Young Writers Society

Not Her Fault

Note: I wrote this for a history report where we had to compare the Holocaust ta a present day genocide. I was not alive during the Holocaust so all I have is the knowledge that has been passed down to me as well as studying the time period. Also, I know that 9/11 is a sentimental topic for most of the USA. I was only 2 years old when it happened, so all I know is what other people have told me. I also am not Muslim and don't happen to know any Muslims. Please don't be offended by anything in here. I don't mean to hurt anyone's feelings or offend anyone in any way. Please don't judge me on my ignorance if I got something about the Holocaust, 9/11, or Muslims wrong. Also, don't be offended if you are a Brony. I watch the show too and mean for it to be an example of everyone being different and having different likes. Plus, the show we have now isn't the same one that was there when 9/11 happened. Thank you and enjoy the story.

Her name was Ada. She was ten years old when it happened, just like me. We were best friends, until that day pulled us apart. Let’s start our story a day before that fateful event, on September tenth, two thousand and one.

That day, I was dropped off at school by my mother. We were your average caucasian protestants, believing in the Bible and going to a Baptist church most Sundays. But my best friend wasn’t like us. She was different. Her skin was slightly darker and she wore strange clothes. Well, not really strange, but she just always wore a scarf or blanket like thing over her head and neck. I could never remember what it was called.

When I entered our classroom, Ada had been waiting for me like always. She ran and hugged me. “Chloe!” She yelled as she hugged me.

“Ada!” I yelled back just as a the teacher, Ms. Fish, gave us a slight glare, as if it was our warning to be quiet.

“How’re ya doin’?” she asked, starting our usual conversation.

“Pretty good! You?”

Then, a boy, Noah, a darker colored boy who went to my church came up to us. “Ada, why do you always wear that on your head?” he asked, rudely, pointing to the blue scarf-like thing on Ada’s head and around her head.

“My father makes me. He says it shows respect,” she answered shyly.

“Well, I think it makes you look pretty!” Noah yipped.

“Thank you,” Ada continued with her shyness, smiling at his comment. I knew better than anyone how much Ada cared about what others thought of her. She made frantic efforts to get people to like her, even if they weren’t the best choices.

“Yeah, so why don’t you just Scootaloo outta here and watch more of your My Little Pony!” I said, referencing to a little kids show that Noah made it clear he watched during Sunday School. My remark seemed to hurt the baby’s feelings and he walked away without saying another word.

Later that day, at lunch Ada asked if we could sit at a table we didn’t normally sit at. This one happened to be the one I wished she wouldn’t have picked. This particular table had Amy, a fat girl who always came to school smelling horrible, Zack, a boy who was deaf and needed an ear piece to be able to hear, Lily, a girl in a wheelchair, and Percy, a special needs student who was skinnier than all the girls and needed his own personal adult bodyguard at all times. Noah sat with them too, since two months ago when everyone found out about his My Little Pony obsession.

“Why do you wanna sit there?” I asked, shocked at her question.

“Because they’re all nice and I wanna talk with them,” Ada answered, her voice still in its sheepish mode.

I let out a sigh before replying, “I guess.” We both went over to the table and sat in two free chairs. I didn’t pay much attention to what was being said or what was going on. All I knew was that Amy smelled as bad as ever and Percy was laughing so loud that it almost woke me from my daydreaming trance.

After lunch, Ada was laughing. “They were so funny, don’t ya think? We should sit by them again tomorrow!” she said.

“No, I’m not gonna sit with them again. Imma sit with our ‘normal’ friends tomorrow.”

“Why not?” Ada asked.

“For one, Percy’s super loud, Zack can’t hear a word you say unless you already have his attention, Amy smells like a sewer, Lily’s chair squeaks, and Imma get a bad name if people hear I sit with Noah, a kid who watches a stupid show!”

“You don’t have to yell,” Ada pointed out.

“Yeah. I guess,” I admitted.

