It was her. It was her frisbee. I tossed the bright red disc back without even saying anything, watching her walk off, eager to spot the falter in her step.
I wondered, sometimes, if she remembered. Remembered what she’d said to me, how she’d acted like it was a perfectly fine thing to do, like I had it coming. But then I myself would remember just how much of a little snake she was and the thought left me.
I hoped that she felt bad, that the sight of me in the halls would make her regret and want to apologize. But each time that we crossed paths, she seemed not to recognize me and only continued her snarky expression. A part of me thought she was an exceptionally rude person, but the rest only felt pity for her. She knew nothing of what it meant to be human, to be alive, to recognize the importance of every moment of every day. She was dead, if not in body then in spirit.
If I had the chance, I would thank her. Thank her for showing me that the world is not as beautiful as I thought it was. That people cheat and connive against you, that they hate seeing you happy. That bullies exist. I can only hope that her insecure self has somehow benefitted from hurting me.