What’s the most spiteful thing you’ve ever done?
The Anonymous Tip and The Unraveling
My best friend told immigration that my family was here illegally. Two days later, my little brother was getting bullied because people at school somehow found out that we’re getting deported.
When I confronted her, she dabbed her eyes and said, “I’m just worried about you.”
“If you need help packing, I knew what I had to do.”
Fast forward to now. We’re still here and she’s sitting alone at our old lunch table pretending not to notice that she’s an outcast.
When me and my family moved to Maine, I thought my biggest problem would be the lack of public transportation. Turns out it was a girl called Ashley because back then I was extremely anxious and the last thing I wanted was to sit by myself during lunch.
So on my first day at my new school, I sat down with the first group of girls I saw and hoped they would accept me.
And they did. Well, kind of.
“Finally, an Asian who speaks actual English,” was the first thing Ashley said when I introduced myself.
I felt a heat rise in my cheeks as I tried to laugh it off. When I looked around, the other girls weren’t defending me, but they also weren’t joining in, which was good enough for me.
So for the next few months, Ashley’s comments became part of my daily routine. She’d squint at me and ask if I could see properly. Whenever we saw a dog, she’d ask if my stomach was rumbling.
And every time the entire group would go silent. That’s when I knew they were scared of her. Scared of being that one student in school with no friends.
And because I knew nothing was going to change, I tried to empathize with her. I constantly reminded myself that she’d grow out of it. And one day, she did.
We were all sitting in the lunch canteen when Ashley started tweaking out.
“Guys, guys, guys, I slid into the cutest guy’s DMs and I think he really likes me.”
Without asking, she whipped out her iPhone and showed us his profile picture. That’s when it all made sense. It was a Chinese boy.
I stared at her in disbelief. The entire table was silent. That’s when she turned to me with wide eyes.
“Ching Chong.”
She then coughed.
“Cherry, I meant Cherry. I need your help. His parents are traditional and I don’t want to mess this up.”
The other girls watched this interaction like it was a nature documentary. And maybe I’m too nice. Or maybe I just wanted to believe people could change.
But either way, I spent the next few weeks teaching her everything. How to use chopsticks properly, basic Mandarin phrases, what gifts to bring when meeting parents.
And one day, I said something that changed things forever.
“BTW, his parents will probably want him to date someone Chinese. But if you show respect and make an effort with the culture.”
“What?”
She interrupted.
“That’s not fair. Just because I’m born white, I have to suffer more.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and nodded slowly, wondering when the f her maturing stage would come. But something shifted after that.
She went from interested to obsessed. She bought silk chapow online and started wearing them to school. She replaced her Starbucks with bubble tea.
And every day she’d stare at me with eyes filled with envy. She’d say things like, “You’re so lucky to be born that way.” Or, “I have to work so hard for what just comes naturally to you.”
The jealousy in her voice made my skin crawl. I thought things would get better when Kevin became her boyfriend, but instead they got worse.
Whenever he was around, she would do everything she could to put me down. She’d correct my chopstick holding in front of everyone.
Other times, it wasn’t even about my race. She would simply joke about how fat I was. I’m literally size zero, lol.
The worst part was how she’d flip back to being my best friend the second Kevin left, like nothing had ever happened.
I tried talking to the other girls about it. They all did that thing where they looked at each other, but nobody wanted to speak first.
Finally, Emma said, “Maybe she’s just excited about learning,” but her voice was totally flat.
Luckily, everything exploded at Madison’s birthday party. Ashley brought Kevin and spent the entire night putting on a performance.
She made a big show of teaching everyone majong, constantly correcting me, even though I’d been playing since I was 5.
“In authentic Chinese households, we don’t play with those Americanized rules,” she announced.
“Right, babe?”
Kevin looked uncomfortable, but nodded. Ashley continued, “You know what’s so funny?” she said, turning to Kevin with this fake sweet voice.
“Cherry here is supposed to be Chinese, but she’s basically just a Twinkie. Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.”
I finally snapped.
“You know what’s funny, Ashley?”
My voice was shaking, but I didn’t care.
“Three weeks ago, you were asking if my family ate dogs.”
The entire party went silent. Someone turned the music down.