That school day ended with minimal homework and I was forced to ride the bus. Ada’s dad picked her up everyday so I was by myself. In the seat behind me, I could hear the familiar chatter by the popular sixth graders. I was only in the fourth grade so it was their “right” to pick on me. First, they began tearing the grey patches off the bus seats. They saw I was in front of them and began to immaturely place the tape on my head, sticking it to my hair. I took it off without making eye contact and threw it to the side.

“Oww, little kid’s mad!” one laughed.

“Little baby fourth grader, why are you so sad?” another asked.

“Come on, talk to us Social Butterfly!” the third pestered.

This was so humiliating, what they were saying to me. I finally turned around, hoping they would leave me alone once I gave them the attention they wanted. But sadly, this wasn’t how the world worked.

One scoffed at me when she saw my face. “It’s Chloe, the little tattle tale!”

“Yeah. Remember when she told on us for calling her fat? Huh, White Trash?” another laughed.

I just closed my eyes, hoping they’d give it a rest, but my hopes failed. The third one pointed at my old T-shirt that was still in pretty good shape and laughed. That one had always found it funny that my parents couldn’t afford to buy me super stylish outfits. I had to make due with what I had.

The three girls, I never really bothered to learn the names of had chatted up a storm, but the fourth in their group was a girl named Emily. I was sure to remember her name. We had a special reading class together when we were younger. She never said anything mean or hurtful to me, but she still just stood there, with my bullies, watching as they took me down with a sorry face. I knew she didn’t want to be a bully to me, or anyone else, but she still never helped anyone when her friends became jerks. Finally I was able to get off the bus and go into my house.

That next day, I was sick. It was a Tuesday, September eleventh, two thousand and one. Because I was sick, I stayed home alone while my mother and father were at work.

Boredom struck and so around nine in the morning I turned on our television. Horror struck as I saw that an airplane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers. It was the northern one, the one that had the big antenna on the top. Smoke raised from the tower. People were running for their lives and I even saw live footage of people jumping out of the windows, trying to kill themselves.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I did know that my aunt, uncle, and cousins lived in New York City. I called my mom at work out of fear.

“Hello, this is Mary speaking. How may I help you?” the lady answered, probably because she hadn’t learned about the tragedy that had gone down states away.

“Um, can I talk to Carrie Miller please?” I asked, my voice shaking. “It’s an emergency,” i added, almost in tears.

“Okay, will you please hold for just one second?” The lady asked and then music began to play.

A few seconds later, my mother answered, “Hello, Carrie Miller speaking.”

“Mom!” I cried, tears now in my eyes, my face hot read.

“Yes honey?” she asked, her voice calm as ever.

“Where does Uncle Joe work?” I asked, probably really hard to understand.

“The World Trade Center. Why?”

“No, which one?” I yelled.

“The southern one. The one that doesn’t have the antenna sticking out of the top. Now why?”

“Mom, a plane just crashed into the north one! Now there’s smoke coming out of it and people are jumping off!”

“Oh God!” I heard my mother say.

“Mommy, please get home soon!” I cried, wanting any kind of comfort.

“I’ll see what I can do, okay honey? Don’t worry, you’re safe. You’re hundreds of miles from New York. If I can’t be there, I’ll try to get someone over there who isn’t working today, okay sweety?”

“Mom, but I want you!”

“Imma try my best. I love you.”

“Don’t say that Mom!” I cried. “Not right now!”

“Bye.”

“Bye!”

I hung up the family phone and watched the news. A few minutes passed, and I found myself calming down. My uncle was safe and they were saying on the news that it was most likely just an accident. This made me very grateful that he was in the other building.

Then, while the news was showing live footage of the tower smoking, another plane rammed into the southern tower, the same one my uncle worked in. Panic set in and I began to freak out. I loved my uncle and didn’t want to see him get hurt, let alone killed.

I was still home alone and hadn’t heard anything from my mom or dad. I was so scared that I tried to hide myself under my blanket on the couch.

A few minutes later, while I was still crying, my dad walked through the door. I quickly got up and ran to hug him before he even had time to put his stuff down. He returned my hug and we both went to the couch and watched the news. Within half an hour the news came with even more heartbreaking news. A building that I knew nothing about, except that it had to do with the military, was hit. It was the Pentagon. Later the last plane was found in Pennsylvania.

