“Why you so ugly?” Faye asked as they stood over me.

“She so nasty,” one of the other girls said. Her name was Shanika, and she was never mean to me except when she was with Faye. “Shouldn’t you be at the retard school?”

“At least away from us,” Yinka said. Yinka was Nigerian, but you wouldn’t know it the way she tried to hide it. She was very dark-skinned, too, except for her face, which she was always slathering with skin-bleaching cream. And when she wasn’t, her mother was. You’d see her mother do it to her every morning when she dropped her off at school. “Wouldn’t want any disease that would eat all my color like that,” Yinka added.

I could feel myself getting mad. I needed to get back to class, and I didn’t know why they were trying to scare me. They were standing very close, towering over me. I was only eight, and I wasn’t very tall for eight. I’ve grown a lot in the last three years. And in the last year, I’ve gotten really strong and muscular, but back then, I was small, and they were all tall and big.

“It’s not contagious,” I muttered, my hands wet as I turned off the faucet. And that’s when Faye slapped me on the side of my head. I stumbled as the world got really bright and I saw stars. She’d hit me really hard. For no reason. Without me even speaking directly to her.

I was angry as hell now. I’d been harassed before and it upset me, but never had I grown angry like this. I was in there alone. I hadn’t done a thing to them. They’d pressured me to move into the far part of the bathroom while one of them stood watch at the door. I was like prey to them. Because what? I don’t know.

“Dirty African booty scratcher,” Faye spat. “Filthy diseased Shaka Zulu bitch. Yo’ mama probably got AIDS and yo’ daddy got syphilis, that’s why you came out looking like that.”

Yinka cackled hysterically. I couldn’t believe it. What was wrong with that girl? Who was diseased?! Even at eight years old I knew when something was completely twisted. Shanika looked a little worried, but she didn’t do anything to shut her friend up. The one at the door, whose name I didn’t know, was peeking back into the hallway. The bell rang. Lunch was over. I felt more rage boil in me.

Faye was about to hit me again when I looked her right in the face. I was sweating and shaking, and that’s when I saw it. Right there on Faye’s white pants. A large circle of red. Blood. My mom had explained periods to me earlier that year. So I knew exactly what I was seeing and why Faye was probably so angry. I knew many things in that moment. So I went for the kill.

“I’m filthy?” I growled. “You, YOU’RE the one who is filthy! Look at your pants. You’re bleeding all over them. Phew! Stinking! Filthy akata! Who are you?”