When I was in elementary school, around 3rd grade, is when all this random bullying started. These girls, their names forever imprinted on my brain, couldn't get past our differences. I suppose in elementary school, life is simpler, sometimes for the better, for me, though, it was for the worse. I was one of 3 white girls in my class. Being white wasn't cool. I was brilliant in Math, taking higher classes and getting into phenomenal programs. Being smart wasn't cool. I was a tomb-boy, friends with all the boys. Being a tomb-boy wasn't cool. From the time I entered that year of school, until I graduated, it was relentless. They'd call me "gringa" and other words that weren't meant to be taken kindly. They'd take my food and snacks, spread rumors about me that weren't true. I could handle it. It was no biggy. People will be immature, it's elementary school. Then my world came crashing down. I'd always expected it, but it was the final straw, I'd had all I could take. My parents got divorced when I was 8. These girls tormented me because I would only have one parent now and they all had both theirs. My grades dropped, my work ethic changed to non-existant, and I was too sad to care. I never told my Mom, until one day, a boy who had a crush on one of my tormentors attempted to "jump" me. He jumped on my back and pulled my hair. Under his weight, I collapsed, twisting my ankle and bruising my cheek. That was when it ended. The bullying ended because finally they'd gone to far. My only friends, the guys, stood up for me. Carried me to the nurse and just about tore up the guy. I'm thankful to them everyday because they made me stronger. Now I want to help someone else be stronger. And that's my story.