I unfold the note and skim the neat purple ink. Rules to follow?

"Don't sit at the lunch table near the fire exit unless Danica Allen invites you—it's her table."

"Only talk to Bertie Schultze if you never want another friend in your life"

And the list goes on. Followed by a list of cliques. The cool clique, the theater people, the cheerleaders. And that list goes on too. Amazing that whoever wrote this note could fit so much crap on one sheet of paper.

Then I notice the last two lines: "So choose the group you want to be part of, Blondie." I wrinkle my nose as I glance down at my blonde braid. "It's mandatory."

I sigh, then stuff the note into my pocket. A year ago, I would have been scared out of my mind, but after what happened to my sister, I'd gotten tough.

A girl with a ton of freckles is about to pass me, but I put a hand on her arm. "Hey, where's the welcome assembly?"

"In the auditorium across the courtyard." Her voice says the words practically into her books instead of to me.

"Can I walk with you?"

"Didn't you get the note?"

"Um, yeah. Did you write it?"

"No," she hisses. "But I'm Bertie Schultze. If you—"

"Ah, I get it. Look, no worries, OK? Let's walk together."

Bertie opens up to me about how bullying and cliques took over this place about two years ago and the teachers and principal haven't even been able to control things. I listen closely and devise a plan.

In the auditorium, the principal calls up each new student and makes an introduction. When it's my turn, I ask the principal if I can say a few words. He looks surprised but happy as he hands me the microphone.

I face a sea of bored-looking faces. My stomach does flip flops until I think of my sister. Then I feel like crying, but I don't. Instead, I start talking.

"My sister, Vera, killed herself last year because the 'cool' girls at our school bullied her. They harassed her on social media, humiliated her, hit her. Why? Because she was different. She had trouble in class and was terrible at sports. That was unacceptable to them. Our parents spoke with our principal, with the girls' parents... But it didn't matter. Their hate was bigger than anything. So after Vera died, we moved. And that's why I'm here. And because of Vera, I want to tell you what I think of your welcome note."

I rip the note in two. For the first time, I notice the reaction in the crowd. Silence, wide eyes. I walk off the stage and back to the main building. I'm shaking, but I know I did the right thing.

A half hour later, a girl comes up to me.

"I'm Danica Allen. I wrote the note. And I'm sorry."