"Honey, do wewe feel guilty for what your parents did?" Dr. Bellamont asked. We were in the middle of a session that I was being forced to participate in. I shrugged. "I think wewe do," she alisema quietly. I clenched my hands into fists. It made me mad that she assumed that. It also made me mad that she was also kind of right.

Dr. Bellamont went on for a while, saying about how it wasn't my fault for what my parents did. After a couple dakika I got sick of listening to her and blocked everything out. She sighed.

"Hecate? Are wewe even listening?" she asked. I nodded, and she raised an eyebrow. I pursed my lips, and then finally gave up and shook my head. "I think it would be good for wewe to put yourself out there more. jiunge a club. Volunteer somewhere. Do something," she explained. I folded my hands and ducked my head. Even the thought of "putting myself out there" got my moyo racing. I wasn't sure that'd work.

After our session, Dr. Bellamont explained her idea to Mrs. Stueck.

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea!" she alisema excitedly. I frowned. This was not working out. Throughout the whole car ride, Mrs. Stueck went on with ideas for what I could do. She suggested I tried out for cheerleading. That was out of the question. Debate club? That makes no sense to me.

"What about art club?" Mr. Stueck suggested when we got home.

"You'd be great at that," Amica smiled. I fiddled with my sleeves uncomfortably.

"You should do that tomorrow," Mrs. Stueck said. The tone in her voice alisema I didn't have a choice. I sighed and went up to my room.

***

The inayofuata siku after school, I went to the art room. A couple kids were still there, for art club I assumed. The place was nearly empty.

"Hello," alisema Ms. Morreno, the art teacher. "Are wewe here to jiunge art club? We're always open for new members," she alisema warmly. I stood there for a while, then had to remind myself to nod. "Well just take a kiti, kiti cha and get started. We like to review what everyone is doing afterwards. But don't worry, it doesn't matter what it turns out like. Art is art." I nodded my head once in gratitude, then took my seat.

I was sure to sit kwa myself at a table. I felt kind of guilty; I was supposed to be doing this to open up more. Still, it gave me a little piece of mind to be kwa myself. I didn't feel like anyone was staring at me... as much. I noticed a couple kids looking my way. I glanced up at them just for a moment, and they looked away real fast, stifling giggles. Others kept their stare, looking very angry.

"Murderer," I heard someone whisper.

"I wish this state allowed the death sentence," another grumbled. My face felt like it was on fire, and I tried to focus on my drawing, but I couldn't. I got up and went to the supplies table, to get an eraser. I was gone for just a minute. When I came back, written on my paper was written in thick black ink: "GO TO HELL." I stopped, with my mouth hanging open. They started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Ms. Morreno asked, as if she wanted to get in on the fun. The laughing stopped, and then she became suspicious. She looked at me. I shook my head, and quickly crumpled the paper and pushed it aside on my desk.

I got a new sheet of paper and started to redraw my sketch. Something hit me. Something small. I moved my hand up, and ran it through my hair. A small wad of paper fell into my fingers. zaidi giggles. My face flushed, and my eyes were starting to sting. They threw zaidi paper at me, and I squeezed my eyes shut. A couple dakika later, I couldn't take it anymore.

I left the art room, tears streaming down my face.

"Hecate?" Ms. Morreno called after me. I ignored her and ran faster. I ended up at a park, halfway between the Stuecks' and school. I sat at the bench, and covered my eyes with my hands, and cried. I felt so silly for crying over this. But still, even though it wasn't a big deal, it made me feel zaidi alienated than I usually did. It was humiliating.

And I couldn't win.

There's never winning with bullying like this. They find humor out of your frustration, and your obliviousness.

"Hecate?" a voice asked. I looked up through my tears. It was Axel. I sniffed, and waved shyly at him. He scooped up his skateboard in his hand, and came over and sat kwa me. A couple other guys stood off to the side, looking confused. I knew they must be from school, but they never hung around us. "Hecate, what's wrong? Are wewe ok?" he asked. I wiped my tears with my sleeve and nodded. "Come on, why don't I take wewe home." He put his arm around me, and we stood up.

He walked me home, which I couldn't help but be thankful for.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked. I nodded, and took a deep breath.

"Thanks," I alisema barely. My voice was even less than a whisper. But he heard it, and smiled.

"No problem," he said. He leaned over and hugged me tight. Just like I had been when Mrs. Stueck had, I was overly stunned and immobilized. Then, with my arms shaking, I reached up and hugged him back. It was weird. I'd never understood why people hugged. It always seemed like an odd gesture to me. But now I did understand. The warmth seemed to radiate through me, and even though it was just for a second, my worries seemed to disperse. Then he let go and smiled. "See ya at school tomorrow." He waved, and then he was off.

"How'd art club go?" Mr. Stueck asked when I came inside. I sighed and shook my head, with a look that said, wewe do not want to know. He frowned. "Well, there's always other things wewe could try."

***

We came to a place called Feed My Starving Children.

They had us start preparing meals. I understood that it fed the poor, but I didn't understand to what extent. We made meals for a little over an hour, then it was break time. I went to the front desk, where they had posters and statistics.

"10 million people are at risk of starvation in Somalia, Kenya, Ethiopia, Sudan and South Sudan..." It felt like I just got kicked in the stomach. I knew there were homeless people dying from starvation on the streets, but there were whole countries dying from hunger. Tears flooded to my eyes as I looked at the pictures. Poor little children, whose ribs were clearly visible. Most of them were orphans, trying to find chakula for themselves. Others' parents had no way of feeding their children, and were forced to watch their kids die. And it was happening in zaidi than seventy countries around the world.

I was able to get through the day, making chakula packages for kids dying of starvation. But when we got back in the car, I just Lost it. Mrs. Stueck stared at me, startled, while I cried.

"Honey? What's wrong? wewe did a good thing today!" she tried to explain. I felt good about helping those children. But seeing all this made me mad. How could anyone let this happen? Why couldn't someone end this completely?

When we got home, Mr. Stueck decided maybe Feed My Starving Children wasn't for me.

"No!" I whimpered. Sure, it made me feel terrible to have everything I could need, and not be satisfied with it, but at least I was trying to do something. They stared at me, shocked.

"You want to do it again?" he asked. I nodded real fast. "Um... ok..."

I continued volunteering at Feed My Starving Children. I didn't cry afterwards anymore. It still saddened me, but I was able to handle it better. It felt good to know I was helping someone, instead of hurting them.