05: The Year Everything Fell Apart

When we moved to Phoenix, everything changed.

The warmth I had back home—the friendships, the family rhythm, the comfort of being known—disappeared. I stepped into a new school, a new city, and almost immediately, into the crosshairs of a bully who would make the next year a living nightmare.

It started over a girl who asked me to be her boyfriend.

Her name was Kelly.

The bully asked me if I was her boyfriend. I had heard he liked her, so I said yes—but added that I didn’t think it would last. He ran back and told her.

I panicked.

I denied his story. I was terrified that if Kelly knew what I’d said, she’d ruin me. She was popular. So was he. They had power, and I had nothing.

I eventually came clean, and I tried to break it off with her in a softer way, like maybe this was a sign, like maybe we shouldn’t keep going. I should have never lied in the first place. You do dumb things when you’re scared.

But the damage was done.

I had pissed him off. His crew. The entire popular crowd you didn’t mess with.

And I had pissed her off—and her network shut me out.

No one wanted anything to do with me.

The first month of school, I got jumped. No words. No warning. Just fists.

Two months later, I got jumped again—this time by his friends, in front of a grocery store.

Third time? A group of different friends—same bully, different fists. This time in front of a pizza place near my house.

Every time I got jumped, I did the same thing.

I froze.

Not because I was scared to fight.

Not because I didn’t feel strong.

But because something inside me had already learned: fighting wouldn’t save me.

So I stood there.

I let them hit me.

I let them knock me down.

And every time, I stood back up.

I would just look at them. Not with defiance. Not with hate. Just with a kind of quiet hope.

Please like me.

Please be my friend.

I didn’t want revenge.

I wanted connection.

I didn’t cry in front of them.

The crying came later.

Behind closed doors. Alone.