Q1. Write short funny story on ‘Bullying’
Answers
Answer:
It was her. She was bending her head, busy bagging my groceries, and she had lost her slim figure, but I could recognize her. Her nails were painted purple, and her hands were still masculine, as I remembered.
We went to the same middle school 25 years ago. She was a dazzling, perfect girl who immediately attracted attention. She was a head taller than me, black hair shining with vitality. She was the first one in my class that owned a watch, which meant more than owning an iphone X nowadays. She often polished her nails in bright colors that matched her stylish well-tailored clothes.
We were not friends. In fact, in the first year, she barely looked at me. I was a skinny girl in dull, faded clothes, staying alone reading novels that most kids didn’t care.
One day in the fall of the second school year, she reached out her hand, square and masculine, and said, “Let’s be friends.”
My heart pounded fast; my brain went blank. Other girls giggled, making me feel awkward. After a brief hesitation, I replied, “Sure,” stretching my hand out and touching hers. I was not sure what our friendship would be like, but I knew that being her friend meant being part of the popular girl group.
After school, I was asked to join them at an abandoned playground and to play their favorite girl game — volleyball. I had no clue how to play volleyball. Obviously, it did not matter because they were willing to train me.
It was a desolate clearing coated with chaotic weeds, hiding behind the grove that faced our school. The moist air was suffused with pungent smell of grass. A bird fluttered through and flicked away. Only the rusty slide and the crooked monkey bar reminded people that it used to be a playground packed with joy and laughter of children.
Five girls, including her, stood in front of me. She was in the middle, already changed to her sports outfit — black shorts and a blue T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. In front of them was a big mesh bag with volleyballs.