I laughed a little, in disbelief, "Nice. So we're called here on short notice, without time to prepare, and I'm expected to be ready?"
"Maybe outline some of the major incidents, then?"
"What about the minor ones?" I challenged her, "All of the little things that made my day-to-day so miserable?"
"If you can't remember-"
"I remember," I cut her off. I bent down to the backpack I'd set at my feet and retrieved a pile of paper. I had to flip through it for a few seconds before I could divide it into two piles. "Six vicious emails, Sophia pushed me down the stairs when I was near the bottom, making me drop my books, tripped and shoved me no less than three times during gym, and threw my clothes at me while I was in the shower after gym class had ended, getting them wet. I had to wear my gym clothes for the rest of the morning. In biology, Madison used every excuse she could to use the pencil sharpener or talk to the teacher, and each time she passed my desk, she pushed everything I had on my desk to the floor. I was watching for it the third time, and covered my stuff when she approached, so on the fourth trip, she emptied the pencil sharpener into one of her hands and dumped the shavings onto my head and desk as she walked by. All three of them cornered me after school had ended and took my backpack from me, throwing it in the garbage."
"I see," the principal made a sympathetic face, "Not very pleasant, is it?"
"That's September eighth," I pointed out, "My first day back at school, last semester. September ninth-"
"Excuse me, sorry. How many entries do you have?"
"One for pretty much every school day starting last semester. Sorry, I only decided to keep track last summer. September ninth, other girls in my grade had been encouraged by those three to make fun of me. I was wearing the backpack they had been thrown in the trash, so every girl that was in on it was holding their nose or saying I smelled like garbage. It picked up steam, and by the end of the day, others had joined in on it. I had to change my email address after my inbox filled in just a day, with more of the same sorts of things. I have every hateful email that was sent to me here, by the way." I put my hand on the second pile of papers.
"May I?" Mrs. Knott asked. I handed her the emails.
"Eat glass and choke. Looking at you depresses me. Die in a fire," she recited as she turned pages.
"Let's not get sidetracked," my dad said, "We'll get to everything in time. My daughter was speaking."
"I wasn't done with September ninth," I said, "Um, let me find my place. Gym class, again-"
"Are you wanting to recount every single incident?" the principal asked.
"I thought you'd want me to. You can't make a fair judgment until you hear everything that's happened."
"I'm afraid that looks like quite a bit, and some of us have jobs to get back to later this afternoon. Can you pare it down to the most relevant incidents?"
"They're all' relevant," I said. Maybe I'd raised my voice, because my dad put his hand on my shoulder. I took a breath, then said, as calmly as I could, "If it bothers you to have to listen to it all, imagine what it feels like to live through it. Maybe you'll get just a fraction of a percent of an idea of what going to school with them felt like."
I looked at the girls. Only Madison looked really upset. Sophia was glaring at me, and Emma managed to look bored, confident. I didn't like that.
Alan spoke, "I think we all grasp that it's been unpleasant. You've established that, and I thank you for the insight. But how many of those incidents can you prove? Were those emails sent from school computers?"
"Very few school email addresses, mostly throwaway accounts from hotmail and yahoo," Mrs. Knott replied, as she flipped through the pages, "And for the few school email accounts that were used, we can't discount the chance that someone left their account logged in when they left the computer lab." She gave me an apologetic look.
"So the emails are off the table," Alan spoke.
"It's not your place to decide that," my dad answered.
"A lot of those emails were sent during school hours," I stressed. My heart was pounding. "I even marked them out with blue highlighter."
"No," the principal spoke, "I agree with Mr. Barnes. It's probably for the best that we focus our attention on what we can verify. We can't say who sent those emails and from where."
All of my work, all of the hours I'd put in logging events when remembering the events of the day was the last thing I wanted to do, dashed to the winds. I clenched my fists in my lap.
"You okay?" my dad murmured in my ear.
There was precious little I could actually verify, though.
"Two weeks ago, Mr. Gladly approached me," I addressed the room, "He verified that some things had occurred in his class. My desk had been vandalized with scribbles, juice, glue, trash and other stuff on different days. Do you remember, Mr. Gladly?"
Mr Gladly nodded, "I do."
"And after class, do you remember seeing me in the hallway? Surrounded by girls? Being taunted?"
"I remember seeing you in the hallway with the other girls, yes. If I remember, that was not long after you told me you wanted to handle things on your own."
"That is not what I said," I had to control myself to keep from shouting, "I said I thought this situation here, with all the parents and teachers gathered, would be a farce. So far, you're not proving me wrong."
"Taylor," my dad spoke. He put his hand on one of my clenched fists, then addressed the faculty, "Are you accusing my daughter of making up everything she's noted here?"
"No," the principal spoke, "But I think that when someone is being victimized, it's possible to embellish events, or to see harassment when there is none. We want to ensure that these three girls get fair treatment."
"Do I-" I started, but my dad squeezed my hand, and I shut up.
"My daughter deserves fair treatment too, and if even one in ten of these events did occur, it speaks to an ongoing campaign of severe abuse. Does anyone disagree?"