The Day the Bell Stopped

It started like every other Monday. I limped through my school goals and tried to avoid eye contact with Mr. Delaney, the vice principal who patrolled the front like a guard. The sky was cloudy, and the grey type felt everything was heavier than that. I already had a pit in my stomach but couldn't say if it had skipped breakfast or if I was trying to do it.

I wasn't going to stop. Not much. But I wasn't going to slide it when they confused it with Darren.

Darren was new, quietly speaking, wearing the same faded hoodie every day. This hoodie made him the target. The idea of ​​pushing people into "accidental" knocking out the table from talent was strange, especially for Jake and his crew.

It happened on Friday. Darren was sitting in a plastic bowl of spaghetti as Jake threw an entire box of chocolate milk on his head. The cafeteria broke out with laughter and only frozen - his eyes wide, his face pale, wet spaghetti strands on his lap.

I didn't laugh. I tightened my fist. Jake passed me and threw it; the milk box was still in hand. I was able to let go. Most people did that. But he grabbed something. "Do you think it's fun?" I said and stood up.

Jake laughed. "What, do you cry for your friends?"

The entire table has become like a bad audience for sitcoms. My jaw was stuck. I went up, took the tray I hadn't touched, and hit it on Jake's head without another word. Spaghetti, marinara and meatballs drip down my forehead.

He looked surprised. Then I'm angry. Then we were on the floor, fists flew, we fell down the table, and someone cried out: "Get the teacher!"

"Suspension" for 2 days. Jake got a 3 - probably because he threw the first blow. My mother was embarrassed. My dad barely said ten words at the same time, but he only shook his head and muttered something about his decision.

"You can leave," said my mother in the principal's office.

"Yes," I replied. "That's why he could."

This means that suspension is not what you show you in the movies. There are no dramatic comebacks or warm lessons from wise teachers. While the rest of the world continues, it's just you.

Silence is loud at home. I couldn't go anywhere - school rules. So I sat down, stared at me through the window, thinking about what had happened.

Darren wrote an SMS to me.

"Thank you. There's no need to."

I replied: "Someone had to."

He sent back a crying emoji. It made me smile, even though everything still felt difficult.

Bored reflexes on the second day. I thought about why I was so troubled. Why risk a clean recording for someone I knew little about?

Probably because I used to be. Not spaghetti or milk, but in words. A way to stab it worse than a strike. And no one was in me. There are no people.

, maybe it wasn't about Darren. Maybe it was about me. About proving that I won't be a spectator again.

When I returned to school, Hall made a fuss. The news spread, and all of a sudden, I became a bit of a legend. The kids nodded at me in the hallway. One gave me a high five.

Jake avoided me. Not because he was afraid, but because I don't think he was - not because he knew the rules had changed. I wasn't afraid of him.

Darren began sitting with me at lunchtime. We didn't talk much, but we didn't need to. One day, he brought in an additional biscuit and thrust it onto the table. There are no words. Please take a look.

Thank you. In the next few weeks, it was magically not good. Mobber won't disappear. But they saw more of their backs. And Darren? He began to smile more. Talk to other people. Please wear a beautiful hoodie.

My records now had a red brand called "2 Days of Suspension for Combat." One day, the university was able to raise an eyebrow. But I don't regret it. It's not a moment.

If the system doesn't work fast enough, someone has to get up and say, "Not today."