"I was first in line," I yelled at the kindergartener standing at the bus stop with me.

"No, I was!"

I gave her a shove to prove my point, I was in first grade and this was the only way to solve my problems, or so five years of sibling rivalry had taught me.

My shove only served to force the tears from her eyes. Her older brother was infuriated by my actions and he too began to yell. The only appropriate reaction for my older brother was to yell back at him. But he delayed half a second too long and the bigger boy shoved dirt into my mouth.

Glaring at him in horror I spit out the thick mud that was developing on my tongue, as I gasped for air in between sobs. The mud ran down my throat and hit my stomach as if it were a pile of rocks. Gagging I turned to run home as the bus pulled to a stop.

I knelt down, trying to catch my breath and stop the gagging, but it was too late, mud and Frankenberry cereal joined the gravel at the edge of the street. A bus load of kids were watching as I used my hand to clear the muddy mess off my face.

She was right after all, I watched her turn her back and be the first one on the bus. I ran home in tears, revisiting my breakfast and the earthy substance the entire quarter of a mile. Expecting some sort of sympathy from Mom she took one look at me and said, "What did you do to deserve that?"

In stunned silence I washed up and Mom drove me to school, lecturing me the entire way about how fighting isn't the appropriate response.