by Olivia
You ever hear of the game “Fruits Basket”? The game—the one kids play. They all sit in a circle, giggling and fidgeting on the floor, waiting for names—fruit names—to be called. Apple, banana, peach, grape, melon. Everyone got a fruit as a name. Everyone belonged. Except someone was always it. Standing in the middle. The one without a seat. Everyone got to feel safe in the circle, except the one who was chosen to be left out. They’d call out two fruits: “Apple and grape!”—and those kids would jump up and switch spots, squealing. And if the person in the middle was fast enough, they’d steal someone's seat. Then someone else was left out all over again.
But what about the worst part? When they said “Fruits basket!” That meant everyone had to run. Every fruit. No one was safe. Total chaos. Laughter. Squealing. And for a second no one was left out. But that never lasted long. You see, when I first heard of it I thought it’s just a game and nothing more, but now I realize…it replicates what I see today. Sometimes, you’re in the circle. You have a fruit. You have a place. And then suddenly, you’re standing in the middle, without even realizing how you got there. Watching everyone else laugh, and run, and belong–but–I also remember this: when someone was new, or scared, or crying, kids would all try to make room. “You can be a strawberry,” they’d say. And maybe that’s the part I want to keep. That even if the game felt unfair…the game found a way to be soft. Kind. Even to kids no one knew, someone would reach out their hand and say, “You’re one of us now.” You have a fruit. You belong. Maybe that’s what I hope the world could be like—one big, messy, joyful game of Fruits Basket. Where no one stays in the middle or singled out for too long.