Who doesn’t love playing football, or soccer as Americans call it? It is a game that requires some talent and know-how. Even if you are not good at it , you can still have fun with friends . Running around a field in friendly combat, kicking a ball, and hoping to get a goal is freedom where you do not have to think about school, homework, chores, or nagging parents. If you never tried football, you should try it, as there is no better way of having fun. Most 12-year-old boys like me would agree with this.
So this story starts one day at school when we played football during recess. When recess was over, the other boys went to class; however, I was a bit slower as we had math class, and who wants to rush to math class, the worst class? So I figured that I could play football for a few minutes and go to class at the last minute. So I kicked the ball around by myself. That's when catastrophe happened. Don't ask me how I did it, but when I kicked the ball, it had a mind of its own. I aimed to kick it against a wall, but the ball decided it would go through a window, shattering it, and on top of that it hit the trophy glass cabinet, which was glass, which meant that the cabinet's glass was also shattered and the school trophies were scattered all over the ground. Despite that it was a remarkable shot, I also knew it meant trouble.
I decided it was best to go to class and pretend that it never happened. If the teachers found out that I broke the window, I would be in big trouble. On top of that, the students would hate me as they would blame me for trying to destroy the school trophies. This would not be good, as I never did like when people were mad at me or disliked me. In my head, I was thinking that it was important just to be innocent.
As I was walking to class, the principal stopped me and asked me if I knew anything about the broken window. I panicked and thought of myself behind prison bars and being branded as a criminal. There was no way that I wanted to admit to the broken window. I told the principal that I saw Tim kick the ball and then saw Tim run away. This seemed like the best solution to frame Tim, as I knew that Tim would not get in trouble. Tim was the same age as me (12 years old) and was in my class. You see, Tim was a very quiet and shy boy who seemed to always be in the background. No one noticed him, and he only had one friend. My reasoning for framing Tim was the principal would tell Tim that it was no big deal, as Tim never caused trouble.
So the principal called Tim into the office and accused the boy of breaking the window. Tim, of course, denied everything, saying that he does not even play football as he is hopeless at kicking the ball. The principal commented that the broken window showed how bad Tim was at football. Tim's protests and his plea of innocence were dismissed . He would have to pay for the window as well as a week of detention. The crime was not just breaking the window ; it was also not owning up to it.
The news about Tim breaking the window and destroying the trophy cabinet went like wildfire through the school. Tim's problem now was not detention; it was the others in the class. It seems like breaking a window was bad, but many thought destroying the trophy cabinet was unforgivable. The trophy cabinet represented the victories of the school and what the school was good at. It was a memory of the hard work that students went through to get these trophies. When everyone heard that Tim had done it, he was the target of bullying. In fact, Tim was an easy target as he did not fight back or tell the adults he was being bullied.
It was hard for me to see how Tim was bullied . He was called a troublemaker , and he was harassed because of the trophy cabinet. On top of this, he was called a chicken because he would not admit to it. Name-calling was one harassment that Tim experienced, but he was also physically bullied. He would be pushed and shoved. I also noticed that he would be a target during recess when others would try to hit him with a football. I did not bully Tim in any way, but this did not matter, as it was my fault that he was bullied .
The bullying of Tim did not stop. It seems that the bullies enjoyed that he did not fight back or snitch to the teachers. Bullies got high off the agony that they inflicted on Tim, especially when Tim would start crying. You would think that breaking a window is a very small thing to treat someone like this. To me, it's obvious that this was just an excuse to bully him. I think you may be asking if I felt guilty, and the answer is, of course, I did. It was unfair as Tim did not break the window. I did it as well as framing someone who did not do it. Tim was enduring unfair treatment. The problem is that I could not own up to it. I feared the consequences if I did so.
Tim only had one friend in the world, and her name was Rose. A few days after Tim was getting bullied and it was just getting worse and worse, Rose confronted me. She was worried about Tim, as she said he was a very sensitive boy who just wanted to be left in peace. Rose told me that Tim was the nicest person that she knew and would never harm anyone, not even a fly. It was hard for her to see her friend getting bullied for something that he did not do. Then she looked me in the eye and told me that she knew who broke the window, but the problem was that she had no proof. When she said this, my knees went weak, and I bet I looked as white as snow. Did Rose know that it was me that did it?