A few hours passed and my mother finally came home. I hugged her as quickly as I had hugged my father. This traumatic day finally came to an end with us finding out that because of the events, there would be no school, and that most of New York had been shut down.

I couldn’t sleep that night, out of fear of what had happened. Nothing could make me fall asleep.

The next day, Wednesday, September twelfth, two thousand and one, I had to go to school, because I lived nowhere near New York. This was difficult. All I could get myself to think about was whether my Uncle Joe and his family was alright.

At school most things seemed normal, only we talked about it at school a little. Most of the people seemed depressed and somewhat scared.

After school, the sixth grade girls still didn’t rest. I gave them no response, but they never tired.

When I got home my mom was on the phone. She went in the other room when I entered the house. My father hugged me, and then my mother called him in their room to talk.

A few minutes passed and they both came out and sat me on the couch. “Chloe,” my mother started, “we have something to tell you.”

“What?” I asked, scared at what would come.

“Your Uncle Joe,” my dad started, “never went home after what happened yesterday. We think he’s dead.”

“What?” I asked, a tear already rolling down my face, and another, and another, and another. My mother leaned in to hug me and I accepted her invitation.

Dad walked around the living room, holding his hand to his forehead. I could tell he was almost filled with tears at the death of his brother.

I cried for a few minutes before my tears stopped coming. We watched the news for more information on the day before’s events, when the woman revealed that the people who hijacked the airplanes were Muslims.

As soon as that was revealed, my dad growled, "those damn Muslims!"

I looked at him. Were Muslims really all that bad? Would that make Ada bad too?

I went to school again the next day, Thursday, September thirteenth, two thousand and one. Things were very different that day. No one went to talk to Ada. I have to admit I didn’t either. When she came up to talk to me like nothing had happened, I was devastated. I told her about my Uncle Joe and asked her why Muslims would do something like that. She didn’t have an answer for me and just stated, “I’m not like that, though.”

The rest of the day, I ignored her. So did everyone else. She tried to sit with me at lunch, but I wouldn’t let her. She tried to sit with everyone and no one would let her, not even the group of people we had sat with the day before the incident. She sat all alone.

At recess it was worse. People threw rocks and sticks at her and shouted mean things to her. The teachers just looked at her with a cold stare. I did nothing to help her.

The rest of the week went the same way and finally, Sunday came.

Sunday, September sixteenth, two thousand and one came along and I went to church with my family as usual. During Sunday School, we prayed for the families of people who died and for the people in New York.

I then went to a special childrens church while the pastor preached to the adults. We talked about how we are God’s servants and how we are supposed to love everyone, no matter now different they are.

I went home that Sunday and watched a movie that came on the T.V. I had never seen it before, but it said at the beginning that it was based off a true story, so I figured it was okay. It was about World War II, the Holocaust, and a little jewish girl called Hannah.

The movie, entitled Hannah’s Necklace began showing people walking around a German city. Then, it switched to a scene of Adolf Hitler giving is normal salute, right hand raised in the air beside his eyes in a diagonal line. The hundreds, thousands maybe, of people under him did the same.

The camera then switched back to the city scene and showed the Nazi soldiers marching in and people beginning to run and scream. The scene ended with the screen going black and the title, Hannah’s New Sister showed on the screen, followed by the words “Based on a True Story”.

Hannah, a little brown haired girl was with her family in what looked to be a house or apartment. She looked about my age, ten, maybe nine. All of them wore golden stars on their shirts that said “Jew” on them. Her mother and father stood beside each other with sad faces. I could see no happiness in Hannah’s face either.

“Hannah,” her father began. “You’re going to have to live with Mrs. and Mr. Petersen.”

“They’ll raise you as their own until this war is over,” her mother chimed in, “then we might be able to live together again.”

The little girl who played Hannah just sat there, staring at her parents. Then she asked, “why can’t I just stay with you?”

“You know why,” her father replied. “The soldiers unter Hitler are after us Jews and we want you to be safe.”

