It was almost two-thirty in the afternoon and I was sitting at my desk reading Hamlet after finishing my Math homework while the other kids were completing the main assignment that our teacher, Mrs. Mills, posted on the board half-an-hour ago. Despite the expected silence, I could hear and feel the hushed sounds of snickering and backtalk surrounding me. This would be something an adult or even a teenager may ignore, but for an eight-year-old second grader like me, I silently wished that the ground would open and swallow me whole. The school year ended in a month and these girls have found any excuse in the world to harass me. First, it was my light skin or how my hair was "too nappy" because it was a little curly and longer than theirs. What was their problem? Despite my efforts to focus on my reading, I constantly had to fight back tears as the girls around me were hissing about how I always finished my work early or reading something that "kids weren't supposed to." Just because I was in the same grade as them doesn't mean that I have to read children's books they preferred.

As I took a deep breath, the room fell eerily silent and I focused on reading the part where Hamlet killed Palonius when I felt a small chill at my back. So, I turned around and saw Christa Mane with her hand raised and sneering like she was about to win something. This caused me to whip back around to my book so I wouldn't be accused of talking to her.

As I was still reading, I heard the squeaking of Mrs. Mills chair as she rose from her desk and her shoes clacking louder as she walked closer to Christa's desk. "What is it?"

Even from behind, I could imagine Christa smiling at her and getting up to face our burly teacher. She was always doing that to appear more favorable, especially if she was tattling on someone despite proof.

"Mrs. Mills," she said smiling because her voice was in a high pitch. "Jolene's reading something bad."

I literally jumped out of my seat as I heard that and my face grew red. As my eyes glared into hers, I saw through her braided ponytail and pleasant smile. The smirk on her face told that she didn't care what I was reading, but was looking for an excuse to get me in trouble like she and some of the other girls always did.

"Jolene Stone," Mrs. Mills said, snapping me out of my furious gaze. "What are you reading?"

Not wanting to snap at her, I took a few deep breaths before answering. "I was reading Hamlet, Mrs. Mills."

As soon as I said that, her eyes immediately issued a death stare that send chills in my body. Why was she mad at me? Surely, a part of her understood that I didn't care for the books that were limited by grade level. When she was about to say something, the final bell blared throughout the classroom, signalling us to leave.

Grabbing my stuff, I rose out of my chair and was about to run when my mole-faced teacher gripped my arm and forced me back down.

"Jolene," her darting eyes never straying from mine. "I don't have any control of what you read at home, but you need to stop reading books like that in class."

"Why?" I asked, my eyes widening. "I'm not doing anything wrong, Mrs. Mills."

"You're intimidating the other students and instigating fights with your classmates. You're an excellent student, but if you continue reading Shakespeare and Jane Austen, then they'll keep picking on you and you'll never have any friends."

My blood boiled as she said that. "So, it's my fault I'm subjected to name-calling everyday? You're a teacher. Why aren't you stopping this?"

"I can't be everywhere, Jolene. I'm just trying to help you by telling you to tone it down. Other than that, there's nothing else. You can go now."

With tears trying to escape my eyes, I quickly grabbed my stuff and dashed out of class before I had a complete meltdown.

I ran outside, still fighting the urge to cry. My despair had turned to anger. How could Mrs. Mills blame me for being bullied? I didn't do anything to deserving having these girls torment me. No way I asked for this.

As I made my way to the pick-up line, I was forced to the ground from behind. Turning around, I saw my tormentors standing above me: Christa and her two friends, Maddy Collins and Rosalie Joseph. They were all just laughing at me while swinging their braided and beaded hairs from side to side. My eyes immediately darted death stares as I rose from the ground. In the past, I tried running from them before a fight even started, but fueled over by the previous insults and Mrs. Mills "advice," I stood there wanting to fight if they started it. I had enough and if I couldn't rely on a teacher to put a stop to it, then I would gladly do something about it myself. So, I tossed my backpack aside, kept my feet firm, and waited for them to make the first move.