others the way you want to be treated."

"Why did you allow him to slap you?"
"I don't know. He just came up to me and slapped me right across the face."
"Did you tell anyone?"
"No."

That night, my mom made a phone call to our homeroom teacher to explain the situation. I don't remember what my mother said at all, just that it was going to be handled and I was safe. Yet, I was still afraid of seeing you again or even to speak in case I made you angry.

The next day, I tried my best to avoid you. I remember getting to class a whole half hour early and sitting in the classroom, so if something did happen, our teacher would witness it. Nobody seemed to even bring up that you slapped me the following day as they were all excited about the weekend. I kept to myself, reading a book, and just trying to avoid all association with you. I felt defeated and small. If that was your objective, then congratulations, you won that one.

It was a whole hour and a half in the school day before we switched to our math class. That was when our homeroom teacher finally pulled you aside. You were taken to the room down the hall. The door slamming behind you. I knew she was speaking to you about the phone call my mother made, and I could not tell you how relieved I was that maybe you would see the error of your ways.

I remember you coming back to our math class, crying. You wouldn't talk to me or anyone except your little pack of boys. To this day, I still haven't gotten an apology for what you did. Your friends were consoling you, telling you I was wrong for snitching. "It was funny, dude. She just can't take a joke." Oh right, because slapping a girl because you saw it on an animated TV Show and wanted to recreate the scene is absolutely hilarious.

I was 10 years old when I learned people sometimes don't care about you. I also learned how easily people can become influenced just by something they see on TV or on the internet. You sought encouragement from your friends, who found the same scene similar. For whatever reason, you picked me to portray Meg Griffin from "Family Guy" to abuse.

You also showed me a side of you I never could have imagined. Knowing that you were capable of that kind of force, I knew I could never be alone with you. I learned that what you did is never acceptable and to avoid boys like you for the rest of my life.

That day, I learned no guy ever has the right to touch me the way you did. I also decided to go for my black belt in taekwondo, so if anyone dared to slap me or hurt me in any form again, I could easily defend myself and kick their ass, like I should have done to you for letting you use me as a realistic punch line of your "boys club" inside joke.

Sure, we were kids, but that does not excuse your behavior.