My brother. His life was over before it began. He was fifteen. Not even an adult. Still a boy in many ways. Walking through the hallways it is difficult to focus on anything. I see the kids walk down the hallway with another victim. They say words. Words that killed my brother. They push with their hands. Hands that killed my brother. I can’t let them do it again. Not after what my brother went through. He would want me to do this. I wish I had done it for him. But I was too blind to see what was going on.

“Who are they?” I would ask.

“Friends,” he would answer.

“But they sounded mean,” I would reply.

“They’re just teasing,” he would say.

But looking back I can’t believe I did not see it before. The tightness in his throat, the way his fists clenched and unclenched. His eyes blinking rapidly to hold back tears. When we all went to bed did he stay up and cry? When Mom and Dad asked how his day went, did he lie? Why didn’t he tell us? Why didn’t he tell me? We told each other everything. He was my brother, I was his sister, that’s how it worked. I wish he told someone before he did the unthinkable. Before he was gone. Now I will never see him again. It was not fair that he felt he had to do that. That it was the only way to solve the problem. Why couldn’t he see that there was so many people that cared about him and were willing to help?

The adrenaline is pumping through me now and I can’t stand it any longer. Before another hand lands on the victim, I step between him and the bully. Standing as tall as I can, I holler, “Stop it!”

The kid I am sticking up for stops cowering and I am loud enough that I attract the attention of teachers who were too distracted by conversation to see anything going on. Curious students crowd around us and the bully crosses his arms.

“Make me,” he snarls. His friends snicker.

I’m out of words, but luckily, the principal makes his way through the crowd and approaches us. “All of you, my office.”

We all wait in the main office as the principal calls us into his office one by one. Finally, it’s my turn. I tell him the whole story. I explain there were several witnesses that saw what the bully did. I hope he realizes what he did. I hope the kid he bullied will be alright. Walking down the hallway, I feel confident knowing I did a good thing. I think my brother would be proud. I wonder why I couldn’t do it for him, too.