Too LateBy Alyssa Ahrens, 17, Indiana

This blog expands on Nicholas Kristof’s twice-weekly columns, sharing thoughts that shape the writing but don’t always make it into the 800-word text. It’s also the place where readers make their voices heard.

She hears something skidding across the floor by her head.It is her book.Her useless shield.

Teenage girls are cruel super-humans from a distant galaxy sent here to destroy us all. They have the self entitlement of a celebrity heiress and the aggression of a Roman Gladiator. Like vampires they feed off the blood of the weak. They’re pubescent monsters. Adolescent boogeymen.

My HurtBy Madison Jaronski, 15, New Hope, Penn.

There is one more flash of that gloating smile before it rounds the stairs.

I hope I just took some of you back and made you realize that bullying is specific. No two acts of bullying are the same because bullying is always personal, always meant to strike home with that individual person, to make that individual feel as if she is completely worthless to the world. That is what a group of senior boys did to me this year, and I only got through this year because I had my closest friend right by my side, a beacon through this storm.

a natural leader takes charge with good intentions, ..

It’s too late to turn around. It’s too late to hurry past. She’s been spotted… Too late. Too late. Too late.
Hands grab her book, and she is pulled to the corner. Cruel eyes crinkle in laughter.
No words are spoken.

Bullying is a very popular disease among the school students ..

In the breath of a moment, the girl’s hands are empty, flailing in the air for purchase as she is tumbling, falling backward. Her head meets a sharp corner, her hand hits the wall with a sharp crack. With pain erupting in her, she slides down the rest of the steps.

either good or bad , worst or best and, ..

A few kids glance at her. One hands her book to her and gives her a hand up. The girl takes a quick inventory. Her hand hurts, head is throbbing, and ankle is on fire.

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Once the period of silence came to a close, all hell broke loose. Vicious rumors began spreading around and dirty looks and foul words were thrown my way in the hall. I was forced off the lunch table and into social leprosy.
Exactly a week after phase two (social alienation) had began I received an email from the ringleader of the group. I opened it up to reveal a headline that bluntly stated, “Fifty Reason Why We Can’t Be Friends With You.” Underneath the headline, as promised, were neatly fifty reasons, ranging from my body to my personality to my clothes, that clearly stated the reason for my alienation.

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She is pushed forward by the teacher behind her, her voice chiming “Time to get to class,” methodically.
This girl is me. Just another student. Just another victim.