by Sela Q.
11 years old
NYC
Here I am, sitting all alone at the lunch table. I’m not surprised though – no one wants to sit with the new girl. It’s all because of my thick Israeli accent. I remember one time in history class when I was giving a report on the founding fathers, Mary-Beth (who always wore high heels) said to her “friend” Anna (who is really her slave), “if only blah blah girl could talk, then I would learn.” Anna burst out laughing. Just remembering that makes my eyes fill with sadness.
My thoughts were interrupted when I heard the clicking of high heels coming to me. I immidiately hid my face in my arms. Then I heard the soft noise of Mary-Beth sit down. I looked up and saw her grass colored eyes were full of tears and regret. “I’m sorry,” she said wiping tears from her face that were pouring out of her eyes like a fountain. I always thought Mary-Beth was so tough and had no tears in her eyes, but here she was crying. “I’ve been awful to you,” she continued. ” I always called you names and made faces” she sobbed.
“What is your name?” She asked.
“Sarah,” I said.
“Nice to meet you, Sarah” Mary-Beth said. “Come sit at my table”
I felt myself rise. As I walked to the table I felt the air press against my face when I sat down the girls stared but then said, “Welcome.”
