Okay, my friend found this in my a seventeen magazine, but she thinks it happened in Oklahoma... (Thanks Kat)
"You put a spell on him, didn't you," my friend Andrew joked. He was referring to my ceramics teacher, Mr. Kemp, who'd been rushed to the emergancy room the night before, "Right, I put a spell on him," I said. We laughed, and I headed to my morning algebra class. But at Union Intermediate High School in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, where I'm now a sopomore, our conversation became big news and, just a few hours later, got me kicked out of school. It sounded unbelievable, yet by noon that day everybody thought that I was a witch who had hexed Mr. Kemp. Worse, my so-called friend Andrew had apparently started this rumor as a joke. When I saw Andrew sitting with his friends at lunch, I walked right up to him and told him to stop telling people that I'd made Mr. Kemp sick. He just laughed, still thinking it was funny. He knew i was interested in Wicca, and he had been hanging out in the middle school library with me when I'd checked out a book about religions, including Wicca. I like to write, and Wicca sounded cool--maybe I could use it in a story. I was raised Catholic, but i'm half Cherokee, and the way modern-day witches worship the elements--earth, wind, fire, water and spirit--actually reminded me of some Native American beliefs. I'd never cast any spells, and Andrew knew that. Maybe he thought I was overreacting, but it's hard to imagine him not noticing the way everybody in the cafeteria was staring at me and whispering. I couldn't eat with them watching me, so I headed to a stairwell. I needed to be alone. At every school there are some kids who end up getting picked on, and I'm one of them. I'm kind of shy. Plus I'm interested in stuff that other people think is weird--paranormal phenomena, different religions and horror novels, so I don't really fit into the popular-girl, athlete kind of crowd. I'd even been the victim of another false rumor the year before. Immediately after Columbine, a girl told everyone that I was going to shoot all the kids at school. She'd recently had an argument with one of my friends and decided to take it out on me. When I confronted her about it, she admitted to starting the stories. But the principal called me, my parents and two police officers into his office. The police kept asking if I had access to a gun (I didn't). I'd never even missed a day of class--and i was scared to death.
The principal went through my notebooks and picked out an unfinished story about a boy with a gun getting on a bus. I'd been trying to write something like Stephen King, but the principal called it a plan to harm students, and he suspended me for 19 days. The gossip and suspension ruined my reputation at school--everybody thought I was the next Dylan Klebold or Eric Harris. I guess when a story that big is believed one time, a second one seems somewhat easier to accept, so here I was, a school-shooting teacher-hexing witch. My head ached as I finished my sandwich, I doodle when I'm upset, so i dew a pentagram on my left hand and a smily face on my right. If that's what they thought of me.... When the bell rang, I went to class feeling hurt and destroyed, like the world hated me.
But in fact, this was only the beginnning. Shortly after lunch, I was called to my guidance counselor's office. The assistant principal come in and closed the door. He said he'd heard what the kids were saying. I wanted to explain, but he was already searching through my backpack. I tried to tell him that my comment about putting a spell on Mr. Kemp had been a joke--maybe a bad one, but i hadn't hurt anybody. Instead of listening, the assistant principal asked if i was Wiccan. "No" he asked me four or five times, and i felt really bad-0by then i was crying. Finally, i gave in and said yes, just so he'd leave me alone. Then he asked me what was on my hands i held them out. "Do you know what a pentagram is? That star represents evil," he said. "Did you think about God when you did this?" asked my counselor. Silence. I wanted to say that I'd never put a spell on anyone, but i couldn't get it out. I was really scared and i had to go throw up, so i asked permission to go to the bathroom. I was still in tears when I got back into the office no one asked if i was OK, except the nurse--and then my dad arived. The assistant principal immediately told my father that I'd confessed to practicing witchcraft and hexing my teacher, and this kind of behavior wasn't allowed. Despite my dad's protets, I was eventually suspended for five days before Christmas break anf fo another 10 days in supervised suspension afterward, which meant I could come to school but not attend classes.
At home, my family was really supportive--even my two brothers were sympathetic. But I still felt lonely. My former crowd believed the gossip and thought that the administration had done the right thing. Maybe my ex-friends were just following the popular opinion, or maybe they were afraid to defend me and risk getting ostracized. My last real friend lived in another town almost an hour's drive away, and although we talked on the phone, we could only see each other on weekends. When I returned to my regular schedule--more than a month later because of winter vacation-- it was even worse than before. In the hallways, people would stare at me and whisper. Others jumped out of my way: "look here comes the witch. Am I on your hit list?" I tried to ignore them, but it hurt. Only Andrew was still willing to talk to me. I think he felt bad about what had happened, but he never ever said he was sorry. I didn't even want to look at him.
Eventually, the rumor ran its course and the chattering died down, but it's been really hard to resume my normal life. I'm more cautious of who I call my friends. I've met new people to hang out with, but I feel different, less trusting. My parents and I decided to fight my suspension in court because there didn't seem to be any other way to get through to the school officials. They seem to think it's OK to censor what I can read, write and wear, but I compleatly disagree. And how's Mr. Kemp? I heard he had appendicitis. Sometimes it seems the truth doesn't matter. In the end, I'm the one who's been hexed.
Written by Brandi Blackbear (herself)