Dear Bully Read Online Free PDF Page A

even I heard the whispers that Monday morning.
    What I remember most? Hiding, shivering, in the locker room stalls, trying to escape another cruel comment. Sitting with “friends,” excluded by their coded conversations, feeling lonelier than when I was simply alone.
    Congrats on winning that citizenship award! You totally deserved it.
    That day you called me on the phone, when we hadn’t spoken in months? I got all stupidly flustered, like it was a real, live boy calling. For a second, I thought maybe you were going to apologize. Ask to be friends again.
    Then I realized you were just hitting me up for sponsor money for some charity walkathon, and I was clearly the hundredth person down on your call list, and I felt like a total fool.
    I gave anyway.
    I know we weren’t that close this year, but I’m glad I’m signing your yearbook. ’Cause there’s something I wanted to tell you.
    For no reason at all, by the end of the year, it was over. Like a high fever that broke, leaving me clammy and weak and slightly delirious, wondering if it had all been a bad dream.
    Little by little, everyone else welcomed me back in. Karen and Shoshana. Gia and Gaby. Sarah and Sabrina. Pam and Lisa. Patricia. And you. Back on the party circuit. Back at the table of ten. Like nothing had happened. Like none of it needed to be mentioned.
    And so I said nothing.
    Or maybe you’ve already heard? That I’m off to a new school for ninth grade?
    Because, really, how can I trust you—or any of them—again? And what saddens me more: How will I ever trust any of the friends still to come?
    So, in case I don’t see you around much, have a great summer (and a great life)!
    Luv,
    Melissa
    P.S. Who knows? Maybe, someday, when we’re ancient and thirty(!), you’ll look back on this page and read what I wrote, and remember.
    I know that I’ll never forget.

Subtle Bullying
by Rachel Vail
    Today I discovered a huge, ugly bruise on my leg. I have absolutely no memory of having rammed into anything, which is weird because, seriously, this thing looks angry. How could I not know what caused it?
    I was going to say getting bullied can be like that, too—you aren’t aware, necessarily, while it’s happening, that you are even being bullied. But it’s not quite a perfect metaphor, because with the kind of bullying I am thinking about, there’s no bruise to be seen—maybe only a vague but very real ache that won’t go away for a long time.
    I’m not talking about the kind of bullying that comes from name-calling, taunts, shoves, or even shunning, all of which are plenty horrible. There’s another kind of bullying I haven’t read much about but that I experienced—one that comes with compliments and praise.
    I had this kind of friendship over and over growing up, but I’ll give you an example with a girl I’ll call Bianca.
    Bianca was my best friend. She thought I was wise and kind, the only friend she could fully confide in and count on. She told me often how much she appreciated me— especially how I would stick by her and forgive her no matter what. After she’d been awful to me in some way, she’d look deep in my eyes and apologize, berate herself for the lousy person she was until I told her no, no you’re not a bad person, don’t be silly. She said she wouldn’t blame me for abandoning her as others had, and would explain tearfully that she’d been acting out against me just because she was petty, or jealous of me, or in one of her moods. I’d reassure her that it was okay, I was okay, we were okay. She’d cry with relief and gratitude, she’d hug me, she’d shake her head about how incredibly lucky she was to have me as a friend.
    And I’d feel fantastic.
    How lucky I was to have a friend who so loved and appreciated me! Yes, she made rules, kind of—well, no, I corrected myself; they weren’t rules, really. It just made Bianca feel bad if I hung around with other friends or had a boyfriend when she didn’t. Did I