The buzzer finally went, and they seated themselves. All save Monica, whom Mrs. Whitely kept standing a moment longer.
‘I want you all to remember this moment,’ Mrs. Whitely said quietly. ‘I want you to take a good long look at this girl and remember the effect that cruelty can have on a person. Those of you who made fun of her appearance, who used to follow her around and play cruel tricks on her, who used to bully her and hurt her with impunity, thinking smugly to yourselves all the while that she somehow deserved such treatment . . . I want you to realise, and to remember, that her appearance, the way she carried herself, the way she dressed and the way she acted . . . a good deal of that was your doing.’
The was hardly a student in the class who could look in Monica’s direction as Mrs. Whitely said this. In the meantime, the woman had paused a moment to put an arm around the girl’s shoulders because she was weeping, dryly.
‘The ugliest girl in the school, most of you called her,’ Mrs. Whitely continued softly. ‘And so saying, made her, whether she was or not. Sit down, my dear, you’ve been on display long enough.’