A guy in my class wanted my attention, so he decided the best way to get it was by making lewd jokes to my face. I tried to ignore him. So, he escalated and started spreading filthy rumors about my mother. That was the last straw. I whipped around, grabbed a heavy metal water bottle off the desk, and went to town on him. It took the homeroom teacher and a security guard to pull me off. When they called our parents in, his folks pointed a finger in my face, screaming that girls like me should have been "drowned in the river at birth." That was their mistake. Because this time, it was my parents' turn to grab a weapon. 01 The guys in my class loved giving the girls nicknames. There was "Kong," "Bucktooth," "Darkie"—you name it, they had a slur for it. My desk mate, Sarah, had the unfortunate last name of "Stools," so they’d called her "Poop" since freshman year. I wasn't spared, either. Because I was tall and hit puberty earlier than most, I was one of the first girls to wear a real bra. So, I got the nickname "Dairy Queen." It was their favorite topic of conversation. Today, after gym class, I heard my name in their mouths again. This time, they were even grosser. They were laughing, miming my running posture by cupping their own chests and panting heavily every two steps. Sarah was furious. "Are you guys psychotic? Jordan doesn't run like that! You are so disgusting!" "Seriously, that is way out of line. We’re telling the teacher!" The other girls chimed in, rallying around me, angrily calling them out. Brad, the ringleader, just laughed. "What’s out of line? I didn't say a name. Who told you I was talking about Jordan? I was talking about a cow! A big, milking cow!" He grinned that shameless, punchable grin, banking on the fact that I’d be too humiliated to clap back. He thought the shame would silence me. He was wrong. I stood up and glared right at him. "Who are you calling a cow, you needle-dick?" "You're swinging around something the size of a toothpick, looking like a shriveled pickle, and you have the nerve to talk? Maybe you should go get surgery, though I doubt it would help you upgrade from a zero." The insult was venomous. Brad was stunned for a second. Then, he exploded. "Jordan, you bitch!" "Who do you think you are? I’ll beat you to death!" Relying on his height and size, Brad was used to saying whatever he wanted without consequences. No one had ever verbally castrated him in front of an audience before. Humiliated, he clenched his fist and charged at me. The class erupted. Boys held Brad back, shouting "Bro, chill!" and "Don't hit a girl!" while the girls formed a wall in front of me. The noise attracted the patrolling teacher, Mr. Henderson. But Mr. Henderson wasn't there to serve justice. He was there to sweep things under the rug. After listening to the chaotic retelling of events, the balding, middle-aged man waved his hand dismissively and pointed at me. "Jordan, is it? Why is your language so foul? Is that how your parents raised you? Making jokes about people's anatomy? Write a thousand-word apology letter. Have it on my desk by Monday." "Excuse me?!" The girls were more outraged than I was. "Mr. Henderson, how can you blame Jordan? Brad started it!" "Jordan insulted him back, sure, but Brad gave her a sexual nickname first!" "This is harassment! You're taking his side! We’re going to the Vice Principal!" Kids these days are sharp. They know exactly how to hit where it hurts. The moment they realized Mr. Henderson was siding with the boys, they rebelled. I stepped to the front and flipped Brad off. "Coward. Toothpick. Loser." "Jordan!!!" Brad’s face turned purple. He lunged over a desk to slap me. The girls shoved him back, scratching and pulling, protecting me like a phalanx of warriors. I pushed my messy hair out of my eyes, seized the opportunity, grabbed Brad by the collar, and slapped him. My nails left three bright red streaks down his cheek. Seeing the situation spiraling, Mr. Henderson panicked. He ran to get our substitute homeroom teacher, Mr. Lee. Mr. Lee was another piece of work. He was the type who openly said, "Premature dating is always the girl's fault for seducing the boy." Seeing the gender war erupting in his classroom, he didn't even ask questions. He ordered me to read my apology letter in front of the entire school at the Monday morning assembly. To appear "fair," he told Brad to clean the chalkboard for a week. Everyone knew cleaning the board was a joke compared to a public apology at an assembly. That was a formal disciplinary action. It was a public shaming. The girls' rage was enough to blow the roof off the school. I raised a hand to stop them. Looking at Brad’s gloating face and Mr. Lee’s blatant bias, I replied calmly. "Fine. Monday assembly. I’ll do it." 02 I didn't write a single word of that apology. I didn't think I was wrong. I didn't think I owed anyone anything. So, I found an old essay, crossed out