There aren’t many moments in my life where I have regretted doing something, but this was definitely one of them. I was in first grade and our class was in the gymnasium. Our gym teacher announced that we would be playing a game of floor hockey.  All was well, I was killing the game, brushing past people at the speed of light, scoring goal after goal and I could feel the adrenaline rush and the wind in my ears. But then, I saw him, my first nemesis, the one that made my blood boil, Quintinn. At the time, I never knew why we didn’t like each other, I just knew that we didn’t. I had the puck with me when I saw him about 10 feet in front of me. My body froze as he stole the puck from me. If that wasn’t bad enough, as he rushed passed me he yelled tauntingly, “Even for a girl you suck!”.
    

My face felt hot with anger. I could feel my body sprinting towards my prey. I stuck my  red hockey stick out and as he turned around he tripped on it face planting hard. As he fell, I winced, imagining the pain as if it were me.But as he looked up at me with frustration, I looked down on him with satisfaction. As my teacher looked our way, I continued on with the game as if nothing happened. Being a young, innocent looking girl, teachers don’t expect much from you. As the game continued, I never would have seen what came next. Our very intense game of hockey was coming to an end as I soon had the puck again. Quintin too was coming my way, I looked him dead in the eye, determined to scare him off. But in a split second, he raised his hockey stick in a way I knew he wasn’t aiming to hit the puck.
   

He brought his hockey stick all the way up to his shoulders as if it was a golf stick. He swung with an incredibly strong force and hit me across my small face. I know the rule for a guy is to never hit a girl. Well, this was me and that apparently meant that rule did not apply. When I turned back around from the forceful slap, I felt a tingling feeling on my left cheek, followed with a hot burning sensation. I threw my hockey stick down and ran to my gym teacher. I could see his face immediately change to regret. Tattletaling to an adult was the worst possible thing that could happen to you as a child. As my teacher examined the red hockey stick mark that appeared on my left cheek she asked me to sit down as she got me an ice pack and a popsicle. As soon as she disappeared, I looked at Quintin with a dark sneer. At that moment, I knew that the tables turned back to my advantage.
   

Our chaotic gym class had come to an end, I was sitting on an elevated platform away from the rest of my class, enjoying my bright red popsicle as Quintin stared at me with a face I could not make out. Anger? Regret? Frustration? At the end of every gym class, our gym teacher, Miss Cope, would pick a name out of a hat as to who would be able to win a small yet highly wanted prize from her legendary prize room. You were considered as special as a unicorn if your name got picked.  Miss Cope’s prize room was filled with many trinkets like colorful temporary tattoos, plastic frogs, other wonderful animals and tootsie pops of more flavors than you could imagine.
   

My teacher came out with the hat full of the names of our class, everyone staring at her with a wishful look, like a puppy eyeing a treat or a bone. She picked up a white strip of paper and said the name, “Quintinn”. Suddenly, my face flared and immediately I could feel the blood rushing to my head. Quintinn bounced up faster than a bouncy ball but as he inched his way towards the prize room, Miss Cope yelled, “WAIT,” she looked directly at me and asked, “Sabine, do you think Quintinn deserves to go to the prize room today?”. I looked directly at Quintinn for the longest 3 seconds of my life. Quintinn looked back at me with the most begging look I have ever seen. I looked back my teacher and gave my answer, “No”.
   
Do you know that moment where you are so filled with feelings of anger or irritation that your decisions seem rash or illogical? This is what happened. My feelings of anger and frustration towards Quintinn took over my thoughts and I said my answer loud and clear, “No”. It was too late for me, I was too prideful to apologize and take back what I said. Quintinn sat down with a look of despair. The bell rang and I rushed out of the gym wishing I didn’t say what I had. That was eight years ago, now, in Huron high school, I find myself passing that same young boy, the unfortunate soul that had to suffer my wrath. Every day, I pass by him in the hallway wondering if he still remembers me, if he still remembers that girl who stole his one chance of happiness in the first grade.