People looked down on me because I was the poorest kid in school. I was so happy when a rich classmate asked me to her ninth birthday party. I wore my best clothing, yet her mom kept staring at me. I didn’t fit in, so I left early. When I went home and unzipped my bag, I was shocked.
Inside was a little, glittery beauty bag with a shiny hairpin and some bracelets. These couldn’t have been mine. I stopped moving. I thought right away that someone must have put it in my luggage. What if they think I took it? That was my second thinking.
My heart raced as I held the sack. It smelled like the kind of perfume you can only purchase in department stores. I didn’t even have a hairpin, let alone one with fake diamonds on it. I wanted to go back to the party and give it back, but it was too late. My mom had to work at night and wouldn’t be home until the next morning.
I scarcely slept at all. The next day at school, I brought the pouch in my bag and was ready to give it back without making a big deal out of it. But before I could give it back, I saw a lot of people around Zariah, the birthday girl. Her mom was also there, chatting to the teacher in a quiet voice. The teacher then called my name.
We walked into the hallway. It seemed like my stomach was becoming smaller. The teacher’s voice was low, but it was clear what she was saying: Zariah’s mom said she saw me staring at the present table for too long, and now one of Zariah’s gifts was gone. My throat dried up.
I told them I had it, but I didn’t mean to take it. When I tried to explain, Zariah’s mom stared at me like I was lying. The teacher seemed worried that they would upset me or disturb the peace. She told me to show it to her and “learn from this.” That phrase, “learn from this,” resonated with me.
People heard about it right away. The youngsters were quiet. Some folks laughed when I walked by. A boy whispered “thief” in a low voice. I had always been the “poor girl,” but now I was the “poor thief.” The two labels stuck together like glue.
I ate lunch alone for weeks. Zariah didn’t say anything to me. Kids I had never met before stayed away from me. I couldn’t focus, which is why my grades dropped. When the teacher asked a question, I thought everyone was looking at me. I wanted to leave.
But Ananya, a quiet girl who sat at the back, didn’t trust what she heard. She didn’t say anything that would make me feel better. One day at lunch, she just sat with me and gave me half of her food. That little item made a great difference. We started talking to each other more. She never asked about the bag directly, but I could tell she didn’t trust what everyone else did.
It took a few months. I thought it was all over until the school talent show. I didn’t want to help Ananya make props for her dance show, but she pulled me into it. I was backstage putting stars on a cardboard moon when I heard two girls laughing.
“Putting it in her bag was so funny,” one of them said.
I couldn’t move.
The other female made a noise. “She was so scared!” And Mrs. B believed it right away because, you know, she’s poor.
There was Zariah’s voice.
My hands were shaking. I peeked through the curtain and saw her laughing with a different companion. It seemed like a harmless joke. My ears hurt.
I wanted to leave and yell at her in front of everyone, but I didn’t. Why would people believe me now when they didn’t before? I needed proof.
So I sat down.
I asked Ananya for help the next day. We started to pay attention to Zariah at lunch. She liked to perform small tricks on others, like switching their pencils or hiding their lunch boxes. It wasn’t a major thing, but it showed a pattern. Then, one Friday, we were lucky.
Zariah grabbed a hair clip from another girl’s desk and put it in the rucksack of someone else without their knowing. Ananya had her phone out this time because she was trying to film parts of lunch for a “day in the life” project. She witnessed it everything.
I knew it wasn’t the same as the birthday pouch, but it was enough to show me how she acted. The teacher got the footage from us. She couldn’t ignore it this time.
I met Zariah’s parents. The teacher didn’t say what happened to me directly, but I could tell she was looking at me when she talked about how bad it is to accuse someone without proof. Zariah was told to apologize to the girl she had framed. It was hard to hear her utter an apology.
I thought a lot that weekend about whether or not to convey my story. But then something unusual happened: Zariah completely ignored me on Monday. And some kids who had ignored me before started talking to me again. They didn’t say they were wrong, but they did stop calling me names.
Things didn’t go back to how they were before. It was better in some ways. I didn’t have as many friends, but the ones I did have were real. I got to know Ananya better. We began collaborating on school assignments and visiting one other’s homes.
I still remember the birthday party, the purse, and the looks after all these years. But I also remembered the day when I discovered that some people will never confess they were wrong, and that they don’t always have to do so to go on.
I went back to my hometown for a summer visit with my parents after I finished from college. I saw Zariah, a face I knew, behind the counter at the local café. She seemed like she was shocked to see me. We had a nice conversation. She told me she was putting money aside to go back to school. There was no indication of the rich, untouchable birthday girl.
She got in touch with me after I left. “Hey, about that birthday thing…” She came to a stop. “I was a kid.” I was foolish.
The apology was good enough for me, even if it didn’t have any tears or real remorse. I just nodded and said, “We were kids.” That’s OK. And for the first time, it really was okay.
That day, I learnt that getting angry only makes things worse. People who injure you may not pay the way you think they should, but life has a way of setting things right. Zariah went from being the center of attention to being just another person in the crowd. I had built a life that I was happy with.
If I could tell my younger self one thing, it would be that people who don’t understand you don’t decide how much you are worth. Sometimes, the best way to get back at someone is to live a happy life and let time do its thing.
We can’t choose how other people treat us, but we can choose how much time we spend with them. And sometimes that’s all you need to go past it.
If this tale struck a chord with you, send it to someone who has been unfairly criticized. They might also need the reminder.