I Don't Get It
Zuhaira Amin, Grade 7, Riverside Girls High School
“So you’re telling me that you don’t care if your best friend is being bullied because of the colour of her skin?” I shift from one foot to another. This was getting uncomfortable.
We were sitting on the school oval, out in the bitty weather, shivering in delight. There hadn’t been weather like this for ages- it had been continuous glaring sun. We were chatting away merrily, laughing our heads off. Until now.
“Jess is really nice to me okay Georgia? What she does to Bonnie is not my problem.” I draw in a shaky gasp. Frankie glances at me. “I really like her,” she states, boring holes into Georgia’s. I look away, hoping she wouldn’t see the hurt in my eyes.
“You were always so concerned about the civil right activists in America. What’s happened?” Frankie looks at Georgia with insult.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head with scorn and sniffs, clearly implying she’s had enough. Frankie flicks her hair and smiles at me. “Come on Bonnie.” She grabs me by the arm and sneers at Georgia. She stares, wide-eyed in shock. I feel the urge to shake off Frankie, but my curiosity becomes the better of me. .
I let Frankie pull me away from under the sycamore tree we were standing under. I shoot a sympathetic glance at Georgia, who gawks back at me, tears filling her eyes. I feel bad, seeing as she was standing up for me the whole time. I don’t get it.
I don’t get anything nowadays. I don’t get why the colour of my skin is so wrong. I don’t get why Frankie is all sugary with Jess. Especially since she’s such a bully.
Speak of the she-devil, I think, as I watch Jess saunter over to us. Her outrageous hair is dyed black, and she’s got a piercing on her eyebrow. I shudder, despite the fact Frankie still has me clung on to her arm. She looks at me strangely.
“Do you think I should dye my hair to match Jess’s?” she whispers. What the hell, I say in my head. Being friends since we were two months old, she’s never said that about my black hair. I peer at her looking at Jess with adoration. I feel jealous.
“Hey Frankmeister,” Jess grunts, slamming her hand on Frankie’s shoulder. She let’s go of me.
“Hi Jess,” she purrs, side-stepping towards her, leaving me standing there like a loner.
“You usually hang out with idiot blacks?” Jess asks, spitting at me.
“Never,” says Frankie. I tremble and look past them. They walk away, Frankie not even bothering to say goodbye. Why would she? I don’t get it.
I stare at Georgia across the playground. She’s looking at me in a hopeful manner, her eyes sparkling so much it’s blinding. I realize I’ve always had a true friend. And she’s waiting for me. I want to run to her and hug her like crazy. Who cares about Frankie?
Maybe I do get it.