“I know!” Hannah cried. “But why can’t I stay with you and die with you?” Tears now welled in Hannah’s eyes.

Her parents both seemed hurt that she would say something like that. “We’re going to take you to their home in a little bit,” her mother said. “Until the end of the war, you will be their child. They have a little girl there too. Her name is Sophia.”

The film faded out. Then it faded back into a scene of an old country house with a large yard. A little girl walked around the yard picking flowers and a man, maybe in his late thirties, early forties, sat on a chair beside the house. Another chair was stationed beside his.

A woman exited the house with two cups and sat in the chair beside the man. I saw Hannah and her parents walk onto the scene, onto the yard. The woman handed one of the cups to the man as the little girl in the yard started running to the man and woman.

Hannah’s family walked closer and finally made it to the man and woman after the little girl. “This is Hannah,” her father introduced.

“Oh yes,” the man said, motioning for the young girl to come and hug him. Hannah did what he said.

“I’m Mrs. Petersen, but you can call me Ma because you’re in hiding. And this,” the woman said, now pointing to the man, “is Mr. Petersen. But you can call him Papa.”

Hannah’s father shook hands with both Mr. and Mrs. Petersen and kneeled down to hug his daughter. The camera zoomed in on his face and he whispered in her ear, “I love you. We’ll be together again someday, all three of us. I promise.”

Hannah cried, tears streaming from her face, to the point of speechlessness.. She hugged her mother next. Her mother whispered “I love you Honey. Never let them get you. You have to live through this,” she paused for a second, “for you, and for us.”

Her parents left, her father never shedding a tear, but a saddening look on his face. Hannah turned to Mr. and Mrs. Petersen. Mr. Petersen got up and lead her to the little girl. “This is Sophia,” he said. “Sophia, can you show Hannah your room?”

The little girl nodded her head and grabbed onto Hannah’s hand. “Come with me,” she commanded and started to walk into the house. Hannah followed, looking back toward Mr. and Mrs. Petersen. Then she looked around at the old farm house. There was a kitchen and a living room that were connected. A radio, rather than a T.V. sat on a desk in the living room (still being told from Chloe, 21st century girl’s point of view). “The bathroom’s out that way in the little wooden building!” the little kid said.

Sophia led her into the hall and stopped at a door. “This is our room!” she yelped with a smile on her face. She opened the door to reveal a room with two white beds, both welly made. There was a widow between them with white curtains. A brown desk was positioned at the bottom of either bed.

Sophia rushed over to one side and pointed to the bed. “This one’s yours!” she yipped. Hannah set her bags on the bed and opened them. Sophia sat on the bed.

“So how old are you?” Hannah asked, trying to start a conversation.

“I’m seven!” she said in a loud voice. “What about you?”

“I’m ten.”

“So, why are you living with us now?” Sophia asked. “Ma and Papa tried to explain it to me, but I didn’t understand.”

Hannah winced at the question. “Um.. you know in towns when there are Hitler’s guards everywhere?” Sophia nodded, focusing more on Hannah than anything else. “Well, they’re trying to take me and my people away.”

“Why? Did you do something wrong?”

“I don’t think so. I think they just don’t like us,” Hannah answered.

“But why? You’re nice from what I see!” Sophia asked energetically.

Hannah shrugged. “I guess they think we’re all bad.”

“Oh,” Sophia paused there and looked down at her legs. “So us Germans are mean?” she asked in a sweet, innocent voice.

Hannah looked at her with a sympathetic look. “No. People like you aren’t bad. It’s just Hitler and his friends.”

“Yeah,” Sophia sighed. “Well, I hope you like living with us!” she yelped in a cheerful voice.

“Yeah,” said Hannah.

Sophia jumped off the bed and skipped out of the room. “I’ll come get you when supper’s ready!”

Hannah looked behind her at the open door and slowly, her first tear slid down her face. Then a few more until she was full out crying. “Why do they hate us?” she whispered to herself.

