None may insult me, save it were myself. And if I so choose to disregard mine own feelings, then it is with promptness that I will act upon that whim to its completeness. And if another insultith me on purpose, without provocation, then I shall retaliate in any manner that I deem fit. And so it shall be.

  That’s what I thought, and that’s what I did. It’s not my fault that Jimmy Carter ended up in the hospital with two black eyes and a shattered nose, or that Suzanne Williams had to have the olive surgically removed from her ear. I didn’t tell them to break my golden rule; I didn’t tell them to fight back. No, I am the one who is suffering from in-school suspension and extended service hours. Honestly, what’s the point of in-school suspension? It’s like going to self-induced purgatory for two extra hours. It’s not that big a deal. If the school really wanted to hand out punishments, then I could give them a few pointers. But I doubt anyone’s going to be taking pointers from me for a long time….

  It started the unusual way-new country, new city, new continent, new school, new language, new people-the list is endless. At first I was excited about all the ‘newness’, but, after a while, I wanted to go back to the ‘oldness’ of my life. It didn’t help me gain any optimism when I heard the stories going around behind my back. I mean, geez people! Don’t you have anything better to do than gossip about a bookworm? Anyway, that’s when I developed my golden rule. I wasn’t going to take anymore ‘concealed’ crap about me. I wasn’t a wuss, so I decided it was time to stop acting like one. That’s why the fight happened.

  Lunch. The dreaded hour. I never felt welcome in the cafeteria, so I usually sat outside. It was never fun sitting all alone, but it was even worse that day because I had forgotten my lunch and had to cross the invisible boundary and enter the cafeteria.

  The noise level seemed to drop as I crossed the threshold. I scurried to the lunch-line and grabbed the closest food item, then ran to pay. I was leaving when I heard them talking.

  “Oh my gosh, just look at that hair!,” squealed a squeaky, nasally voice. “Does she even own a hairbrush?”