“Bruises are purple. Anger is red. Sadness is blue.” “And the black?” He starts sketching again. “That’s how you feel inside when you’ve been bullied.” I don’t even think before I speak. “How would you know what it feels like to be bullied? You are a bully.” His face turns red, as if I’ve smacked him. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t fit in around here, Splash,” he mumbles as he starts drawing and cutting the construction paper. Then I get it. Enemy Number 3’s not just a bully. People bully him because he’s poor and wears raggedy clothes. But I just don’t understand how someone who’s
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