When I was in the fifth grade, there was a girl in my class who would always be very mean and rude. She would always pick on others and was never in a good mood. The teacher would always tell her, “You have to treat others like you would want to be treated.” But she didn’t take the teacher’s advice; she would be mean or rude, and then cry when nobody would want to talk to her or play with her.

When I told my mom about the girl, she told me that I didn’t know what made the girl act that way, and to never be mean to her no matter how horrible she would act toward me. But as the school year went on, the girl still acted the way she always had. She never changed.

A year later when I was in sixth grade the girl moved out of town. I remember thinking that in all her time of going to my school, she never had one friend. I’m sixteen years old now and a sophomore in high school. I still occasionally think about that girl and how she is doing, and wish that when we were younger, she had a stable environment in our class, where she could focus on learning instead of picking on others. An environment, where instead of avoiding her, we supported and tried to help her. Maybe that would have changed her outcome in life. Maybe that would have changed my outlook on her.

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