I stood in that empty bathroom, looking at my reflection. I hated being boastful, but I looked really good. My hair was perfectly executed into an elaborate braided bun. Beautiful gray eyes glared back at me. Everything about me was flawless. I did see one imperfection though. Trickling down my cheeks were tears that caused my mascara to bleed and smudge. I was awakened from my own hypnotizing gaze by a loud knock on the door.

“Serena,” I heard a voice call, “It is time for your speech!”

I opened the door a sliver to see my friend, Harley. Her dark hair was cascaded into a beautiful braid. “Uh,” I stammered, “Can I postpone it or something?”

“As your loyal Vice-President, I suggest we continue with the planned date,” Harley said professionally. I looked at her with large eyes, and her tone of voice changed, “I know some awful stuff is happening, but you scheduled this. It might help your brother!”

I slipped out of the bathroom and wiped away the tears. I had to be strong. Joseph's attackers needed to be taught a lesson. I wanted to be the one to teach them. The ends of my heel clicked on the slick hallway floor.

"You can do this," Harley encouraged me.

I took a long, slow breath. A rush of determination flooded my body. I was ready. The fire was in my eyes. My heels clacked faster, and Harley tried to keep up. I pushed the gym door open with all my might. I stepped quickly, proudly, and tenaciously in front of the crown onto the podium.

I stood silently in front of the teenagers. In the audience, Harley looked at me with urging eyes. I spoke, “I, Serena Shreve, have a message. As Student Council President of Alviad High School, I declare our school in a state of emergency!”

The room became muddled with mumbles and murmurs. I suddenly saw Principal Miriam stomping toward me. She cleared her throat as she stole the microphone away. “I’m sure what Ms. Shreve is implying is something different than what you are thinking!”

Principal Miriam backed away from the microphone and handed it back to me. “We, uh, are not having a volcanic eruption or anything, but it is still a dire situation.” I paused for effect. “Our school has the highest number of teen suicides in the country. Why is that? One word: bullying.”

After I rambled on in the assembly, I walked through the crowded hallways being bumped from every angle. You’d think a president would be much more respected. In my peripheral vision, I saw my younger brother, Joseph, surrounded by large boys on the football team. I walked closer, and I heard horrible things. They were accusing Joseph of something truly terrible, something so unheard of in our area. I couldn't stand to hear more, so I walked away.

I sat in my English class tapping my feet and chewing my nails. I kept denying it all. There was no way this information is valid. The more I thought of it, the more furious I became.

After that incident, I heard rumors and whispers that made me cringe. They were about Joseph. I ignored the cruel people spreading lies. When I could not force myself to listen, I left the classroom to find him. I knocked my knuckles on the unopened textbook.

"Ms. Shreve, quiet would be much appreciated," Mrs. Polle barked at me. She turned back to the board after adjusting her glasses. "Opening the book and reading the text could be helpful also," she remarked, her back still turned.

My very immature classmates murmured and chuckled around me. I rolled my eyes and returned to my repetitive tapping, just quieter this time.

"Think it's true?" Missy, a classmate, gossiped.

Her blonde friend looked at her, lost. "Whatcha talkin' about?"

Missy snapped her head back to see if anyone was looking. I avoided her wandering eyes. She said quietly, "You know, about that freshman, Joseph."

"Oh, I heard. It was crazy!" The girls both looked at me and began to laugh.

Just that one statement caused an uproar between my classmates. They made jokes about him and me and my family. What they said was not legitimate, but I was beginning to doubt myself. My tapping continued to grow louder, as did the remarks from my classmates. When I could not take any more, I stormed out to find Joseph.
In the car, it was silent for quite a while. Joseph finally spoke, “Twelfth graders are cruel.

“Hey, you will be them one day,” I replied. Joseph murmured something, but I did not hear. I had an idea what he said, so I came out and asked him, “Is it true?”

He dared not to look me in the eyes. “Yes.”

The next day of school was worse. People said meaner things about my brother. I was afraid to defend him, because I knew the truth. There was no way I could help, and when I wouldn’t step in and stop things, I became a target. People said things not only about me and my brother, but my mother, father, and littlest brother.

That week, people hurt me mentally and physically. I started hurting myself too. When people called me cruel things, I believed them. I scarred my arms until there was no more room to scar. I no longer tried to be perfect, because I didn’t see myself like that anymore. The days grew worse and seemed longer. Harley was too scared to be around me anymore. I understood. If she was seen near me, my house, or my family, the gossipers would find a way to twist the truth into a disgusting tale.

I skipped school one day. I fooled my parents into thinking I went though. The door was locked. Most children who skip school go out with friends, but I didn’t have any of those anymore. I paced around the room, thinking of all the happy times I’d had. Thoughts of my happiness caused the tears to quickly well up in my eyes. There was no longer anything enjoyable about my life.

The speed of my pacing increased as I became more furious. My knuckles were white and blood dripped from them. I looked at myself in that cracked mirror. I used to smile in the mirror, but I had become so accustomed to frowning, I had forgotten how to grin. Every second I sat in that in room, I became angrier. I lost control. I threw things at my dented wall; tears rushed from eyes.

I heard my parents sprinting up the stairs. I second checked my locked door. I sat down in front of the door looking out on my messy room. I had broken my picture frames, childhood trophies, and the trinkets. Something more important caught my eye: prescriptions. Those pills were from two years ago. Joseph used them when he broke his arm.

Loud knocks echoed in my ear.
“Serena, you better not be skipping school!” my father furiously screamed at me.

I ignored him and walked closer to the medicine. Joseph rarely took the pills. He was a procrastinator; Joseph had left over ten pills in the container.

“Honey, Serena, are you in there?” my mother asked, much more gentle than my father. “Why are you crying?”

I sat in my bed. Pills, paper, and a pen were perfectly placed on my bed. My door trembled as my parents thrust their bodies on the door trying to unlock it. I listened to my father and mother scared voices screaming at me as I wrote my note:

"Dear whoever may read this,

I am sorry I am doing this to myself. I wish I could be brave like Joseph. Standing up to the bullies seemed easier in my head. Please forgive me for this sad and brief goodbye. Tell Harley, I understood why we could not be friends anymore. To Joseph, continue to be the strong boy I know you are. I know you two love me, mom and dad, and I feel the same way. Don’t grieve over me for too long. We will meet again. Do not blame Joseph for this. It is not his fault. This was my choice.













Goodbye until our eternal life,














Serena J. Shreve
P.S.: Tell Joseph and his boyfriend not to give up."