As Amy was turning her locker combination, she couldn’t hold it any longer. She burst into inconsolable tears and ran to the bathroom sobbing. Sitting on the toilet cover, she wailed plaintively. Tears flooded down her cheeks as she thought, “Everyone hates me. I hate myself. I’m such a loser!” It seemed like hours in the bathroom when suddenly, the bell rang prompting her to go to class. Amy shed the last of her bitter tears. She wiped her tear-stained cheeks with her shirt sleeve and dragged herself to math class.

The math teacher’s name was Mr. Bleary. He was 21 but he looked and sounded like he was one million years old. Maybe it was the kids or the local city water. He was a like a walking coffin. He was equally enthused as a teacher — dull and absent-minded without the least care of imparting higher education to children. While Mr. Bleary was lost in his monologue of boring algebra, the kids were snickering at Amy and taunting her in class. One of the instigators started to pass around a grotesque drawing of Amy. Then each kid added their interpretation to the poorly drawn sketch. They drew her flabs of fat hanging over her stomach, stretching down to the ground. Another kid drew saggy arms with over-generous slabs of fat hanging under her arms. Amy covered her teary face and stared hard at her math book, trying to ignore the mean whispers and spiteful snickers. Then one kid blew a spitball at Amy. Quickly the class caught on and soon straws and ammunition were passed out to the whole class. Then the firing began. From all sides of the classroom, spitballs were fired at Amy. Poor Amy’s face was covered in spitballs. Mr. Bleary was oblivious to all this and continued teaching in his dreary fashion about missing variables. The blitzkrieg continued. After five minutes of spit wad assaults, Amy was covered from head to toe in spitballs. She looked like Spitzilla. She could barely move. She slowly and awkwardly got out of her seat and stood up. “Mr. Bleary, may I go to the bathroom?” Mr. Bleary peered at Amy quizzically over his spectacles. “Yes. Of course. And do clean yourself up when you come to class.” Then he proceeded to mumble to himself, “Oh, I do wish these kids would have better personal hygiene.” In the bathroom, Amy wiped off the spitballs. Now the smell of the drying saliva wafted into her nose, making her nauseous. By now, she should have been bawling but for some reason, she didn’t cry an ocean, not even a river. Actually no tears fell down. Was it because she had cried herself dry? Something felt different inside Amy. She wasn’t sure what is was but she wasn’t about to be a quitter. Amy washed her face of saliva and tears and went back to math class. At lunch, Amy was eating quietly by herself. The popular kids approached her with two plates full of whipped cream. One of the boys asked, “Here, Amy, we made these just for you. We know how much you love to eat and need to maintain your figure.” They snickered and high-fived one another. “I’m good. Thanks.” She hoped that they would leave her alone. “Are you sure? Come on, have some Amy.” “No thanks!” “I said HAVE SOME!”

The boy smashed the plates on her face. She was covered with whipped cream all over her face and her hair. The whole cafeteria erupted into laughter. Amy shrieked and jumped to her feet. The boys sneered, “Go on Amy. Run to the bathroom and cry. It’s what you do best, right?” Amy fled to take refuge in the girls’ bathroom. She began wiping the dollops of cream off her face and hair. She wanted to cry so badly but no tears fell. As she looked in the mirror, Amy caught a glimpse of something. She saw the beautiful warrior princess in the mirror. It took her a few seconds to realize that she was seeing the new Amy emerging. Behind the cream was the princess. Could this really be her? Amy told herself, “I am strong. I can overcome this. I’m not going to let those punks get to me.” She cleaned off the last of the whipped cream and found her courage. To the utter shock of the entire school, Amy walked back to the cafeteria, holding her head up high. They thought for sure that Amy would lock herself up in the bathroom until end of the school day. She confidently marched back to her seat and finished her lunch. Everyone was speechless. Was this really Amy? Who has the guts after that public humiliation to come back to the cafeteria? Who was this? After school, Amy was talking to one of her very few friends, Augie, the other super geek in school. Augie was as skinny as a wire and always had a runny nose, it was like there was an ocean of mucus up there. He wore thick coke-bottle glasses which were always slipping down his nose. Augie always had a look of perpetual fear on his face as if he was going to be pounced on any second. They were standing by the bike rack and chatting about Star Trek or something geeks like to talk about. The popular group spotted Amy and Augie outside. They walked up and Chris, the leader of the bunch said, “Hey, look at those losers!” Then they laughed.

Chris walked right up to Augie and hit him hard on the back of his head. Augie stumbled forward and almost lost his balance.

The jocks sneered at Augie’s wimpiness. Amy was infuriated. “Stop it, you jerks! Leave him alone!” She vehemently protested.
Chris was surprised for a moment, but he retorted, “What are you gonna do about it? Huh, Fat Amy? Ha ha ha!” “I said, Stop it right now!” The jock and his henchmen sneered, unfazed by her new emboldened self. Amy gave them a hard look. “You guys are a bunch of jerks. Come on, Augie. Let’s go!” They quickly walked away. A few blocks away, Augie turned to Amy. “Wow, Amy, you were awesome! I can’t believe you actually stood up to them. That’s not like you at all! Where did that come from?” Amy responded quietly, “I guess I’m not the Amy I used to be.” As Augie and Amy were talking, Phone was waving frantically at them. “Hey Amy! Psst, Amy. Psst psst.” Amy glanced around. She spotted Phone on one of the tree branches nearby. “Hey Amy! AMY!” Amy whispered, “Phone, is that you? What’s up?” Phone scurried out into the open. “There’s an emergency, you need to come with me immediately. Our world is under attack! We need you and bring Augie with you.” Augie was beyond vexed at the talking squirrel. And was Amy actually having a conversation with this thing? He squinted through his thick glass. “Have mercy, I must have eaten too many outdated Twinkies.” Phone clapped her little paws twice and chanted, “Poulet tikki masala ein shpigen shpiel wein togen tauff!” In an instant, the three of them vanished into thin air. Whoosh! And they were gone.