Once upon a time, it was a cloudy day in the beginning of spring of 2023, and I, Evangeline Whitlock, was sitting at my desk. My computer screen burst into life when I clicked my mouse, and I plugged in my password (that is confidential) to get to my email. After clicking a few different buttons and keys, I was logging into a Zoom meeting to work on my History Project/Skit with my two friends: Maya Mosi and Catherine Motter. This wasn’t the hardest project our History teacher had ever given us (thankfully) but we still wanted to get some work done to really get some progress in. 

I saw my video projection on my computer screen and thought, Man, my hair is a mess today. It is dark brown and almost black with some curls, but at that moment, it seemed to be more Medusa-like than human. Suddenly, Maya’s face showed up way too close to the camera. All I could see was the one left, brown eyeball. Right as I opened my mouth to tell her, Catherine entered the meeting with a smile wider than the Cheshire Cat’s, though that is not uncommon to her. She burst into laughter when she saw Maya and took my glory by mentioning the problem to her.

“Uh, M, you are way too close to that computer,” Catherine said, with sarcasm and a little bit of glee in her voice. Her long, extremely blonde hair was falling in her face, and I really wanted to bring up what Harry, a kid at school, had said before about her being blonde. It was really hilarious. 

Again, right before I could say anything, Maya interjected my squirrel-like thoughts, “So, for our project. I think that Evangeline needs to do even higher kicks in the intro. Here, I’ll show you!” Standing up and revealing her “Thumper the Bunny” covered pajamas, Maya started scatting to the Mickey Mouse theme song, “Bud a bum, bud a bum, bud a bum, bum, bum, bud a bum, bud a bum, bud a bum, bum, bum!” As she sang those words she started doing the can-can with her legs almost hitting her forehead every single time. Maya was like a rubber band, twisting and turning and stretching like no ones' business. 

“We can’t all be dancers!” I exclaimed, showing my own copy of her dance. My legs barely went over ninety degrees without hurting. Sitting back down I sighed and groaned a little from too much strain before stretching. My joints and I don’t have the most harmonious relationship, but the point was I could not do the can-can.

After our group finally got back on topic, we went through our skit once or twice before “it” happened. My mom came in and sat down to work on the website for her business: Kids N Play OT. 

“Wow, Evangeline, you don’t look like your mom,” Catherine remarked, pausing all of the conversation for a minute. In case you didn’t realize, that was the “it” or at least a part of it. 

I looked at my mom, then back at my projection on my computer. I’d never thought about that before. Of course I knew about some differences, like her blonde hair and my brown hair. Or how I have brown eyes and lots of freckles. And I knew, sadly, that I am shorter than her. 

That struck me a little bit. I know that some people don’t always look like their parents, and I also know that she didn’t mean it, but I took this racially. I am half Korean. I am of Asian descent, and I’m proud of that. What my friend Catherine said made me think along the lines of discrimination against me. My head told me she didn’t mean that, but my heart didn’t get the message. 

Sticking a phony smile on my face, I stayed neutral while my friends and I finished our project. Standing up and bowing with a haughty flourish, I called out, “Thank you, I am Darwin!” 

The computer screen went black when we logged off of the meeting, but I still felt crummy. All of that situation had hurt my feelings, but I think the part that hurt the most was that it didn’t even look like Catherine knew what she had done. 

I decided to talk about it with her the next day at school, but that didn’t go over so well. Entering the lunch room, I was bombarded with the sounds of kids yelling, microwaves beeping, and the smells of overcooked popcorn. Looking over, I saw all of my friends at one table towards the corner. Sighihild Roxelana, who had blondish brown hair and hazel eyes with marbled brown glasses, was waving for me to sit down with her. Maya Mosi was also waiting for me to come over, dark brown hair flowing as she turned to look at me and wave me down. Clara Blondie was mainly just laughing at whatever someone had just said, and her normally pale face had turned a tomato red. Then, there was Catherine, and when I saw her happy, normal face look at mine, I felt a flash of anger wash over me like an ocean wave.