the title, and wrote [Apology Letter] at the top. Then, I walked confidently onto the stage in the auditorium. I took the microphone from Mr. Lee, faced the entire student body, and said one sentence: "Please, learn from me." "Jordan, are you crazy?!" Mr. Lee hissed, his eyes bulging. He realized too late that I was going off-script. He lunged to grab the mic. I didn't let him. I ran across the stage, shouting into the microphone as I dodged him. "I don't think I was wrong! And I don't think fighting back is crossing the line! Some people are born cheap and won't learn until they get hit!" "You laugh when you give people nicknames, but you cry when you get one back? Brad, you are the most spineless coward in history. Even a dog would spit on you for bad luck!" "You think you won? You only 'won' because the teachers are biased! If you had any guts, you'd own up to your nasty habit of sexually harassing girls! If your parents came to school, I’d ask them exactly how they raised such a disgusting piece of trash!" "You have no shame! You think acting like a clown gets you attention? Brad, let me tell you—in everyone's eyes, you’re just a joke!" I got all my anger out before the administration cornered me like a game of hawk-and-chicken. I was caught, obviously. But I held my head high. I didn't feel an ounce of shame. Standing in the principal's office later, I was smiling. Especially when I saw Brad outside, looking furious but terrified to show his face, shrinking away from everyone’s gaze. I stared at him, remembering how arrogant he used to be. It felt amazing. "Well said!" "We're with you, Jordan!" "Good job!" The girls in my class started clapping. Even though Mr. Lee was screaming for order, they cheered for me. Applause is contagious. Led by my class, girls from other grades started clapping too. Some even shouted that I was their hero. I felt vindicated. I realized that bravery feels good. I realized that if I go crazy enough, no one dares to bully me. Not even the biased teachers. The Principal reprimanded Mr. Henderson and Mr. Lee for letting it get this far, criticizing their lack of professionalism. Brad was quiet for a few days. The other boys, seeing their leader taken down a peg, stopped using the nicknames. We thought we could go back to studying, to living a normal high school life. We thought nobody would be stupid enough to start trouble again. That’s how I thought it ended. But I forgot that some people are born petty. They have to win, no matter how dirty they have to play. Brad was that kind of person. A few days later, a vague rumor started circulating on the school’s Discord server and anonymous confessions page. It said a female student's mother worked in "that kind of industry" and serviced old men. The attached photo was a woman in a cocktail dress, her face blurred out. Because the post used banned words, the students, hungry for drama, started digging. They wanted to know whose parent was so "scandalous." They dug and dug until they pointed the finger at me. Because my mom liked fashion. She liked wearing nice dresses when she picked me up. Just like that, inexplicably, my mother became a sex worker in the mouths of these disgusting boys. When I heard the rumor, I was stunned. I never thought the misogyny would be directed at my mother. I was consumed by rage. Without evidence, just because my mom dressed nicely, they did this? I was going to find out which little bastard started it, and I was going to kill him. I started my own investigation. I threatened the admins of the confession page, telling them this wasn't over, that this was defamation, and I would call the police if they didn't give me the source. The issue had gotten too big in the group chats. The admins, terrified of liability, gave me the user ID immediately. It was a burner account. But in the digital footprint, I found a frequent visitor link. It led straight to Brad’s main profile. There was nothing left to understand. I laughed out of pure anger. I gripped the heavy metal water bottle in my hand, feeling like I had been too gentle before. I had given him the ability to hurt my family. So, the next morning, I stood at the classroom door with my water bottle, waiting for Brad. The moment he walked in, I slapped him. Before he could react, I smashed the metal bottle directly onto his head. Clang. Everyone froze. No one knew why I had snapped. No one knew why I was starting the day with violence. They just watched, stunned, as I jumped on Brad and started swinging the bottle like a maniac. Brad took several hits. A lump was already forming on his head. But he refused to submit. "Jordan! Why are you hitting me?!" "I didn't even talk to you today! Are you off your meds?!" "Off my meds? You want to know why I'm crazy?" I wiped a splatter of blood from my eye, smiling like a demon. "I'm not just crazy, I'm going to end you!" "You spread rumors about my mom! You photoshopped