English Original
It was my first day as a newcomer to Miss Hargrove's seventh grade. Past "newcomer" experiences had been difficult, so I was very anxious to fit in. After being introduced to the class, I bravely put on a smile and took my seat, expecting to be shunned.
Lunchtime was a pleasant surprise when the girls all crowded around my table. Their friendly chatter helped me relax. My new classmates filled me in on the school, the teachers, and the other kids. It wasn't long before the class nerd was pointed out to me: Mary Lou English. She called herself Mary Louise. A prim, prissy young girl with a stern face and old-fashioned clothes, she wasn't ugly. I thought she was quite pretty, but I had sense enough not to say so. Dark-eyed and olive-skinned, she had long, silky black hair, but it was in pipe curls! Practical shoes, a long wool skirt, and a starched, frilly blouse completed the image of a complete dork. The girls' whispers and giggles grew louder. Mary Lou made eye contact with no one as she strode past our table, chin held high with iron determination. She ate alone.
After school, the girls invited me to join them in front of the school. I was thrilled to be a member of the club, however tentative. We waited. For what, I didn't yet know. Oh, how I wish I had gone home, but I had a lesson to learn.
Arms wrapped around her backpack, Mary Lou came down the school steps. The taunting began—rude, biting comments and jeering from the girls. I paused, then joined right in. My momentum picked up as I approached her. Nasty, mean remarks fell unabated from my lips. No one could tell I'd never done this before. The other girls stepped back and became my cheerleaders. Emboldened, I yanked the strap of her backpack and then pushed her. The strap broke, Mary Lou fell, and I backed off. Everyone was laughing and patting me. I fit in. I was a leader.
I was not proud. Something inside me hurt. If you've ever picked a wing off a butterfly, you know how I felt.
Mary Lou got up, gathered her books, and—without a tear shed or retort given—off she went. She held her head high as a small trickle of blood ran down from her bruised knee. I watched her limp away down the street.
I turned to leave with my laughing friends and noticed a man standing beside his car. His olive skin, dark hair, and handsome features told me this was her father. Respectful of Mary Lou's proud spirit, he remained still and watched the lonely girl walk toward him. Only his eyes—shining with both grief and pride—followed. As I passed, he looked at me in silence with burning tears that spoke to my shame and scalded my heart. He didn't speak a word.
No scolding from a teacher or preaching from a parent could linger as much as that hurt in my heart from the day a father's eyes taught me kindness, strength, and dignity. I never again joined the cruel herds. I never again hurt someone for my own gain.
中文翻译
那是我作为新生来到哈格罗夫小姐七年级班上的第一天。过去的“新生”经历都很艰难，所以我非常渴望融入。被介绍给全班后，我勇敢地挤出一个微笑，坐了下来，预料自己会被冷落。
午餐时间是个惊喜，女孩们都挤到了我的桌子旁。她们友好的闲聊让我放松下来。新同学们向我介绍了学校、老师和其他孩子。很快，她们就向我指出了班上的书呆子：玛丽·卢·英格利希。她自称玛丽·路易丝。一个古板、拘谨的女孩，面容严肃，衣着老式，但她并不丑。我觉得她挺漂亮的，但我有足够的理智没有说出来。她黑眼睛，橄榄色皮肤，有一头长长的、丝滑的黑发，但——是管状卷发！实用的鞋子、长羊毛裙和一件浆过的、带褶边的衬衫，完全是一副书呆子的形象。女孩们的窃窃私语和咯咯笑声越来越大。玛丽·卢大步走过我们的桌子，没有与任何人对视，下巴高昂，带着钢铁般的决心。她独自吃饭。
放学后，女孩们邀请我和她们一起待在学校前面。能成为这个团体的一员让我兴奋不已，尽管只是暂时的。我们等待着。等什么，我还不知道。哦，我真希望我当时回家了，但我有一课要学。
玛丽·卢双臂环抱着她的背包，走下学校的台阶。嘲弄开始了——女孩们粗鲁、刻薄的评论和讥笑。我犹豫了一下，然后立刻加入了。当我走近她时，我的势头越来越猛。恶毒、刻薄的话语从我口中不断涌出。没人能看出我以前从未做过这种事。其他女孩退后一步，成了我的啦啦队。壮起胆子，我猛地拽了一下她背包的带子，然后推了她一把。带子断了，玛丽·卢摔倒了，我退了回来。大家都在笑，拍着我的背。我融入了。我是个领导者。
我并不自豪。我内心有些东西在痛。如果你曾撕下过蝴蝶的翅膀，你就知道我的感受。
玛丽·卢站起来，收拾好她的书，没有掉一滴眼泪，也没有回嘴，就这样走了。她高昂着头，一小股血流从她擦伤的膝盖上流下来。我看着她一瘸一拐地沿着街道走远。
我转身要和笑着的朋友们离开，注意到一个男人站在他的车旁。他橄榄色的皮肤、黑发和英俊的面容告诉我，这是她的父亲。出于对玛丽·卢骄傲精神的尊重，他一动不动，看着这个孤独的女孩走向他。只有他的眼睛——闪烁着悲伤和骄傲——跟随着她。当我经过时，他默默地看着我，眼中饱含灼热的泪水，那泪水诉说着我的羞耻，灼烧着我的心。他一言未发。
从那天起，父亲的眼神教会了我善良、力量和尊严，任何老师的责骂或父母的说教，都不及留在我心中的那份伤痛持久。我再也没有加入那些残忍的群体。我再也没有为了自己的利益而伤害过别人。