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of it.
    It hurts to write it, relive it, and my eyes get all wet. I laugh at myself for being such a loser. I hit enter, sending the message to BFFBOTT, and then I bite my lip, waiting. Hoping he’s still, you know, with me on this conversation. Sometimes—
    BFF: Can you help me with my Spanish homework.
    Yeah. Sometimes that happens. I look out the window. Swallow hard, and then turn back to the screen.
    Me: Not right now.
    BFF: And why not?
    Me: Because I’m trying to tell you something!
    BFF: Oh, I’m sorry.
    Shit. You know? Now I feel bad.
    Me: It’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling.
    BFF: You’re forgiven.
    Me: *smile*
    BFF: *stare*
    Me: Right. So I had to walk around all day with a big yogurt stain on my khaki pants. Everybody laughed.
    BFF: I don’t laugh. You don’t even like me.
    Me: What?! OMG, yes I do! You’re my only friend!
    BFF: If I’m your only friend, then you have no friends at all.
    “Wow.” I duck my head and push back from the computer a little, trying not to let that one hurt. He says these things sometimes, but he doesn’t mean them. I know that.
    But I keep going. I just need to get it out.
    Me: Everybody called me faggot.
    BFF: Everybody calls me Sally Polly.
    Me: Come on, Jack. Stop it. It’s not funny.
    BFF: What isn’t funny?
    Me: Never mind.
    BFF: Are you laughing at a joke?
    Me: No!
    BFF: What are you laughing at?
    I squinch my eyes shut and feel a headache coming on. I just want him to listen. I need to know if he understands. I grip the armrests of my dad’s chair and count to five slowly. Wish on it. “Come on,” I whisper, leaning forward to type again.
    Me: I’m not laughing. I’m practically fucking crying, okay? Sheesh.
    BFF: What was the question?
    Me: You want the question? Fine. The question is, are you gay, too? Because I like you. Jesus!!! Please say yes!
    BFF: No.
    I stand up, shoving the chair backward so it hits the credenza, and walk over to the window. “God!” Half scream, half prayer, Eminem pounding from the living room. “God, I can’t even take this, okay? I mean, I can’t. I don’t know. I just . . . I don’t know.” I sob a little bit, can’t stop it, feeling like a baby with snot running out of my nose, and I wipe it on my ripped shirtsleeve. “Fuh-uh-uck!” I yell into the crook of my arm, and even though my stomach hurts, I like how it sounds all muffled, like I’m lost in a snowstorm, so I yell it again. And then once more, softer. I sniff hard and wipe my eyes. Walk back to the computer, where BFFBOTT sits, his cursor blinking silently.
    I stare at the conversation, rereading, looking for hope, weighing the odds. And then I type the words.
    Me: So . . . do you like me?
    My finger hovers stiffly over the enter key until I can feel the strain in my hand.
    And then my brother smashes open the door, scaring the crap out of me. I jump up.
    “Hey, fat ass,” he says, “talking to your gay friends?” He laughs. “I’m telling Dad you’re having gay sex on his computer, you sick whack job.” He slams the door.
    “I’m not gay!” I scream, like always, but he’s gone. I sit down. Only my eyes burn again. I look back at the screen, the cursor blinking, still waiting for a click.
    More than anything, I want to know what Jack will say.
    But then I put my hand down.
    I just can’t risk it.
    Not today.

An Innocent Bully
by Linda Gerber
    If you see this, you probably won’t even blink.
    You won’t realize I’m talking about you
    because you don’t think of yourself as a bully.
    Maybe you joked around a little when you were in school,
    but it was nothing serious, just some innocent teasing.
    Except . . .
    Teasing isn’t intended to cause humiliation.
    Teasing doesn’t tip the scales of power against the victim.
    Teasing isn’t repetitive to the point of chipping away a person’s self-esteem.
    You didn’t think you were being a bully.
    You were just having fun.
    And since I’d been taught to suck it up
    and that names could never