The Horrifying Secrets Of A Teenage Girl
The Story Of Katirina Reznikov
My family is Russian. We come from Russia. We moved to Ireland when I was 12.
Full. Stop.
But that was all it took. All it took for me to be judged. Like my first day of Secondary School.
"You come from Russia, yeah?" A girl had come up to me, followed by a clique of snickering snobs.
"What?" I didn't understand English that well, she had talked too quickly. But I did have a firm-ish grasp on the language.
I had been learning it for two years.
"You. Come. From. Russia?" she slurred slowly and sarcastically, her eyes flickering.
"Yes. Me and my family come from Russia." I talked with difficulty, and my cheeks flamed as I realized how strong my accent was.
"Oh, vou vand vour vamily vome vrom vrussia, yaw?" the girl laughed openly, and her collection of little friends collapsed in laughter.
Really, now. It wasn't that funny.
"You're accent sounds silly to me also," I scowled.
I wasn't taking any shit from anyone. The girl didn't know how to respond to this.
"Jeez, I was only messing,"
Messing my ass. And also I didn't understand what a 'jeez' was.
"What's a jeez?"
"Vot's a jeez?" the girl's eyes flickered again, a smirk playing about on her lips,"Look, what's your number?"
"You mean my age?" I asked, dazzled and confused by this new vocabulary.
"Phone number?"
"Ah, phone number,"
I was stupid. I eagerly gave it to her, convinced she wanted to be friends and wasn't all that bad. How wrong I was. That night, I got about 16 texts from people I didn't know. Russian bitch, nazi, emigrant.
I don't even know why nazi was thrown in there, but it still hurt. That night, I took a shower. I took my phone with me, letting the steaming water eat it alive. It sparked a bit, and then it was gone. At least I couldn't be affected by text anymore.
But that wasn't the end of it.
The next few weeks, I felt more and more outcast. I remember my days in Russia, when I had been popular, and I was always the one getting the boys. Now, the boys thought they'd get sexually transmitted diseases if they even touched me, because they were convinced I was a slut, just because I came from Russia.
I had turned 13 that September, yes, I'd kissed a boy, but I'd never had sex before. I found out that the girl who had been interrogating me was named Emma Hope. She was a complete bitch. She was stunning too, which made it worse. Long, shimmery black hair, ice blue eyes, white skin. Her teeth would blind someone.
I was relieved about one thing. After a few days of face-to-face confrontation, she had stopped. Turns out I wasn't taking her crap.
"Russian hoe," she whispered, passing me in the halls.
I spun around, my temper boiling.
"What did you call me?" I sparked.
She stopped, pretending to be not surprised.
"Oh, nothing," she said lightly.
We had begun to draw attention.
"Listen to me," I growled, "I am not standing with your shit. You call me something, I will take all of that hair out of your head. I'm not a Russian hoe, but I have a lot of Russian anger, and I will unleash it on you faster then a Russian avalanche,"
Silence engulfed the hall. Emma stood, shaking and looking slightly hurt. Someone started clapping. Then it stopped. I could sense that my insult had never been thrown on Emma before. She wasn't used to being trodden on.
"Now, excuse me, but I'll be on my Russian way,"
I stalked past her, making sure to bump into her, while 'oo's' sounded from the gathered crowd. It felt good.
Emma then did it the coward way. She made sure other people make me feel bad, she cyber-bullied me, she basically stalked my every move, but never looked me in the face. I overheard that she was humiliated that day I bitch-talked back to her, she wanted revenge. Actually, I was getting more popular by the minute. My best friend, Fiona, told me something that made everything make sense.
"You know why Emma's pissed at you all the time?"
We were 15 now, and Emma still had that grudge. I had slipped into her place in popularity, people accepted my Russian side now. My english was fluent.
"Why?"
"Cause you overanked her in popularity, but most of all, because you're prettier then her,"
"What?" I asked, shocked.
Emma was a stunning girl. I didn't think I matched her standards at all.
"It's totally true, everybody knows it. That first day in school, you walked in and every one was like, woah, what a stunner. And Emma was totally pissed off. Funny, actually,"
"Didn't know that. Thought it was because I was Russian,"
"Well, that's the REAL reason. Emma's totally racist, hates eastern Europeans and Russians for some stupid reason,"
"Well, not many people liked me because of my Russian side. Remember that bombardment of texts I got that night?"
"All Emma,"
"WHAT?"