The screen faded out and a commercial came on. I heard the home phone ring and got up off the couch to look at the caller ID. It was Ada. Why would she be calling me? She knows what her people did, that they killed my uncle and so many innocent people, so why would I answer? I let the phone ring out and laid back on the couch, cuddling with a little blanket. The movie came back on after a few minutes of watching advertisements about beauty products and diet plans.

The T.V. showed outside the old farm house. Hannah and Sophia played with each other, chasing one another around the yard. I don’t know if this game had been given the name “Tag” yet. Mr. petersen sat in his chair and watched them play.

Both of the girls were laughing together. Even Hannah was smiling, for the first time in the movie. But, before it could last, Mrs. Petersen drove up in a black car. When it stopped, she jumped out of the front seat and ran to Hannah, calling her name. “Hannah, we have to get you out of here!” she said, obviously out of breath.

Mr. Petersen stood up in his chair and waited for his wife to rush Hannah inside. “What’s going on?” he gasped.

“There are Nazis in town!” she said, not even stopping to breathe.

Hannah and Mrs. Petersen ran into the house and out the back door, while Sophia sat on the living room floor and Mr. Petersen sat on the couch and continued to sip his drink (it is Germany after all). They ran to a large building with white chipped paint. When they finally went into the barn, there were two horses, a foal, three cows, a bull, and two calves. Hay was spread around the ground. Hannah was lead to a large pile by Mrs. Petersen.

“Stay here,” she said to the young girl. “There may be some people who come in to check but you can’t let them find you. You have to stay quiet. Pretend like you’re just playing, or being natural.”

Hannah nodded and Mrs. Petersen rushed out of the barn. Hannah sat on the hay pile and leaned against the wall. She grabbed a hay straw and started picking it apart out of boredom.

The screen switched to the country house’s living room where the man heard a knock on the door. He got up and answered it, leaving Sophia to play with her doll in the living room. When he opened the door, there was a group of men who wore black uniforms with lots of buttons and badges stood there.

Another commercial played and I just laid there, waiting for the movie to return.

It finally did after a few minutes. One soldier began to speak, his voice low. “We are Nazi soldiers stationed under Hitler. We are here to do a random identity paper check. I need to see the the papers of everyone in your household.”

Mr. Petersen said, “Just a second. I’ll get them.” He went to the kitchen and opened a small drawer. The papers were in there and he took the three papers to the guards.

“I’d like to see all of your household members before we leave,” the soldier stated.

Mrs. Petersen came in through the back door at that moment, dirt and mud all over her clothes, acting like she had been dealing with the animals the entire time. “Oh, are you here to check our papers?” she asked.

“Honey, Sophia, come over here,” Mr. Petersen commanded. Both females lined up beside Mr. Petersen as the soldier looked us over.

“Alright. You pass the random identification inspection. Good day with you.” The lead Nazi said. All the soldiers raised their hands in the Nazi salute. "Heil, mein Führer!" they said, with subtitles at the bottom of the screen saying “Heil, my leader”. Then they walked away. Mr. Petersen closed the door and turned to his family. He hugged his daughter and the screen faded to black.

A commercial came on and I heard the phone ringing again. Seeing that it was Ada again, I went through a mental debate on whether to answer it or not. I decided that I shouldn’t.

When the movie came back on, I watched the screen. At the bottom of the screen it read “2 years later”.

Hannah, who now looked about twelve or thirteen years old. She sat on the ground, playing with Sophia who looked about nine or ten years old now, when Mrs. Petersen came to see them.

“Hey, it’s been four months since the war ended. When do you think my real Ma and Pa will come to get me?” Hannah asked.

“Honey,” Mrs. Petersen sighed. “You have to remember that there is a high chance that your parents are dead.”

Hannah looked blankly at her foster mother. Finally she said, “I know. But I gotta hope, right?”

“Of course,” Mr. Petersen chimed in.

“And you can stay with us for as long as you want!” Sophia yipped.

Hannah sighed. “Why did Hitler want to kill us?”

Mr. and Mrs. Petersen looked at each other, then looked at Hannah.

“Hitler was just mean! That’s what you said when you first got here!” Sophia answered cluelessly. “But not all us Germans are bad!” She smiled greatly and jumped into Hannah for a huge hug.

