Stupid Kid

Nov 6, 2017 By Anna J., 12
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When I was ten, my parents decided it would be fun for our family to go camping with one of my sister’s friends. Other than the parents and their three-year-old daughter, they had a son who was a year younger than I was, who I hated passionately with every fiber of my being. I will refer to him as “Stupid Kid” because that is what he is.

I was fully planning to sit in the tent (or the car) for all two days we would be there, but my parents forced me to “go outside and socialize” with Stupid Kid.

Stupid Kid was a special kind of stupid. He was the kind of kid who would try to see how hard you would have to hit your head on a brick wall to break it. Stupid Kid was extremely excited when he learned that he could practically go anywhere he wanted and I would have to follow him. It was probably heaven on earth for him, that he could go anywhere without his parents, and I would be the only one who followed him.

Stupid Kid decided he wanted to go down an isolated hill too far away from the tents. At the bottom of the hill was a pool of clear water where the corn dog weeds grew tall. Though the pond was isolated, the water was not completely calm: there was a small opening near the far edge where the elevated bigger lake poured into it and churned the water. I knew Stupid Kid would want to go in.

“Stupid Kid, don’t go in there,” I said, though I didn’t really care what happened to him.

Stupid Kid turned around with an angry, childish look on his face. “You’re not the boss of me!” he shouted even though I was right behind him. After a few moments, he screamed like a girl, “Help! I can’t move my feet!”

“Sure, Stupid Kid,” I smirked. While he screamed and waved his arms, I laughed and went to the side of the pond to watch him. Only when he tried to take a step but tripped into the pond, luckily using his arms to break his fall, did I believe he was actually stuck.

I sighed and slowly walked over to where he was, careful not to fall in. I looked at his blubbering face in disgust, grabbed his sweaty, grimy hand, and yanked it as hard as I could. He fell forward. “Thanks a lot,” he growled.