Walking over, I tried to confront her by asking her if she even realized what she’d done. It didn’t really work that well. All of my other friends just defended Catherine as if I was the bad guy, saying how “lots of people don’t look like their parents”. They didn’t understand how this was an offense, and it didn’t seem like they would come to see it. That outcome made me feel like a balloon that was just about to be tied, but then blew away and completely deflated.

After a few weeks and I’d had a chance to cool down, things seemed to be a bit more normal and calm. Then another “event” happened, during math class. Catherine wanted to draw me, and I said, “Draw me ugly at least, I can’t stand being called cute.” And that was the truth, I really can't stand being called cute.

I watched Catherine scribble away on her lined paper with her regular, yellow pencil. You could see the shapes and parts of the head come together; nice curves to accentuate the jawbone, good almond shaped ovals for the eyes, and a soft heart like shape for the lips. Then, "it" occurred for the second time. She handed it to me and after a small discourse, she added, “I made it ugly by adding messy curls, see?”

It was like a lightning bolt had hit my heart, struck it, and went all the way through my chest. My curls were something I loved, they made me feel special and more like myself. That was extremely hurtful, and made me want to cry. Instead of crying or yelling or even just correcting Catherine on her statement, I just made a “hmph” sound and turned to do my homework. 

Another event like that happened, and that was the last straw. I was tired of being hurt like that, and I decided to be angry and to ice Catherine out in fear. I chose to keep her out of the loop, and to try to drive her out of my friend group. 

From then on, I chose to not talk to Catherine unless it was absolutely necessary, and I was rude when I was asked questions from her. This created an inharmonious relationship between us, and started to build a wedge between my whole friend group. 

I don’t know exactly when my revelation occurred, but I do know that it did. Noticing the impact my anger and aggression had on the rest of my friends made me reconsider my decision. I could feel and almost see the crack that was growing and growing and how it could become the size of the Grand Canyon or even bigger. So, I decided that to forgive Catherine, that she at least needed an explanation to my wrath. 

Sitting down at my computer, it lit up with a bright light and I once again logged into my email. (Password is still confidential!) Keys clacking furiously as I started by addressing the email to Catherine Motter, and then writing the subject: Friends. 

When I was finished, the paragraph was hefty in size and full of my whole heart and soul, with a deep breath, I didn’t hit send. At least not for a minute. My heart was pounding, trying to escape the chamber of my chest. Second thoughts pounded me like a hurricane. Do it. No. Don’t do it. What if she takes it the wrong way? What if you’re being selfish? What if this makes our friendship actually happen? But what if she retaliates and comes back with twice the fury? 

In the end, it was all one swift motion, as if it didn’t even happen, and I pressed ‘send’. For a second, I wanted to press the undo button, but something kept me from doing it. I let it be, and the waiting game began. 

Tick, tock, tick, tock. That was what was occurring in my brain like a video on repeat.

For days, there was no answer. Refreshing my email with an impatience the size of the universe kept my days interestingly uninteresting. 

Then I found myself sitting in study hall, working on a personal story of mine, A Summer Together. While I was typing away, or at least trying to. Suddenly, an unbearable urge rushed over me like a tidal wave and I barely whispered out to Catherine, who was sitting on my left. “Check your email.”

I tried not to stare, but I had to. I’d poured my heart and soul into that email and I had to see her reaction. It felt as if it was in slow motion. Catherine opened the tab for gmail. She then had a massive list of unread emails, and she apologized, saying that she never checked her email.

That’s why I haven’t gotten an answer! My internal voice cried, giving me a little sense of relief. At least she wasn’t ignoring me. 

Catherine was deleting emails left and right until she finally landed on mine. I watched intently as she opened it and started reading it. My effort to extend an olive branch and explain my emotions completely and totally worked. 

Both Catherine and I had a very heartfelt conversation and I apologized for my anger while she apologized for her remarks. She’d had no idea what she’d done, and I now know that for sure. I knew in my head that she wasn’t against me, but hearing her say that really helped my heart know that too.

In my experience with Catherine, I learned that if there is something happening, or if someone said something that hurt, they need to know. I learned that it only causes more pain and suffering to live in silence than to just let it out in the open, no matter the outcome.