My name is Adam

I don't remember exactly what day they started calling me Fragile.

I just know that before, I had a first name.

Adam.

And that after, for a while, I felt like almost everyone had forgotten it.

At first, it wasn't even really an insult.

Maybe that's why I didn't say anything.

We were playing in the schoolyard.

There was Yassine, Rayan, Malik, me, and a few other boys.

We had improvised a match with two bags for goals.

At one point, I got the ball very hard on my hand.

I felt pain all the way to my wrist.

I dropped the ball.

Yassine said:

"What now?"

I answered:

"Wait, it hurts."

He looked at me, then he smiled.

"Leave it, Adam is fragile."

A few boys laughed.

Rayan too.

Me too.

A little laugh.

Not because it was funny.

Just because everyone was laughing.

Then we kept playing.

And I thought it would stop there.

The next day, when I arrived in the schoolyard, Yassine saw me.

"Ah, Fragile is here."

Rayan laughed.

I smiled.

Again.

Then, during the match:

"Go easy with Fragile."

"Don't shoot too hard, he'll break."

"Watch out for his hand."

Each time, they laughed.

And me, sometimes, I laughed with them.

I told myself that if I showed it annoyed me, it would be worse.

So I acted like it didn't affect me.

The problem is that a nickname, when people see it makes others laugh, it can stay.

A few days later, it wasn't just during matches anymore.

In the hallway:

"Move, Fragile is passing."

In the cafeteria:

"Be careful, it's hot, Fragile."

In the schoolyard:

"Are you playing with us or are you scared?"

And sometimes, Yassine didn't even say Adam anymore.

Just Fragile.

At first, I told myself it wasn't a big deal.

It was a word.

Just one word.

Then I started noticing something else.

When I fell, they laughed before even knowing if I was hurt.

When I refused something, someone said:

"Of course, it's Fragile."

When I made a mistake, even a small one:

"Fragile, and he doesn't even know how to play."

And the worst part is that sometimes, someone just said:

"Fragile."

For no reason.

Because I had walked by.

Because I was there.

I think that's when I started to hate that word.

Not because it meant I was weak.

But because it had started to replace everything else.

One day, a boy I barely knew called me Fragile.

I turned around.

I asked him:

"Do you know my first name?"

He thought.

Then he said:

"Adam, no?"

I answered:

"Yes."

He shrugged.

"It's the same."

No.

It wasn't the same.

But I didn't say anything.

I did that often now.

Say nothing.

I could recognize Yassine from far away, even when I couldn't see his face.

His way of laughing.

His voice.

The way others moved closer to him when he started to speak.

So, before entering the schoolyard, I looked.

If he was near the field, I went elsewhere.

If he was near the benches, I stayed near the building.

If he came up behind me in a hallway, I sped up a little.

Not too much.

Just enough so he wouldn't see I was avoiding him.

Because I especially didn't want him to know.

I don't know exactly why.

Maybe because I felt that if he knew his words did something to me, he would have won.

So when he said:

"Fragile!"

I sometimes turned around with a smile.

"What?"

And he laughed.

Rayan too.

Malik, though, laughed less.

At least, I think.

I didn't always look.

It's strange, but when you know people are going to laugh at you, you learn to look away.

One lunchtime, someone had moved my bag.

I had put it against a wall.

When I came back, it wasn't there anymore.

I looked.

Yassine was watching me.

He was smiling.

I asked:

"Have you seen my bag?"

Rayan had his hand in front of his mouth.

I knew he was trying not to laugh.

I found my bag behind a trash can.

When I picked it up, Yassine said:

"Oh come on, we're joking."

I answered:

"I know."

I think that's one of the sentences I said the most at that time.

I know.

I know you're joking.

I know it's for laughs.

I know you do that to everyone.

I know.

Except I didn't really know what to do with what I felt.

So I started changing little things.

I didn't bring my ball anymore.

That way, they had fewer reasons to come looking for me.

I ate a little more slowly at lunch.

That way, when I arrived in the schoolyard, part of recess was already over.

Sometimes, I stayed near an adult for a few minutes.

Not to talk.

Just because Yassine and the others came less when an adult was there.

And then one day, I realized I had started counting.

When recess began, I looked at the time.

Twenty minutes.

Then fifteen.

Then ten.

Then five.

Before, I waited for recess.

Now, I waited for it to end.

That day, I hadn't even gone into the schoolyard.

I had stayed behind the building, near a small staircase that almost no one used.

I had sat down on the second step.

From there, I heard the others running.

A ball sometimes hit a wall.

Someone shouted.

Boys laughed.

I looked at my shoes.

I still had nine minutes to wait.

Then I heard footsteps.

I looked up.

It was Malik.

He looked at me.

"Adam?"

I answered:

"What?"

He looked around.

Then he asked me:

"What are you doing here?"

I don't know why, but this time, I didn't look for an excuse.

I didn't smile.

I didn't say everything was fine.

I just looked at the schoolyard in the distance.

Then I answered:

"I'm waiting for recess to end."