There were kindnesses along the way. Random phone calls from other mothers. One friend sent a plant with a note saying, "By the time this blooms, it will be over." Childhood friends from the other school in town started dropping by, calling. A track coach asked her to run for the team. A school guidance counselor asked her to volunteer at a crisis center, filing papers and making coffee. I was pitifully grateful for each of them. A truism struck home with staggering force: "You find out who your friends are."

These gestures provided the first rays of light in a long, dark stretch. Volunteer work gave my daughter something to focus on other than her own misery; track made her part of a team. Old friends provided evidence that she was not unlovable.

The holidays arrived and things were less than merry. My daughter didn't get invited to Christmas parties; her name wasn't on any gift swap lists. She stayed close to my side, rarely venturing out. We both thought the spring semester would be better; but just in case, we started talking about switching schools, even though she'd been at this one for less than nine months.

We had made the decision to try private school after sixth grade, mostly because the public middle school was plagued with problems related to overcrowding and discipline. My daughter had lots of friends at the private school; they were in dance together and played softball in the same league. The plan was to enjoy these friendships at school, along with small classes and more athletic opportunities.

And the transfer worked like a charm. My daughter had a tight group of friends upon arrival at the private school -- they picked up where they left off during the summer. But when she was arbitrarily exiled a couple of months into the school year, it occured to me, as I wrote the spring tuition check, that I was paying big bucks for this horror show.

My daughter started spending time with girls from the other school. I started to go out some, see old friends, have dates with my husband. Life started to feel a little more normal, less of an ordeal. My daughter started to lose her black circles and haunted look. I stopped waking in the night. The season of hell began to run its course, like a bad case of the flu. But none of us were unscathed. Not my daughter, not me and not the perps.

Finally, despite the signs of ditente, my daughter decide to quit the private school and go to the public school. The decision gave her something to hold on to, something to negate the feelings of hopelessness. An end was in sight. All of the messy social and economic issues dogging the public schools seemed puny compared to the ugly motives behind the private school freeze-out. I worried briefly that changing schools was a cowardly quick fix, but the decision felt right as soon as we made it.

Strangely, the girls were shocked by my daughter's decision to flee. Prompted by teachers and parents, they tentatively asked her why she was leaving. Nobody thought it had gone as far as it had. My daughter had done the stoic thing -- held her head high and kept her tears in check. Her response to their bizarre expressions of concern was equally calm: "I'm outta here," she said. "I'm leaving you to torture each other."

A year later, my daughter's life is entirely different. She is happy and busy with friends, school work and activities. One of the former torturers is now being tortured. She calls my daughter and cries mournfully. I watch, fascinated, as my daughter murmurs sympathy, invites this onetime foe to spend the night, offers her a shoulder to cry on. How can she forgive so easily? Or was forgiveness the most valuable lesson? Perhaps, like the teacher so strangely predicted, it ends up being a good thing, something that makes her tougher, better, stronger in the long run.

I know I'm different. Not tougher, not stronger but changed somehow. It has finally sunk in. There is no immunization against hurt. There is no protection against cruelty. For all the things I can do for her, saving my daughter from life's hard twists is not one of them. Tough lesson all the way around.

Furthermore, if it's really the worst thing that ever happens to her, she'll indeed be lucky.

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