“And what was that cute nickname you had for me?”
I paused.
“Oh, yeah. Ching Chong.”
Kevin’s face contorted like he had bitten into a lemon.
“That’s not No, don’t listen to her.”
She stammered, but it was too late. The entire friend group was now nodding their heads.
Kevin was already packing up his stuff and getting ready to leave, cursing her under his breath.
Two days later, my parents got a call. It wasn’t Ashley, it was immigration services. They called about an anonymous tip regarding our visa status.
My hands shook as I watched my parents exchange worried glances across the kitchen table. Dad’s jaw tightened the way it always did when he was stressed.
Mom started organizing papers that were already perfectly arranged, shuffling through our visa documents for the third time.
“Everything is in order,” she kept repeating, but her voice wavered. “We have all the proper documentation.”
The immigration officer on speakerphone assured us it was just a routine check, but Dad’s face had already gone pale. He kept glancing at his work laptop, then back at the phone.
I saw him pull up his company’s HR portal twice before closing it again. That night, I heard him pacing in his study.
Through the thin walls, I caught fragments of his conversation with Mom about workplace discrimination, about how one anonymous tip could spiral into questions at his job. He mentioned a colleague who’d faced similar scrutiny and never got promoted again.
The next morning at school, I noticed immediately teachers who usually smiled at me now gave quick, uncomfortable glances. In chemistry class, Mrs. Peterson asked if I needed extra time to handle family matters.
The guidance counselor pulled me aside between periods to ask if everything was okay at home. By lunch, the whispers had spread through the entire cafeteria.
I caught fragments as I walked past tables: deportation. Getting sent back. I heard they’re packing already.
Ashley sat at our usual table, surrounded by the other girls. She looked up as I approached, her eyes wide with fake concern.
“Oh my god, Cherry. I heard about your family. That must be so scary. Not knowing if you’ll have to leave.”
Emma stared at her sandwich. Madison picked at her salad. Nobody met my eyes.
“Where did you hear that?” I asked, though I already knew.
Ashley touched her chest dramatically.
“It’s all over school. Everyone’s talking about it. I’m just so worried about you.”
I sat down slowly watching her performance. She leaned forward, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret.
“If you need help packing or anything.”
My phone buzzed, then buzzed again and again. I pulled it out to find my Instagram flooded with comments, screenshots of posts I’d never made, messages I’d never sent, all with my profile picture, my username, but the words were cruel, mocking.
They targeted Ashley specifically, calling her a wannabe Asian and worse.
“What the hell?” I whispered, scrolling through the fabricated evidence.
Ashley’s phone chimed. She glanced at it, and her face transformed into wounded shock.
“Oh my god, Cherry, how could you?” She turned her screen toward the other girls. More fake screenshots.
The entire lunch table shifted uncomfortably.
“I didn’t write any of this,” I said, but my voice sounded weak even to me.
Ashley’s eyes filled with tears on command.
“I tried so hard to learn about your culture. I thought we were friends, but you’re just jealous because Kevin chose me.”
“Kevin dumped you at Madison’s party,” I reminded her, her face flushed.
“That’s not true. We’re working things out.”
“You’re just bitter because no Asian guy would want someone as whitewashed as you.”
I stood up so fast, my chair scraped against the floor. Several people turned to stare.
Ashley immediately switched back to victim mode, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.
“I can’t believe you’d cyberbully me like this,” she said loudly enough for nearby tables to hear.
By the end of the day, I’d received three emails from teachers about online responsibility and a note to see the principal first thing tomorrow.
My phone had over 50 notifications from classmates who’d seen the fake screenshots. Some believed they were real, others stayed silent.
I found my younger brother Thawn waiting by my locker after school. His eyes were red and his backpack hung off one shoulder like it was too heavy to carry properly.
“Some eighth graders cornered me at lunch,” he said quietly. “They said our family was getting kicked out of the country. They said you were mean to some girl and now we’re all in trouble.”
My chest tightened. Then was only in sixth grade. He’d been so excited about joining the robotics club, making new friends.
Now he looked smaller than usual, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear.
“It’s not true,” I told him. “Someone’s spreading lies.”
“I know,” he said. “But they wouldn’t stop. They followed me to the library.”
