[ t h i r t e e n ]
March 2nd 2010.
“I’m sorry.”
One mere apology was never enough for Ashleigh anymore. Nothing could make her forgive anyone for doing anything.
When Deborah came up to her and apologised, she naturally snapped and glared at the red haired girl. Two ten and a half year olds – red against blonde hair, and green against brown eyes. Ashleigh was only a centimetre taller, but that didn't mean she wasn't intimidated by the other girl.
“For what?” the blonde spat out.
“For being so mean to you. I’m s-so sorry, Ashleigh,” the red head sobbed into her hands.
As much as she hated to admit it, Ashleigh believed her. The innocence in her still hadn’t left her and she was still the slightest bit immature. She believed Deborah.
She stood there, in front of Deborah, contemplating whether or not she should just walk away or stay and talk to her. She eventually decided to stay.
Deborah sniffed and wiped her face with the sleeve of her school jacket. “Do you want to hang out with me and my friends? If you don’t, it’s okay… I understand.”
Ashleigh smiled slightly, “I’ll join you guys.”
Maybe this would be the start of something new. Maybe this was a chance for Ashleigh to feel ordinary and normal. This could be the opportunity where she could as if she fit in with the rest of the other boys and girls in her school and that was what she wanted.
This was her seventh and last year of primary school and she had only had one true friend – Lola, and she was overseas on holiday, at the moment. Most, no, all people thought it was fairly humiliating and depressing to be seen with the two of them.
They walked over to the rest of Deborah’s friends and Ashleigh counted the number of girls there were. Twelve. That was twelve times the amount she’d ever had.
Throughout lunch, they ate together and gossiped. For the first time in a long while, Ashleigh felt loved. She was happy. For once.
“So, Ashleigh, what’s your favourite colour?” one of the girls asked. Ashleigh recalled her name to be Rebecca.
“Blue,” she replied, almost instantly.
At her response, the rest of the girls exchanged amused glances. They were all thinking the same thing.
What kind of girl liked the colour blue? It was a boy colour, not a girl colour. Girls should like pink. Blue is ugly. Pink is pretty.
The conversation continued on like this, until Deborah snapped. “Do you think we’re lying to be your friends or are we actually your friends?”
“We’re friends, of course. Right?”
Deborah rolled her jade eyes, and that was when realisation dawned on Ashleigh. They had fooled her.
“Do you really think you can hang out with us?” another girl asked, in a snobby manner.
“I-I thought so… but not anymore…”
“Okay. One, you’re too ugly for us. Try brushing your hair and what are those clothes you’re wearing? Did you steal them from the rubbish bin?” Deborah continued, relentlessly. “Two, you’re too much of a boy. If you want to be a boy, you’re trying too hard and obviously, it’s not working. Three, you will never fit in with us – not with anyone and I mean never. You’re too rubbish material for that. Four, you are a fuck up, you little bitch.”
The other girls gasped at her foul language and their eyes widened slightly, in shock, appreciation and pride.
Pride for what?
Ashleigh swallowed the lump in her throat and stood her ground. “This is bullying,” she replied quietly, yet stubbornly.
“It’s not bullying. It’s stating a fact. Get your facts right, Ashleigh. Now, shoo.”
And she did, in fact, shoo.
