Let’s face it. Little kids can be a**holes. And I was no exception.I was generally a good student. Heck, I was a teacher’s pet. In second grade, I could swear to you that my teacher would’ve gladly adopted me and called me her own. I always got star stickers and kept my desk clean. I even wrote reports for extra credit. What a flippin’ brown noser I was at 7 years old.Then the tides turned one day. I can’t recall exactly what happened. I wanted something from my friend, Annika, but she wouldn’t give it to me. This was unacceptable. Little me always gets her way (some things never change!). So, I remember writing a small note and passing it to my friend. It read something to the effect of “If you don’t give it to me, I’m going to have my big brother come and beat you up after school.”That was a big mistake.

My teacher, who *loved* me, turned to me and had fire in her eyes. She pulled me by the shirt and I could see steam coming out of her ears. She sat me outside the classroom and asked me if I wrote that note. I said yes, and, through her teeth and under her breath, said, “Don’t you ever do that again!”

Then she dragged me to the counseling center. I remember going there and thinking the guy was cute. LOL! He was probably 20 or so at the time. Anyway, I don’t recall what I did there, though. I probably had to write an essay or something about why what I did was wrong.

Anyway, this “friend” really was a b***h in the end. She blamed me for using up the last flashbulb in her Fisher-Price camera while we were on a field trip to Sea World at the penguin exhibit. Maybe I did, but it wasn’t my fault. She let me use the camera and there happened to be one more flashbulb left. She then told on me to her grandmother, who volunteered at the school. Her grandmother cornered me — on half day no less — and was gonna give me a piece of her mind. Luckily, though, her grandmother had other business to take care of, so I never had to hear what the old bag had to say.

One day after school my sister had picked me up, and my friend had passed us by. The next day she asked, “Who is that lady that was with you?” I told her, “My sister.” Then she said, “She’s ugly.” Damn, I wish I could have popped her then. I told this to my sister, and from that point on my sister called her “B***hika.”

I don’t know what happened to that girl. After 2nd grade, we were never in the same class again. I do believe I found her on Myspace or Facebook a few years ago, but I don’t think she’d remember me anyway. Good riddance. That’s all I have to say.

Lesson learned: Don’t put everything in writing. I should’ve whispered it to her and hidden all physical evidence! Duh!