[ WP ] Take a Phrase Leave a Phrase

My nickname had been set in stone since third grade. 
 
 When my mother had first heard it, she'd sighed and said, `` Kids can be cruel.'' 
 
 The teachers and principal pretended not to notice when someone hissed it before `` accidentally'' bumping into me. They made absolutely no effort to stop it. 
 
 The nickname did n't follow me into high school, but the knowledge that they did n't care did. 
 
 It was extremely frustrating to see not only my teachers, but my peers as well, going through life as though they did n't care all that much about it. Watching intelligent students waste their potential; watching the teachers letting them. Day by day, it wore me down. 
 
 What made her different was that she cared. She showed up in the middle of sophomore year, with a backpack covered in pins of organizations she supported and lively eyes. She acted on her beliefs - I could hardly spend time with her, as she was always busy volunteering. I only got to really know her when she started volunteering at the animal's shelter next to my house. 
 
 She was impatient and preachy, but it did n't detract from her kindness and her genuine faith that the world was a fair place. She was a terrible cook and an avid reader. She loved Broadway musicals and knew the lyrics to her favourites by heart. Her birthday was in early October, two weeks after mine. More importantly ( to my shallow teenage self ), she was a lesbian. 
 
 I remember my heart beating fast. I made a casual comment, assuring her that I did n't mind. 
 
 Before she'd moved into my small town, I had never met another lesbian. I had felt lonely and scared. Though I did n't tell her, the option that I could and the knowledge that the girl I had a crush on could like me back made me feel securer than words can describe. 
 
 When she confessed her crush on the most popular girl in school, my heart turned to ice. I looked at her with disgust. I hated the confusion and hurt in her eyes. I hated her. 
 
 I abandoned her when she needed me the most. Though I heard of some of the things that had been said or done to her after she came out, I did n't intervene. When I noticed that she started wearing long-sleeved shirts in 80 degrees weather, I did n't comment. When I heard her cry in a bathroom stall, I did nothing to comfort her. 
 
 My cracking point, however, was driving past the old bridge and seeing her body dangling on the edge. 
 
 I slammed the brakes and screamed her name as I frantically got out of the car. I tried to apologize, tried to make up for months' worth of silence in few precious seconds. I tried to tell her that I loved her, but she has already let go of the rail. 
 
 I envy their carelessness and I hate the dead look in their eyes. I hate myself for letting it happen, for getting caught up in jealousy and fear. But most of all, I miss her. 
 
 PROMPT - He's eating ice cream sandwiches on a chilly Christmas eve, wondering how his life turned into this mess.
