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By Root 852 0

was better at listening to people, doling out advice to the Jamaican friends who constantly called her for counsel, and helping them to “value themselves and pursue their goals.” She was so grateful that she and her mother were alive that she was able to brush off life’s twists and turns by telling herself that things could be worse. They could be dead. She had learned that it was easier to cope when she looked at things positively; if she had faith in herself and hope for her future, her life would continue to improve. And it had. So why, years later, couldn’t she lift herself from her current funk?

She missed communicating daily with friends who understood her culture, her background, and her morals. No matter how kind her U.S. friends were, they couldn’t relate to her. She missed island life and Caribbean vibes: the sunsets, the breezy air, the verdant mountains, the trees swaying in the wind, and especially the people. She missed playing badminton in the evenings at her apartment complex, dealing cards on the stoop, and riding bicycles with her friends—even just washing cars on the weekends. She said later, “Jamaicans are a rough and loud people, but I love it about them. Even when they cuss, it’s the sweetest thing you’ll hear. I love the music and the food, the dance, the lifestyles. I love the Rastas, superstitions . . . Here it’s like I’m lost. I hate having to pretend to be a certain way, dumb down myself, act less Jamaican.”

When Joy trudged into the bio room, her classmates kept coming by to ask if she was okay, which made her even sadder. A girl who had just transferred to Citygrove gave her a card, which Joy put into her bag unopened.

The biology teacher came over to Joy. “Hey, kiddo, what’s up? How ya doing?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Just . . . here.” Joy tried hard to hold back tears.

The teacher looked sympathetic. “Joy, you know you have people here who care about you,” he said, referring to the crew that ate lunch in his classroom every day. “Try to relax. You’ll visit Jamaica soon.”

Joy nodded and kept to herself for half of the period. During this time of introspection, she needed to make herself be who she wanted to be. It wasn’t going to happen passively. If she was stressing too much over work and social adjustments, then she just had to stop. She decided to accept that she, and only she, could control whether worries consumed her or slid off her back.

Joy dug into her bag. She found the card from the transfer student. “Hey Joy, I know you’ve been stressed a lot lately. I hope you feel better.” Joy smiled. Not everyone at Citygrove cares only about themselves, she thought. Maybe being depressed has been a way to teach me that.

Later, she emailed a Jamaican friend. “i made a promise 2myself which i am leaving here . . . to be happy and satisfied with everything i have. And starting now I’m gonna go have fun. And stop worrying over this crap.” She was fed up with being sad.

WHITNEY, NEW YORK | THE POPULAR BITCH

One day, Madison approached Whitney in the hallway. “Hey, I’m having a party Saturday night. I invited the twins in gym today.”

Finally, Whitney thought, she could show up at a party with non-phony people, and also snatch a spot in the party car. “Okay!” she said. “I can drive them since they’re on the way.”

Students treated the twins differently than other new kids. The twins partied and dressed to fit in, and they did. Meanwhile, Fern, another new student, sat in the corner of classes and hardly ever spoke. Word had gotten out that Fern, who was overweight, with acne and greasy hair, was so poor that she lived in a ghetto. Immediately branded a loser, Fern appeared not to have any friends at Riverland. Whitney’s only interaction with her was on Fern’s first day of school. When a fabric bow on Fern’s shirt unraveled, Whitney reached over and tied it for her.

Whitney picked up the twins at a house littered with beer boxes. The twins confided that they had moved to town to start over after a troubled stint in their old school district. At Riverland, the twins had merged into the popular