Why is it that every time I ask the teacher a simple question, the entire class bursts into laughter? All I did was ask if I could use the bathroom. I fail to see what's so amusing about that. Maybe I missed some sort of inside joke. Who knows?

During lunch break, as I excitedly search for an empty table to dive back into my beloved Harry Potter book series, I suddenly find myself tripped by Jon, the relentless class bully who never leaves me alone.

"Why did you do that?!" I manage to shake off my nerves and confront him. "I don't know, why are you so black?" His hurtful comment leaves me stunned, unsure of how to respond. My mother always taught me that my dark skin was beautiful. Is it really such a problem now? I choose not to engage and simply walk away, tormented by the laughter of my classmates once again.

In the last class of the day, my favorite period, art class, our teacher announces that we'll be painting self-portraits. Excitedly, I envision myself as a graceful dancer, expressing my love for dance and the freedom it brings. It's a passion shared by my entire family. We used to blast music in the living room, dancing together with pure joy. Mom even mentioned that I could start ballet next year. But then, Jon interrupts my thoughts with his laughter, pointing at my painting. "Is that a monkey in a tutu?" Confusion washes over me as I notice the rest of the room joining in on the mocking. Why are my classmates making fun of me so relentlessly? I've never done anything to provoke them. Why does Jon keep targeting my skin color and comparing me to a monkey? The room feels suffocating, my head spinning. All I want is to go home. I don’t understand, is it me? Am I the problem?