Things were not much better at home. The guilt and witnessing Tim being bullied were all that I could think of. This was horrible, as my mind was in turmoil all the time. This made me quiet at home, where I would just slope around or lay on my bed looking up at the ceiling. My mom noticed this and told me that she could see that something was bothering me. I was usually very happy and full of energy, never stopped talking and would make people smile. Mom gave me the speech that I was soon going to be a teenager and she knew what the problems were that teenagers had. She wanted me to know that she was there for me if I ever needed to talk. I could not tell Mom that I was the worst person in the world. How could I tell my mom that I was a criminal who was responsible for another boy being in a living hell?
Things were getting very bad . I could not sleep as I was having nightmares. Every time I tried to sleep, I would dream of how Tim was being bullied and how much he was suffering. I would have nightmares about the window being broken as its glass splintered in pieces and then see the destroyed trophy cabinet with trophies all over the floor. The boys and girls that helped earn these trophies would be either mad or crying because some of the trophies now had dents in them. I would wake up after these nightmares in a cold sweat and an anxiety attack. All this meant that I did not want to go back to sleep as I knew that these nightmares would come back.
About a week after Tim started being bullied, things got worse again. The teacher told us that Tim had taken a day off of school due to personal reasons. Of course, I knew the reason why he was not at school. It was because of me. As I heard the teacher tell us that Tim would not be coming, I knew that it was serious. The teacher never told us if someone was sick and would not be coming to school. This meant that the bullying was now too much for Tim, and he did not even dare to come to school. I know that the teacher did not say this, and it was just my assumption, but what else could it be? This was enough to give me a panic attack. What made it worse was that I was worried others would notice how guilty I looked. Conscience is a bad thing.
It seems that it was just not me that was thinking the same thing. The rumours that Tim took a day off because of bullying were going all over the school in every corner. It was the major gossip of the school all day. This was not good for me, as I would get some anxiety every time someone mentioned Tim's name. Not only this but at the end of the day, the rumours that swirled were that Tim ran away because of the bullying. He could now be begging for food on some street corner. All this was worrying. We did not know where Tim was or why he was away, but that did not stop the rumours.
The next day, Tim was not at school either. It made me think that the worst possible thing happened. Maybe it was true that Tim ran away and is now some lost homeless child without a friend in the world. It could be because of the bullying, but at the end of the day, it was my fault, as I was the one who framed him. Tim was being bullied for something that I did not take responsibility for. I felt like I had caused irreversible harm. I have ruined Tim's life.
It didn’t help hearing others talk about Tim. Some were boasting about how they bullied him both mentally and physically. The way they talked was like a competition on who was the best bully. Surprisingly, they did not think that they were doing anything wrong, as according to them, it was Tim's fault for being such a wimp. According to them, if Tim stood up for himself, then he would not be bullied. This confused me as to how anyone can make an excuse for bullying anyone, especially someone who cannot stand up for themselves. I do not think that the bullies even knew why they were bullying Tim. Tim was invisible to them until they paid attention to him when Tim got in trouble about breaking the window, but I think this was just an excuse for them.
Maybe Tim should have stood up for himself, and maybe the bullies should have left him alone. At the end of the day, it was my fault. If I took responsibility for what I did, then there would be no problem. I would not be responsible for Tim's life being ruined and then giving a few a chance to be bullies. Everything was my fault, and this meant that I could not sleep, and all I could think about was Tim and everything being my fault. I was now resolved to make things right; I just was unsure how to do this.
The next day, I told my best friend Sarah everything. I told her that Tim was being bullied , and now we don’t know where he is because of me. I told her that it was me that broke the window. It felt so good that I finally said it out loud, even though I knew it would not help a thing. Sarah advised me to tell the truth, which in other words meant I had to go to the principal and own up to what I had done wrong.
My world fell apart once again; I could not do this. I could be expelled from the school not only for breaking a window but also for blaming it on a boy who was too afraid to come to school, and we did not know where he was. On top of this, my parents would be so disappointed with me. I could not follow Sarah's advice.
To be continued
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