her face onto porn actresses and spammed the group chats! If I don't beat you to death today, I don't deserve to be her daughter!" I threw the dented water bottle aside and pulled a heavy thermos from my other pocket. I swung again. This time I missed, and Brad scrambled away, crawling on the floor, running for his life. I chased him, hair wild, thermos raised high. I was going to beat the shit out of him. "Jordan! Jordan, wait!" Sarah was chasing me. Seeing me standing at the school gate looking like a predator, she rushed over to grab my thermos. I was furious. "Sarah, are you stopping me? If you stop me, we are done! I have to end him today!" I couldn't believe it. Sarah was siding with that trash? Was she not my best friend? My eyes burned with tears. Then, she pried my fingers open. She took the thermos. And placed a badminton racket in my hand. "My dad bought this. It's titanium alloy. Light, aerodynamic, and hurts like hell." "The thermos is too clumsy. This is better." "...Oh." 03 Armed with my new weapon, I resumed the hunt. I circled the playground but didn't see the little coward. He was loud when he was insulting people. He was happy when he was spreading rumors. But when it came time to take a beating, he ran faster than a stray dog. He shouldn't be running. He should be standing there like a man to take his punishment. I sneered and turned toward the academic building's restrooms. Sure enough, in the first-floor boys' bathroom, I caught Brad lurking. His face was black and blue, his hair was a bird's nest, and his shirt buttons were ripped off. He looked like a beggar. Seeing me, he actually shrieked and tried to dive into a stall, looking like he planned to hide there until the end of time. I slammed the racket against the bathroom door and shouted inside: "Any guys in there, finish up and get out! I'm settling a debt with Brad." "If you don't want to be collateral damage, leave now! Don't say I didn't warn you!" "I'm counting to twenty!" I counted down. Once I was sure the innocent bystanders had fled, I rolled up my sleeves and charged. I saw Brad scrambling to climb out the window, stepping on a mop bucket. I didn't think. I sprinted over, grabbed his pants, and yanked him back. Mr. Lee and a crowd of administrators burst in just in time to see me dragging Brad by the waistband, trying to pull him off the windowsill. Brad was wailing, covering his exposed boxers, begging me to spare him. Spare him? Who spared my mother? I used all my strength, planted my foot against the wall, and yanked him down to the wet tile floor. Before the teachers could reach us, I grabbed his collar and slapped him again. "Why didn't you think about this when you were typing those lies?" "Insulting me wasn't enough? You had to go after my mom? I'll teach you to talk about my mom!" I kicked. I swung the racket. The strings turned his face into a waffle. Three teachers tried to hold me back. I threw my shoes at him. I grabbed a wet floor sign and threw that too. I was uncontrollable. The Dean of Students finally had to call my original homeroom teacher, Mrs. Davis, who was on maternity leave, to talk me down. Hearing Mrs. Davis's gentle voice on the phone, the adrenaline finally crashed. "Mrs. Davis... when are you coming back? Brad and the others are bullying us. The nicknames weren't enough, now they're going after my family." "No one helps us. No one cares about how the girls feel. Mr. Lee doesn't care, he only cares about the boys..." "No one helps me... no one..." I broke down, sitting on the dirty bathroom floor, sobbing my heart out. It hadn't been like this before. When Mrs. Davis was here, Brad never dared to go this far. Mrs. Davis started crying on the other end of the line. She promised to come back as soon as she could. Before hanging up, she yelled through the phone for Mr. Lee to "Wait right there." The teachers stood awkwardly. Mr. Lee looked pale. Facing the Dean's angry glare, Mr. Lee couldn't say a word. When the investigation revealed Brad was the source of the rumors, I had texted Mr. Lee for help. His reply? [Tell your mom not to wear such flashy dresses.] [If she wore normal clothes, none of this would happen.] So it was my mom's fault? That text was the spark that burned my rationality to ash. It was why I hunted Brad down without mercy. Because the system had failed me. And I didn't want my mom to know. I was too ashamed. "Dean." I wiped the hair from my face, staring dead at Brad in the crowd. "Expel me. Suspend me. I don't care. But Brad goes down with me!" 04 "Kid, don't talk about dying. It's bad luck." The Dean didn't argue with me. He handed me a pack of tissues and told me to clean myself up in the girls' room, go to the nurse, and then come to the office to meet the parents. Only then did I realize that in my rage, I had hurt myself. My adrenaline had masked the pain of two torn fingernails. Sarah washed my hands for me, crying the whole