I’ve never been a social butterfly, but when I make friends, I stay friends. I’ve known Alex almost my entire life. We live a few minutes away from each other, and we’ve gone to the same school since kindergarten. He is a normal looking kid-dark hair, kind of scrawny, but not very tall. He’s autistic, and didn’t make friends easily in our small ,brick elementary school. It didn’t help that the kids in my class weren't very open to imperfections like speech impairments or learning disabilities. That’s why I always felt like it was my job to help him, protect him, and be his friend, because he didn’t have many. Some of the kids picked on him a bit but it wasn’t too serious and I didn’t worry about it, until we got to middle school. It would be an understatement to say he wasn’t doing well. He just didn’t know when enough was enough, and always had to have the last word in any argument which isn’t great when you’re an easy target for bored attention seeking 6th and 7th graders. I first noticed how bad it was for him in math class. It was a pretty small classroom, with cheesy quotes covering the white walls. It always smelled like sanitizer in there because Mr. Witmur, our teacher, always tried to insure his students were “healthy and happy” as he always said. Because of the limited space, all the desks were organized in columns, as close as you could fit them. You would think it would be a dark,small, cramped classroom, but because of the large windows, the class always felt larger than it actually was. I sat in front of Alex and behind Joe, in the middle of all possible drama. Joe absolutely hated Alex. One time, when Alex got a better grade than Joe on a test, Joe told the whole class that Alex’s aid helps him cheat on all his tests. Alex didn’t even have an aid. And he was probably one of the smartest kids I’ve ever met. Whenever something happened like this to him I felt so horrible, and kind of disgusted that no one was standing up for him, not even myself. I guess most people thought it was a lost cause. Sticking up for Alex is like social suicide. But even so, eventually I stopped just listening and cringing, and I started talking back to Joe. In the beginning of class, when Mr.Witmur wasn’t there yet, Joe and I would get into a lot of fights, yelling at each other. Most of the class took Joe’s side, but didn’t show it in the form of cheering him on, just by making sure I was picked last for partners, my pencils would go missing frequently. But I wasn’t too upset, they didn’t make anything harder. Before this happened, I was picked last anyways, and most people didn’t even know I was in their class. I was mostly pretty quiet. Sometimes, though, it felt hopeless, because Alex wasn’t even aware of what I was doing for him. It felt like he lived in his own little bubble, separated from the rest of the world. Oddly enough, the kid’s attitude towards Alex didn’t get worse. They lent him pencils, helped him if he dropped his binder. That’s when I realized they weren’t picking on him because he was autistic, it was because he was an easy target, and I had just taken his place. I was slightly disturbed at my discovery. It was as if they were a pack of dogs, looking for a small animal to chase up a tree. I didn’t care that now I was being picked on, I was just glad they chose someone who had the capability to fight back, even if I didn’t need to. Although I didn't mind it too much, I regret not pushing the school to do anything about it. I had told the teacher before, about what was happening right under his nose, but all he said was, yep well I’ll take care of it. The only thing is, he didn't. He could have moved Alex and Joe’s seats so they weren't so close to each other, or actually talked to Joe, and get him to stop. Taking it into my own hands probably wasn't the best idea, but at least it was effective, and it felt empowering to stand up for someone. I've never been a social butterfly, but when I make friends, I stay friends.