I couldn't take it. Now I'm thirteen, and I have switched schools.

When I was twelve, my admirers started rolling in. I didn't reflect on why boys were attracted to me, and I really prefer not to know. Now, I was scared of hurting them because I didn't like any of them back. Leading them on was cruel, but boldly rejecting them was cruel too, even if a little less by a degree. So I decided to give them a “chance.” By this time, boys were courting me, leaving me presents and notes in the places they knew I would be. For a time I was embarrassed and just a little flattered by the romantic attraction, but then that's when the attack started. People started calling me a user and a slut. I lost all my girlfriends, because they had a crush on at least one of my admirers. Students glared and hissed and insulted, and I had never felt so defenseless. Only when one of my admirers were around was when I was given a little breathing space. Since I considered my admirers good and loyal friends, I shared the bullying predicament with them. Verbal fights and fisticuffs were rampant among the school. The crowd started hating me even more, calling me an attention-seeking whiny slut. I couldn't take it. Now I'm thirteen, and I have switched schools. I'm starting to gain admirers again and I'm not going to make the same mistakes twice. Even if I did escape that situation, I'm still haunted by what I left behind, because I still want to fix it. Fix what they think of me and fix the broken bonds I created. I'm not worth the fighting.