I Didn't Belong

• Amy Thompson, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2017

I remember walking through the lunch courtyard looking for some friendly faces but all I saw was a sea of judgement and disapproval. I wondered if there was something in my teeth or if I was walking in a funny manner because of the few distant giggles and offensive remarks that I assumed were directed at me. Just like the hot Australian summer sun burning into my skin, I could feel eyes burning in the back of my head and every step I took across the school felt like years.
Despite a dry mouth and butterflies frantically dancing in my stomach, I conjured up the courage to speak to a small group of girls who looked the least intimidating. As soon as my presence was noticed, the three girls slightly turned to face me, most likely hoping that I would walk away or stop hovering near them. I could feel a lump forming in my throat making my intentions of talking very difficult but I somehow managed a small squeak, which I hoped would pass as a hello. The expression on the girl’s faces made it clear that I was not particularly welcome, but I continued anyway.
“Hello, I am Meera,” I said, almost in a whisper. Exchanging glances, the girls remained silent, clearly not impressed.
“Can I sit with you?” I said with a noticeable shake in my voice.
“Do you speak proper English? Because it’s not very good,” snarled the girl closest to me.
This was followed by cruel giggles and my cheeks began burning with embarrassment and shame.
Understanding that the remark was another way of saying that I was unwanted and didn’t belong in their group, I turned around and knew that I’d have to find a spot to sit alone.
I could feel tears wanting to escape my eyes but I forced myself not to cry. I was overwhelmed with feelings of loneliness as I pulled my lunch of Potato Pulav out of my bag, which was prepared last night by my mother who ensured that there were extra servings in case any of my ‘new friends’ wanted to try some Indian food. Glancing around at the other children, I noticed that they were eating foods that I was not familiar with at the time but would soon know to be Vegemite sandwiches and lamingtons. I looked up to the sky, desperately trying to conceal tears and expressions of despair because I knew that they were still looking at me; still trying to figure out why I was here.
I knew why they were staring at me. I knew exactly why nobody would sit with me. I get it, I was new and different and weird to them. I didn’t look like them. I didn’t speak like them. I didn’t act the same as them. I didn’t belong.