Hannah hugged her back and smiled. Her eyes watered and she laughed. “You just know how to cheer me up, don’t you?”

“Well, what are little sister’s for?” Sophia yelped. Hannah’s eyes jerked open, then she slowly closed them.

“Yes. A German and a Jew being sisters. I like that!” Hannah smiled.

The screen faded to black and then words came on the screen as a man began to read it in a narrative voice. He said:

“First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a communist;

Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a socialist;

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a trade unionist;

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out - because I was not a Jew;

Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak out for me.

-Martin Niemoller”

I got up and stretched my body and went to bed because I knew I had school the next day. After watching the movie, I began to think about Ada and all that her people had done to us. The Holocaust started because Hitler and the other people wouldn’t forgive the Jews and other races and religions. That’s why Hannah and her family suffered.

I went to school the next day, and saw Ada, like always. This time she didn’t even seem to bother trying to talk to people. She just sat at our table all by herself. In my mind, I debated whether or not to talk to her. She was in a way responsible for my uncle’s death, right?

I went up to her and sat in my normal seat. She didn’t even look at me, but just stared down at the table.

“So, uh, why’d ya do it?” I asked. “The towers, I mean.”

She looked up at me with dreadful hate in her eyes. “I didn’t do it,” she stated firmly.

“Oh,” I said, just before I looked down at the table too. When the teacher started class, we did our morning routine. Noah, who sat on the other side of Ada, which was his assigned seat, I saw him look her up and down. He saw her head piece, or her scarf like thing and then all of a sudden snatched it from her head.

“You’re not pretty anymore!” he yelled, jumping out of his seat as Ada reached for her head piece. I never understood why it had always been so important to her, but it was so I wanted to help. She didn’t deserve this.

The teacher stood by, as if not knowing whether to help or not. Noah held the blue scarf like thing in the air and shouted “She’s trying to destroy our country, so we’re gonna destroy her scarf!”

Ada almost had tears in her eyes when the other kids began to nod their heads in agreement.

“The president said that justice will be served, so we gotta do our part in our school!” The other kids shouted in agreement, raising their fists in the air.

When they did that, I remembered back to the movie I had watched the night before, the scene where the Nazi soldiers raised their and said what translated out to be “Hail, Lord Hitler!” This was all too real for me. I had always thought the Holocaust could and would only happen once, but seeing this, made it seem all too real.

But what could I do? I was just a little fourth grade girl in a class with a bunch of people who wanted my best friend gone. But then I remembered the poem that the man read at the end of the movie. “First they came for the Communists, and I did not speak out-- because I was not a Communist”, “Then they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out--because I was not a Socialists”, “Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out--because I was not a Trade Unionist” “Then they came for the Jews, but I did not speak out-- because I was not a Jew”, “Then they came for me-- and there was no one left to speak for me”.

First they had come for the Jews, and I didn’t speak out--because I wasn’t born. Now they’re coming for the Muslims, so I have to speak out--because I am not a Muslim. Soon they will come for me--and there will be people to speak for me. That’s what I told myself.

“Noah!” I shouted, gaining the attention of the boy, and everyone in the room. “You’re right. Justice must be served. But people like you are the ones who need the justice! I’m sure the president wants to bring justice to the people who actually did it, not an American child who was born and raised in America, who was just as upset about the attack as you, or me, or anyone else in this room.”

Noah looked at me, still holding the scarf in his right hand. He laughed. “Chloe, Chloe. Do you even understand what they did? Almost three thousand people were killed because of them! Is your brain really that young?”

“You know why you blame her? It’s cause you’re all scared!” I shouted, stating my opinion.

“What? How does that make us scared?” one girl shouted.

“Because, you are intimidated by the people who actually did it, the people like Osama Bin Laden. You can’t fight against them and avenge the people who were killed without the military, so you pick on a shy little girl who had nothing to do with it and call her a crook.”

“Shut up Chloe!” Noah shouted.