"Yup, she knows how to do this thing that changes your number every time you text,"
"Shit, she really hates me,"
"Yeah, no offense,"
"I gotta talk to her,"
I had mixed emotions about that conversation. Partly relieved, partly upset. I was thankful that only Emma and her followers had hated me that day, not the whole school. But I was upset because I never knew a person could hate that much. So I had a conversation with Emma.
The most interesting conversation I ever had in my life.
Emma was sitting at a table, chatting and laughing with her friends. She was still popular, I had just gone a notch higher then her, that's all. When she saw me approaching, she dramatically started whispering with all her friends, and they racketed with squeals of laughter. Real mature.
"Emma," I said bluntly, grabbing her shoulder.
"What doyou want?" she spat.
"We need to talk,"
She yelped as I snatched her up, and made her walk. We walked behind the building, where it was alone and private.
"What the fuck do you want, Russian?"
Her comment neither stung me nor affected me in any way.
"Why do you hate me, Emma?" I said gently,"I want to know why. It's killing me."
Her eyes washed over with an emotion I could not put my finger on.
"You're Russian, of course."
I sighed and looked at her. She looked down at her feet, twiddling with her thumbs. When she spoke, she used a voice that I had never heard from her before. It had no negativity at all.
"It's true, it really is because you're Russian," she continued looking at the floor, "I never told this to anyone before."
She had instantly reeled in my attention like a hook to salmon.
"I, myself, am Russian,"
I gasped. This was not what I was expecting.
"I was adopted from there when I was 9. I had told everyone I came from Britain, because I had learned fluent english in Russia. I could do a good english accent too. I loved Russia, my family, my friends, everything. My real name is Anastasija Ivanov. But, when I was 8, my family was burned down in a house fire," she pulled up her top to reveal a horrifying scar stretching along the side of her waist, "A fire that I had caused."
My throat tightened as she looked up.
"It was an accident. I had been playing with matches, my curtains went up, the house burned down. My mum and dad died. I was saved."
The silence was deafening.
"So, I was adopted. My past life was erased. But I'll never forget. I miss my Russian life so much, and I was the one who had screwed it up. I'm jealous of you, that's all,"
I was speechless.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Net, mne zhalʹ. No, I'm sorry,"
We hugged and she cried into my shoulder. I don't think we had any hard feelings anymore.
My message is this to you. If you are being bullied because of race, size, whatever, there is always a story behind it. You just got to rummage for it.
Full. Stop.
But that was all it took. All it took for me to be judged. Like my first day of Secondary School.
"You come from Russia, yeah?" A girl had come up to me, followed by a clique of snickering snobs.
"What?" I didn't understand English that well, she had talked too quickly. But I did have a firm-ish grasp on the language.
I had been learning it for two years.
"You. Come. From. Russia?" she slurred slowly and sarcastically, her eyes flickering.
"Yes. Me and my family come from Russia." I talked with difficulty, and my cheeks flamed as I realized how strong my accent was.
"Oh, vou vand vour vamily vome vrom vrussia, yaw?" the girl laughed openly, and her collection of little friends collapsed in laughter.
Really, now. It wasn't that funny.
"You're accent sounds silly to me also," I scowled.
I wasn't taking any shit from anyone. The girl didn't know how to respond to this.
"Jeez, I was only messing,"
Messing my ass. And also I didn't understand what a 'jeez' was.
"What's a jeez?"
"Vot's a jeez?" the girl's eyes flickered again, a smirk playing about on her lips,"Look, what's your number?"
"You mean my age?" I asked, dazzled and confused by this new vocabulary.
"Phone number?"
"Ah, phone number,"
I was stupid. I eagerly gave it to her, convinced she wanted to be friends and wasn't all that bad. How wrong I was. That night, I got about 16 texts from people I didn't know. Russian bitch, nazi, emigrant.
I don't even know why nazi was thrown in there, but it still hurt. That night, I took a shower. I took my phone with me, letting the steaming water eat it alive. It sparked a bit, and then it was gone. At least I couldn't be affected by text anymore.
But that wasn't the end of it.
The next few weeks, I felt more and more outcast. I remember my days in Russia, when I had been popular, and I was always the one getting the boys. Now, the boys thought they'd get sexually transmitted diseases if they even touched me, because they were convinced I was a slut, just because I came from Russia.
I had turned 13 that September, yes, I'd kissed a boy, but I'd never had sex before. I found out that the girl who had been interrogating me was named Emma Hope. She was a complete bitch. She was stunning too, which made it worse. Long, shimmery black hair, ice blue eyes, white skin. Her teeth would blind someone.
