Their laughter was like the cruel mocking of savanna Hyenas that rock your world to its core, no matter how hard you try to pretend like it doesn’t hurt.

And their words were like the venom of a Death Adder: vicious, deadly and able to kill.

“Lesbian!”

These were the group of “popular” boys and girls during middle school. The ones who during the moment seemed so perfect and beautiful. They were the ones who seemed to have their lives together with plenty of designer clothes and cute boyfriends.

They were the people that I desperately wanted their affirmation and friendship.

But their acceptance included the exclusion of the “untouchables." These were the group of boys and girls that wore their mess on their sleeve instead hidden beneath too tight, overpriced Abercrombie T-shirts.

They found refugee in their combined company even though it concentrated the bullying. These were the people that got called “weird”, “ugly”, freak”, “gay” and “lesbian."

These were the people I did not want to befriend for the fear that their labels would then become mine.

In general, I was good at avoiding much bullying, but this day on the track was different. (As a side note, those horrible P.E. uniforms did not help matters at all.)

I was walking the asphalt track trying not to freeze in the January wind and talking with an old friend who also happened to be an “untouchable”.

At this point, I cannot remember our conversation, but I remember how upset she was about the things going on in her home.

And then she started crying.

So I hugged her because it hurt my heart to see her hurt. I hugged her because she was my friend. I hugged her because it was the right thing to do.

But as I was hugging her, I could hear the gang of “popular” kids creep up from behind us. They kept their distance but their venom was just as powerful.

“Lesbian!”

This might as well have happened yesterday because I can still remember the way it made me feel. Blood rushed up my neck into my face as my heart was filled with shame.

But at the same time I felt angry.

Was it so wrong to hug a friend?

Since when did hugging a friend make someone a lesbian?

I wish that my story had a better ending. I wish I could say that I confronted my classmates and stopped the bullying. I wish I could say that I was a better friend to the “untouchables."

I wish that I could say me and my friend still keep in touch. But I can’t.

Looking back, I realize how silly it was of me to care about these people’s opinion just because they shopped at different clothing stores and started wearing mascara before me.

Looking back, I should have been a better friend to everyone.

I could have offered true friendship to most of my classmates that were busy running around with “fake” friends. I should have cared less about myself and more about others.

Even if it meant being called a “lesbian”.

The thing is that we have no idea what people are going through. Some of us are better at hiding our mess than others. And in fact, it isn’t our job to know what is going on in people’s hearts.

But it is our job to love people and to be there for them. Sometimes loving people is hard. It can mean rejection, bullying or even a less than pleasant reputation.

But in the end, the only thing that matters are people.