We walked home together in silence. Mom’s car was already in the driveway. Unusual for a Tuesday.
Through the window, I saw her on the phone, gesturing with one hand while holding papers in the other.
Inside, Dad sat at the dining table with his laptop open. His company’s email system filled the screen. He minimized it when we walked in, but not before I saw the subject line of an open message: “Re background verification question.”
“How was school?” Mom asked, hanging up the phone. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Then mumbled something and headed upstairs. I started to follow, but Mom stopped me.
“The principal called,” she said. “Something about a meeting and cyber bullying accusations.”
I sank into a chair and explained everything. The fake screenshots, the rumors about deportation, how Ashley was behind it all. Dad’s face grew darker with each detail.
“This girl,” he said slowly. “She’s the same one who made those comments before.”
I nodded. “And now she’s targeting our whole family.”
Before I could answer, our doorbell rang. Mom opened it to find our cousin Victoria, who just moved to town last month for college. But instead of her usual bright smile, she looked uncomfortable.
“Hey, Aunt Lily,” she said, not meeting Mom’s eyes.
“I can’t stay for dinner tonight, but it’s Tuesday,” Mom said. “You always come for Tuesday dinner.”
Victoria shifted her weight.
“Yeah, I just I have a study group.”
She glanced at me, then quickly looked away. My stomach dropped.
“Did someone talk to you?” I asked. Victoria’s face flushed.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Victoria. Mom’s voice was gentle but firm.
“What happened?”
My cousin sighed.
“This girl at the coffee shop near campus, Ashley. She said she goes to school with Cherry. She told me some things.”
“What things?” Dad asked.
Victoria looked even more uncomfortable.
“She said you guys look down on other Asians. That you think you’re better because you have papers and speak perfect English. She said Cherry makes fun of FOBs and fresh off the boat.”
Mom’s voice was ice.
“We would never.”
“I know,” Victoria said quickly. “I mean, I thought I knew, but she had these screenshots and she seemed so nice and concerned and…”
“And you believed her over your own family?” I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice.
Victoria’s eyes filled with tears.
“She said you’d deny it. She said, ‘That’s what elitist families do. They stick together and gaslight everyone else.'”
She left without staying for dinner. Mom stood at the door watching her drive away, shoulders sagging. Dad went back to his laptop, typing furiously. Then didn’t come down at all.
That night, I lay awake scrolling through social media, trying to trace the source of the fake screenshots. The accounts posting them were clearly fake. Created recently with generic names.
But they’d been smart about it, making the post look authentic enough that people believed them.
My phone lit up with a text from Emma.
“I’m sorry.”
I stared at it for a long moment before responding.
“For what?”
The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared several times.
Finally, just, “Sorry.”
The next morning, Principal Harrison’s office felt smaller than usual. Ashley sat in one chair with her mother, a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a country club catalog.
My parents flanked me on the other side. The fake screenshots lay printed on the desk between us.
“This is a very serious accusation,” Principal Harrison began.
Ashley’s mother cut him off.
“Cyber bullying is a crime. We’re prepared to take legal action to protect our daughter.”
“I didn’t send those messages,” I said firmly.
Ashley’s mother turned to me with cold eyes.
“These screenshots say otherwise. My daughter has been nothing but welcoming to you, learning about your culture, dating Asian boys to be more inclusive, and this is how you repay her.”
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but Dad placed a warning hand on my arm.
“We’d like to see the original messages,” he said calmly. “Not screenshots, the actual messages from the platforms.”
Ashley shifted in her seat.
“I deleted them. They were too hurtful to keep.”
“How convenient, Mom.”
“Excuse me.”
Ashley’s mother’s voice went sharp.
“Are you calling my daughter a liar?”
The meeting devolved from there. Principal Harrison tried to mediate, but Ashley’s mother dominated the conversation with threats of lawsuits and demands for suspension.
She used phrases like hostile environment and pattern of aggression. Ashley sat quietly, occasionally dabbing at dry eyes.
We left with nothing resolved except a promise to investigate further. In the parking lot, I overheard Ashley’s mother on the phone.
“Yes, I want to file a formal complaint about cyber bullying. The perpetrator is a Chinese student.”