I was relieved about one thing. After a few days of face-to-face confrontation, she had stopped. Turns out I wasn't taking her crap.
"Russian hoe," she whispered, passing me in the halls.
I spun around, my temper boiling.
"What did you call me?" I sparked.
She stopped, pretending to be not surprised.
"Oh, nothing," she said lightly.
We had begun to draw attention.
"Listen to me," I growled, "I am not standing with your shit. You call me something, I will take all of that hair out of your head. I'm not a Russian hoe, but I have a lot of Russian anger, and I will unleash it on you faster then a Russian avalanche,"
Silence engulfed the hall. Emma stood, shaking and looking slightly hurt. Someone started clapping. Then it stopped. I could sense that my insult had never been thrown on Emma before. She wasn't used to being trodden on.
"Now, excuse me, but I'll be on my Russian way,"
I stalked past her, making sure to bump into her, while 'oo's' sounded from the gathered crowd. It felt good.
Emma then did it the coward way. She made sure other people make me feel bad, she cyber-bullied me, she basically stalked my every move, but never looked me in the face. I overheard that she was humiliated that day I bitch-talked back to her, she wanted revenge. Actually, I was getting more popular by the minute. My best friend, Fiona, told me something that made everything make sense.
"You know why Emma's pissed at you all the time?"
We were 15 now, and Emma still had that grudge. I had slipped into her place in popularity, people accepted my Russian side now. My english was fluent.
"Why?"
"Cause you overanked her in popularity, but most of all, because you're prettier then her,"
"What?" I asked, shocked.
Emma was a stunning girl. I didn't think I matched her standards at all.
"It's totally true, everybody knows it. That first day in school, you walked in and every one was like, woah, what a stunner. And Emma was totally pissed off. Funny, actually,"
"Didn't know that. Thought it was because I was Russian,"
"Well, that's the REAL reason. Emma's totally racist, hates eastern Europeans and Russians for some stupid reason,"
"Well, not many people liked me because of my Russian side. Remember that bombardment of texts I got that night?"
"All Emma,"
"WHAT?"
"Yup, she knows how to do this thing that changes your number every time you text,"
"Shit, she really hates me,"
"Yeah, no offense,"
"I gotta talk to her,"
I had mixed emotions about that conversation. Partly relieved, partly upset. I was thankful that only Emma and her followers had hated me that day, not the whole school. But I was upset because I never knew a person could hate that much. So I had a conversation with Emma.
The most interesting conversation I ever had in my life.
Emma was sitting at a table, chatting and laughing with her friends. She was still popular, I had just gone a notch higher then her, that's all. When she saw me approaching, she dramatically started whispering with all her friends, and they racketed with squeals of laughter. Real mature.
"Emma," I said bluntly, grabbing her shoulder.
"What doyou want?" she spat.
"We need to talk,"
She yelped as I snatched her up, and made her walk. We walked behind the building, where it was alone and private.
"What the fuck do you want, Russian?"
Her comment neither stung me nor affected me in any way.
"Why do you hate me, Emma?" I said gently,"I want to know why. It's killing me."
Her eyes washed over with an emotion I could not put my finger on.
"You're Russian, of course."
I sighed and looked at her. She looked down at her feet, twiddling with her thumbs. When she spoke, she used a voice that I had never heard from her before. It had no negativity at all.
"It's true, it really is because you're Russian," she continued looking at the floor, "I never told this to anyone before."
She had instantly reeled in my attention like a hook to salmon.
"I, myself, am Russian,"
I gasped. This was not what I was expecting.
"I was adopted from there when I was 9. I had told everyone I came from Britain, because I had learned fluent english in Russia. I could do a good english accent too. I loved Russia, my family, my friends, everything. My real name is Anastasija Ivanov. But, when I was 8, my family was burned down in a house fire," she pulled up her top to reveal a horrifying scar stretching along the side of her waist, "A fire that I had caused."
My throat tightened as she looked up.
"It was an accident. I had been playing with matches, my curtains went up, the house burned down. My mum and dad died. I was saved."
The silence was deafening.
"So, I was adopted. My past life was erased. But I'll never forget. I miss my Russian life so much, and I was the one who had screwed it up. I'm jealous of you, that's all,"
I was speechless.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Net, mne zhalʹ. No, I'm sorry,"
We hugged and she cried into my shoulder. I don't think we had any hard feelings anymore.
My message is this to you. If you are being bullied because of race, size, whatever, there is always a story behind it. You just got to rummage for it.