Peacekeeper

Prompt: "The nickname: Write about how you earned it" This story was written in 40 minutes for Power of the Pen and remains unedited

“...and finally our newest student, Lah - um - is it Lake-shmy?” Mr. Patterson’s nose wrinkled as he squinted at my name on the attendance sheet.

I fidgeted nervously in my seat. “It’s Lakshmi, sir. Lak-shmee.”

“Oh yes,” he said with a note of disgust I was not unaccustomed to hearing. “Our new Muslim student. The refugee girl.”

A boy down the aisle hooted. “She’s even got a terrorist name!” I burned with fury. My name had nothing to do with my faith. My name came from my mother’s Nepalese background, and my faith was my father’s. My parents, from two completely different backgrounds, had met at a refugee camp and married soon after. Last week, they’d immigrated to the U.S. with me. Honestly, I love my name and my faith, but sometimes other people’s opinions get to me. Why do so many people treat being unique as something scary?

I waited for Mr. Patterson to quell the “terrorist” comment, but he didn’t. He just raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Interesting point.”

The girl next to me nudged me. “Hey, terrorist girl,” she sneered. “My name’s Sarah. Nice, down-to-earth American name.”

“Your name might as well be ‘terrorist’,” said the boy behind me. “After all, you clearly are one.”

Another kid smirked. “I think it is her name,” he said slyly, jerking my hijab. “After all, it’s what we all call her.”

And that was my nickname for the next four months.

***

I learned to walk with my head down, shrink into a crowd, but they still found me. They’d bump me or trip me and sneer, “Oops, sorry, Terrorist,” with no sincerity. They’d pretend to be kind, but drop words like a ton of cement on my face.

One day, though, something changed. A Native American boy who spoke with an ethnic accent was defending himself against a bigger boy. He was crying, tears dripping onto the floor. The bully was shouting and cursing and once even slapped the cowering boy. And in that moment, I couldn’t stand it.

“Hey!” I strode up to the bully.

“Oh look, it’s Terrorist, hiding a gun in her head scarf!”

“It’s a hijab. And back off.” I spun to the cowering boy. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” he choked.

“And yours?” I asked the bigger boy.

“Blue. But so what?”

“So you’ve got something in common.” I proceeded to check their favorite animals, books, and subjects - and they were actually quite similar. Both were surprised.

And then the older boy helped the smaller one up, and whispered, “Sorry.” Then he turned to me.

“Hey, Ter - I mean Lakshmi, you’re not so bad after all.” I smiled.

And that’s how I earned my new nickname - Peacekeeper.

Reviews

[matrixmark]

Very well put together piece. You painted a very clear picture of bullying throughout this solidly structured piece and i was very impressed with the entire flow of the piece. You have a good sense of how grammar is mean' t to be. You showed a number of emotions and executed them well. Great ending to a great short piece.

Mark.

[BuddingAuthor]

Thank you so much! I really appreciate your taking the time to read and review. I don't know if you saw the description, but this piece was written for Power of the Pen. POP is an interscholastic writing tournament for 7th and 8th graders in Ohio. Contestants are given a prompt and 40 minutes to brainstorm, draft, and hand-write a final copy to turn into the judge. That's why it's so short. I have a few other POP stories posted and hope to add more next week after my next competition. Thank you!

[matrixmark]

I did read that and again i am impressed.

Mark.

[BuddingAuthor]

Thanks so much! It was very helpful and uplifting to read!

[matrixmark]

Not a problem. You are very talented.

Mark.