“Don’t tell me to-”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” I saw that Noah was standing with the blue scarf still in his hand. He was shaking his head violently. “She is the one responsible for my dad dying, so what right do you have to say that I can’t take my revenge out on her! I’m not intimidated by any of those guys! I’mma kill them all and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop me!”

“How did your dad die? He lives with you?” I asked, knowing with all my heart and soul that it was a bluff.

“He was on a business trip to San Francisco. He was on the fourth plane, the one that crashed last in the field. The last thing I heard from him was in a text right after his flight left.”

My heart ached for the young boy, but more I was just relieved that I wasn’t the only one who had lost someone to the attack.

“She’s a terrorist and she knows it! She’s probably a spy or something!” he continued to shout.

Slowly, I began to walk over to him. When I got to him, I grabbed his right wrist, the one that had the blue scarf in it. I grabbed the scarf, then slapped him across the face. He needed some sense knocked into him. “Noah, you watch way too many Ninja movies,” I stated politely. Then, still holding the scarf, I wrapped my hands around his shoulders and neck, hugging the little boy who had lost his father a few days ago. He just let his arms hang by his sides, probably shocked at the turn of events.

“Noah,” I said after the hug was over. “Don’t you understand that if this sort of thing keeps happening, more wars will be started and even more people will die, not just people like your dad and my uncle. If you harbor hatred in your heart, isn’t it the same as other countries harboring terrorists? Hate is the biggest terrorist, and it is the only thing that can start wars and can kill people.”

Noah looked at me with great intensity. “Then how are we supposed to fix it? How do we get hate out of us and prevent wars?”

I looked right into his eyes, and then looked at Ada, then at all my other classmates. “Prejudice starts hate. It is the root. If we abolish Prejudice, then we can be rid of hatred. Then, you can replace your hatred for love instead. When someone needs you, you can speak out in love, rather than in obligation.”

I turned and hugged Ada. “I’m sorry I ever treated you like that!” I said.

“Thanks,” she replied. “but you’re still my best friend.” I gave her her scarf back and I helped her put it back on, after I figured it out.

The crowd seemed to settle and the teacher finally got us to continue on with class, only I got sent to the principal’s office for slapping Noah. I got a detention.

Word about my little speech raced around the school like wildfire. I heard everyone talking about it at lunch and recess. Ada and I sat next to the kids Ada really liked. Zack and Amy and Percy and them. So did some others.

Noah just sat at the table, staring at his food. He looked like he was about to say something when he finally came out and said to Ada, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“No hard feelings,” Ada replied, trying to sound cheery.

“And what I said earlier, I really do think you’re beautiful, on the inside and on the outside,” Noah said, flirting the best a ten year old knew how to do.

I actually had fun sitting with those kids. Amy had some really funny stuff to say and Percy said the funniest things.

Finally, when I got on the bus, I already expected the sixth graders to mess with me. I didn’t want to deal with it, but I had no real choice. I sat down in my assigned seat, where the older girls sat behind me.

Once the bus started moving, they started being mean. “Little Miss Goody Two Shoes!” one said.

“I can’t believe she said something like that!” another said.

“I heard she got a detention for talking out of turn and slappin’ a kid!” the third laughed.

As always, I didn’t hear Emily. She just sat back with the girls, staring at me, but not saying a word. And I didn’t expect her too.

Then, completely out of the blue she told the three other girls to stop. When they wouldn’t, she moved from her seat, which she was risking getting in trouble by doing, and sat down in the empty seat beside me.

I hadn’t expected that. “Chloe, I heard about what you said today.”

The other girls behind us wouldn’t give it a rest. Not even when Emily started talking to me. “Oh, really?” I asked, zoning the other girls out. “Ha, stupid right?”

“No, it wasn’t. You’re totally right. I’ve always debated whether or not I should have helped you out. I wanted to say that I’m sorry for never standing up for you before, but I’m gonna try now. You wanna start over? Maybe even be friends?” Emily asked.

I couldn’t believe Emily was saying something like this to me, not because I think I’m above her, but she never seemed to have much interest in me. “Of course. We can be friends!” I yipped, somewhat trying to sound like Sophia from the movie, using my cuteness factor to the maximum.