At my part-time job that afternoon, I tried to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of the bakery, kneading dough, measuring ingredients, the warm smell of fresh bread. It was the only place that still felt normal.
Then Ashley walked in. She pretended to browse the display case while I helped other customers, but I could hear her clearly as she spoke to each person in line.
“I wouldn’t eat here if I were you,” she said to an elderly man. “I got food poisoning last week.”
“Really?” he asked, concerned.
“Oh, yes, violently ill. I think they have hygiene issues. You know how some places are.”
She let the implication hang. The man left without buying anything. She repeated variations of this to three more customers before my manager, Nathan, noticed the pattern.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said. “If you’re not buying anything, I need to ask you to leave.”
Ashley’s eyes went wide with fake innocence.
“I’m just warning people. It’s a public service.”
“Leave now.”
She flounced out, but the damage was done. Over the next few days, our Yelp and Google reviews filled with one-star ratings, all posted within hours of each other.
All mentioning getting sick, finding hair and food, seeing bugs, things that had never happened. Nathan showed me his phone, scrolling through the reviews.
“Cherry, I know these are fake, but customers don’t. We’re already getting fewer orders.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”
“No,” he said firmly. “This is harassment, but I need you to understand if this continues.”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
At home, things were getting worse. Dad came home late every night. Stress etched in every line of his face. He’d been asked to provide additional documentation at work.
Routine, they said, but he knew better. Mom received an anonymous letter at her workplace. It suggested her degrees from China might need verification and questioned whether her credentials were legitimate.
Her promotion review was coming up in 2 months. The timing wasn’t coincidental.
Then started having stomach aches every morning. Real ones. The school nurse called Mom twice in one week.
He wouldn’t tell us exactly what was happening, but I knew. The rumors had spread to the middle school. Kids could be cruel when given ammunition.
My grandmother arrived from China for her planned visit in the middle of this chaos. She took one look at our faces and knew something was wrong.
Mom tried to explain in Mandarin, but Grandma’s face grew more troubled with each word. That night, I heard her coughing more than usual.
Mom mentioned adjusting her medication, worried about the stress affecting her health. Grandma had a heart condition. She didn’t need this.
At school, the isolation was complete. Our lunch table had rearranged itself. Ashley held court at the center with Emma and Madison closest to her. My empty seat might as well have had caution tape around it.
I ate in the library pretending to study, but even there I caught people staring, whispering. The fake screenshots had evolved into accepted truth.
“Cherry the cyber bully. Cherry the jealous friend. Cherry whose family was getting deported because they’d lied on their visa applications.” None of it was true. All of it was believed.
During art class, I partnered with Okathine for a project. She was new, didn’t know the history. We worked in comfortable silence until Ashley appeared at our table.
“Hi, I’m Ashley,” she said brightly. “You must be O’ Catherine. I love your name. So unique.”
Okathine smiled politely.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, just wanted to give you a heads up about your partner.” Ashley’s voice dropped to a concerned whisper. “She’s been sending really mean messages to people. I’d be careful about getting too close.”
I watched Okathine’s face change, the way she subtly shifted her stool a few inches away. Ashley walked off. “Mission accomplished.”
“That’s not true,” I said quietly. Okathine focused on her painting.
The group project in history should have been simple: five students, one presentation on immigration patterns, but Ashley had gotten to my group first.
She volunteered incorrect dates for our timeline, mixed up key legislation. When I tried to correct the information, she gasped.
“Are you calling me stupid? Just because I’m not Asian doesn’t mean I can’t understand immigration history.”
The other group members looked exhausted.
One muttered, “Let’s just use Ashley’s dates. It’s not worth the drama.”
We got a C minus. My first ever.
At home, Mom found me crying over my laptop. The grade felt like the final straw on top of everything else.
“We could switch schools,” she said gently. “Start fresh.”
“That’s what she wants.”
“She wins if we run,” I said.
Mom stroked my hair.
“Sometimes winning looks different than we think.”
But I saw the defeat in her eyes. The way Dad’s shoulders slumped at dinner. How Thawn pushed food around his plate without eating.
Even Grandma’s usual stories had stopped. Ashley wasn’t just targeting me anymore. She was unraveling our entire family.
