The New Kid

Well, here I was - the new kid. I was glad to be here - I had needed to leave behind my old reputation as a misfit and start anew, and what better way than moving to a new city? Of course, that wasn't why I had moved, but still... it was day one of a new, better life. I was sure of it.

I began with meeting the members of my new class - I considered them proslective friends, fooling myself into thinking that I was socially capable of being popular. Being in sixth grade, it was just this one group, herded to three different classes throughout the day.

"Hey," said a deepish voice. "I'm Nathaniel. Who are you?" I turned and almost stepped back. It was a guy who .... well, he wasn't exactly skinny. He had curly, unruly red hair, a pale face dotted with freckles, and a stained t-shirt.

"I'm Chelsea," I said. "I'm new here. Nice to meet you," I shook hands, a little reluctantly. Things began to change soon, though.

As I interacted with my 'prospective friends', I noticed that there was always one kid left out - Nathaniel. He seemed oblivious, but people would reject him, some more subtly than others, and sometimes even insult him.

I had been there. I had been the kid left out, the one who couldn't seem to get past my outward reputation, the one who nobody wanted around because I was 'unpopular'. So I made a decisison. I was going to be Nathaniel's friend. It was a heroic goal, I thought.

"So, how are you?" I asked him as I sat down next to him. "What did you think of the homework?" We talked all period - about books, about games, about little random things like that. Scott was there as well. He watched, an unreadable expression on his face. Once he dropped in a rude comment on Nathaniel's habits - I don't remember what exactly it was.

Nathaniel ignored it, like an animal used to being kicked, but I turned around. "I don't think that's so bad," I said - I still don't remember what I was talking about. "We're all entiltled to our lifestyles."

So we went on with our lives. I sat with him at lunch, borrowed his notes - and let him borrow mine - and generally tried to make myself available to him as a friend and defender, although I don't think he realized the latter.

It was inevitable, of course. Only my immaturity prevented me from seeing it coming. We were walking down the hallway one day in the middle of the year when someone asked me about my boyfriend.

"What boyfriend?" I asked. "I don't have one."

"Oh, come on. Nathaniel. Everyone knows you like him."

I was shocked. I was decent to him, and I respected his human right to be accepted, but it had never even occured to me to think of him as anything more than a casual friend. There was no romance at all between us, and I told the person so. Nathaniel agreed heartily; I was not his girlfriend or his crush. There was no way. They just walked off. I, thinking it was a misunderstanding and that that was the end of it, continued with my day as normal.

But the next day someone asked me again. After that, about half of the population of the class was in on it; worse, people wouldn't accept that we were just decent to each other; a guy helping out the new kid, a girl trying to be decent to a reject.

It was during the spring that the first real shock came - someone came to me with not a suspicion, but a straight-out lie. Apparently someone had seen Nathaniel and me at a restaurant last night. I had eaten with my family the night of the supposed date; Nathaniel hadn't even been on my mind, although that was rare now that everyone kept asking us about it.

It got worse. People I had never seen in my life stopped me during the day to challenge me about my 'relationship'. Some sneered; some just kept a poker face and said that I could claim whatever I wanted. I literally couldn't cross the hallway to go to the bathroom without being harrasssed by a perfect stranger. People heard from friends, who heard from reliable sources, that we had been flirting; snuggling; kissing. I was just waiting for someone to announce that we had 'done it' with each other. Even the nicer people stopped interacting with me unless they had to, for fear that they would be caught in the torrent of rumors and harrassment.

There was no convincing anyone that all of this was a lie; it was nearly impossible to make them stop talking about it at all. I started trying to track down the person who had started the rumors. To this day, I have no clue who did.

Finally, Nathaniel and I came to the unspoken realization that we simply couldn't be friends anymore. There was nothing wrong with him, and nothing wrong with me; people just couldn't accept someone being kind to another human, and they would make our lives miserable until we stopped.

Perhaps you've enjoyed this story. Perhaps you haven't - perhaps you think it could have gone differently. However, I cannot change it - because it isn't really a story. I am Chelsea (that isn't my actual name), and every detail you just read is as accurate as I can make it. I've recorded everything I remember of it, except for the feelings - because I don't know how to record those to their full extent.

In a way, I'm sort of glad the sixth grade disaster happened; I gave up on social struggles, and was able to watch and mature more than I ever could have in my old house. The fact that cruelty wasn't just a thing specific to my old home opened my eyes; I can't say I entirely grew up in sixth grade, but I started down that path. Over the time of my isolation, I became more sensible, and much quieter. I've become a different person than the person that moved here.

Now, I'm in ninth grade. It took almost a year to chase away the rumors and reputation, and another year to find friends; even now, though, I wouldn't be surprised to find those old rumors coming back to haunt me, just briefly. Although I have no regrets, I still look back on those days and realize how lost this world is - so lost that when people see one human being kind and compassionate to another, they tear them down until they are forced to bow their heads and stop. And now, I think I've figured out why - because it's easier to point a finger than to lift one; because it's easier to shout an insult than to acknowledge guilt.

This is my story. This is who I am, in a way. This is how I grew up and had a loss I will always be thankful for.

(Sorry if this is kind of rambly. I wrote it all in one sitting, just on an impulse, and I have to go for now, but I'll try to edit it later to make it more readable.)