time. The other girls fixed my hair and clothes. One girl took off her jacket and put it on me to cover my torn collar. "I know Brad's parents," the Class President said calmly as we walked to the nurse's office. "They are notoriously unreasonable." "They will definitely focus on the fact that you hit him first. Don't let them twist the narrative." "Don't be afraid in that office. I'm going to borrow a phone and call my parents. I'm telling them about the insults. We're making this huge." "Right. Don't be scared, Jordan. We're here." Sarah wiped her eyes. "Brad's crew wrote disgusting stories about me, too. I ignored it before. I'm calling my dad now to come back me up." "They always bully us because we stay silent." "You can't be afraid." The Arts Rep's eyes were red. "I... I'm calling my parents too. They call me 'Blackie' and say dirty things to my face. My mom is fierce. She'll destroy them." The girls surrounded me, a tight circle of support. I nodded, smearing tears across my face. "I'm not afraid. Don't worry. I won't be afraid." I had accepted the consequences the night before. If you dare speak ill of my mother, you better be prepared for me to fight until the bitter end. So I went. To face Brad's unreasonable, unforgiving parents. Sure enough, seeing their son looking like a waffle iron victim, Brad's parents exploded. They tried to charge through the wall of teachers to tear me apart. I stood three feet away, watching them scream like banshees, and laughed coldly. "Uncle, Auntie. You're right. I beat the hell out of your son." "I admit I tried to hurt him. If I could, I'd do it again right now." "I don't think I'm wrong. Brad is a scumbag who deserved to be smashed into the floor. You should thank me. Thank me that I was the one who beat him today." "If it were someone else, you'd be identifying a body right now." That triggered Brad's mom. She started shrieking. "You hit him and you're proud?! If my son has a scar or brain damage, I'm calling the police!" "I'm calling the police too!" If she glared at me, I glared back harder. "If you can't teach your son, shove him back where he came from!" "I'm telling you, this isn't over! He came for my mother. I'm going to find every group chat he made, and you better prepare yourself for him to get slapped again!" The more I spoke, the angrier I got. I kicked a chair over, grabbed the sitting Brad, and cocked my fist again. The Dean had to sit between us, using his body as a shield. Seeing me target her son, Brad's mom finally shut up. That allowed her husband to speak. "I know Brad made a mistake, but it wasn't a big deal, was it? No one knows your mom. Just deny it. By chasing him around the school, aren't you just admitting the rumor is true?" "Why make a mountain out of a molehill? If people gossip about your mom now, that's your fault, not Brad's." "Besides, my son has a bad temper, but he doesn't bully people without reason. There must be a cause." "Last time he came home with scratches on his face. I asked him, but he wouldn't say..." Brad's dad sighed, acting like his son was a noble martyr who finally snapped. If I weren't the victim, I'd have applauded this middle-aged man's performance. He could teach a masterclass in gaslighting. Too bad I wasn't falling into the self-defense trap. And I definitely wasn't going to debate whether my mom should wear a qipao or a cocktail dress. I smiled openly. "Oh? Victim blaming. Classic." "You blind, giant babies. With a disability like yours, why haven't you applied for welfare?" "Let me tell you something. Leading a group to mock people is bullying. Your son didn't stop there; he manufactured sexual rumors about my mother. If that post gets 500 reposts or 5000 views, your son goes to juvie!" "You can say 'he's just a child' a million times, but the law doesn't care. Take your twisted logic to the police and see if they buy it!" I rolled my eyes. I probably looked like a villain, mocking them like that. But it felt good. Watching Brad's parents' faces twist? Even better. Girls need to be brave. We need to be tough. When you decide to bite back hard, no one dares to yap at you anymore. See? Brad's parents, who were screaming murder a minute ago, heard "juvie" and went quiet as mice. Too bad I wasn't buying their peace offering. I sneered again. "You sneeze without a jacket and blame the kid blowing bubbles 200 yards away for giving you a cold. Sir, are you a professional scammer? You seem very practiced at lying down in traffic to claim insurance money." "You!!" Brad's dad turned purple, choking on his rage. I watched with a smirk, coldly observing, hoping he might actually choke on his own spit. As if they were the only ones with mouths. If they dared to push the blame on me, I’d dump the whole trash can on their heads. I hit him. I admit that. But Brad wasn't going to play the victim. He didn't deserve it.
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