Just One Word

By Emilie-Anne, student at St Augustine’s Priory

The following is one of a number of standout entries submitted for the GSA Senior Writing Award, showcased here to celebrate the voices and creativity of our students.

It happened at the bus stop.

I was walking back from the shops — me, by myself, with a packet of crisps and headphones on, trying to look as if I wasn’t awkwardly checking every other second to check if the bus was coming. There were a few people around: an older man with a newspaper, a lady with a baby in a pushchair, and a group of youngsters across the street, messing about by the benches.

Then I saw her.

She couldn’t have been more than 12, alone on the street in a school uniform that didn’t fit quite right. One of the lads from the group on the other side of the road was yelling at her. Not yelling — mocking her voice, insulting her, so loudly that everyone could hear. Things like, “Oi! You lost, or just weird?”

Some people looked over, then away.

I could feel that weird heaviness in my chest. You know, when you want to pretend like you didn’t hear it? Like, if you just glance at your phone, maybe it will just go away?

I almost did. But the way she stood there — trying to fold herself up, clinging to the strap of her bag like it might somehow protect her — made it impossible.

So I took off one headphone, walked a bit closer, and just said, “Are you okay?”

She didn’t say anything at first. The boy laughed louder now, like it was a joke. But when I stood beside her and didn’t budge, he finally looked away. The group drifted off a few minutes later.

We did not talk much after that. I asked if she was waiting for the 48, and she nodded. When the bus came, she got on first. She did not say anything, thank you or anything. She did not have to.

It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t fight with anyone or make a scene. But it still felt like one of the hardest things I’ve ever done — stepping out of my own little bubble, even for a second, and choosing not to ignore someone who needed it.

I think that’s what courage really is, sometimes. Not the big, showy stuff. Just saying one word when it matters.