I never knew how much things were going to change. All I knew was this class was going to turn out so different from previous years. I quietly walk down the hallway with one of my friends to go to STEM class for the first time. We turn towards a dim lit hall that leads to the classroom. As we got closer to the STEM room, there was music playing loudly from the weight room next door. It smelled pungently of sweat and mold; the room desperately needed a cleaning. We opened the door and entered a busily loud STEM room. It was crowded in here, nobody sitting at the tables, no teachers in sight, and no approachable faces anywhere. I timidly walk towards the table in the back of the room, hoping nobody noticed me by myself. I didn't get what I hoped for. A tall boy with sparkling chocolatey brown eyes approaches me. Naturally, I look down at my feet, trying to act as if I didn't know he was there, thinking maybe he would give up and go away. He didn't. Instead he poked me with a pencil. I look up and subconsciously tug at my brown hair. Stephan, aka Uncle Stephanie, was laughing at my tall visitor. Stephen shrugs and sits on the table. 'Great,' I think to myself, 'Now I have to talk to this total stranger. She's not gonna like that.' I shudder at the thought. She, as in my social anxiety. He leans against the wall, poking me once again with a pencil. This time, I am able to get a good look at his face. Suddenly, a wave of recognition hits me. This was the same Connor I had threatened and supposedly hated years ago in elementary school.

Shortly after passing out the syllabus and introducing themselves, the two teachers begin to call out names to put everyone in our first groups."Alex. Connor. Desirea…." I cross my fingers, hoping to not hear my name but it was called anyway. I sigh and hesitantly walk towards my group. My dear "friend" anxiety decides to make her presence known as I'm setting my stuff onto the table. I try to ward her off, but can only do so much. Anxiety backs off and leaves me still continuously shaking. "Bro. It's not that cold in here." Alex stares at me. "I'm kinda cold." I look over at the girl walking up beside me. It was Desirea. "I mean, it's colder than the other classrooms." She shrugs. I was glad to have at least one friend in my group. I don't say anything except shake my head and smile wearily as we quietly sit down to listen to the teachers' instructions. This group would be exciting, for sure.

A few months later into the school year, the day after mid-term exams I noticed Anxiety had started to bother me less and less as I began to hang around Connor. It was almost as if she was terrified of him. I thought it was because he was like a new best friend, and that he jokingly called me his mom whenever I would nag him to do his work in class, or maybe because I could trust him and felt more confident being myself with him than anyone I met before him. We sat and listened to instructions for our Superheros of Science project. Well, more Connor screwing around with a pencil and tape and the rest of us listening. A few weeks after the SoS project, we were put into new groups once again, for our final project, and we were put into separate groups for once. Against all odds, however, I was in a group with Abby. My entire group, which consisted of me, Abby, my friend Izzy, and an 'almost friend', Sergio, consistently tried to set me and Connor up. Eventually we both gave in. And it was awkward.

A couple months into summer and we're both sitting outside at a local music concert/festival with his two younger siblings and their friend. "I'm taking you to jail! In the trash can!" His sister, Abby, grabbed my hand and began dragging me towards a pavilion with a trash can under it. The adorable 8 year old was small, yet full of energy and determination. Her friend grabbed my other hand. "You can't take her to the trash can, Abby. That's where she lives." I turn around and see Connors little brother, Jack, running at us with Connor falling shortly behind. "You live in there?" Abby's friend stops walking and looks at me with pure concern spread across her face. "That isn't safe. The Ack-coons live there. You can come live in my house." I smile, trying not to burst out in laughter. "It's RA-coon, not ACK-coon. Learn to speak." I turn to my left to face the little diva. "She can say it however she wants, ok? But yes, that's how you say racoon. And I don't live in the trash can," I turn towards Jack who is happily skipping up behind us, "I can't even fit into it, especially not with my dogs and cats." He shrugs and runs towards the playground. The girls both grip my hands and run after Jack, dragging me along with them. All night I ran around with Jack, Abby, and her friend, Connor trailing slowly behind us, making fun of me for "fitting in with the little kids" the whole time. As we leave the park and begin to head home, a realization hits me. Anxiety. She hadn't been around almost at all lately. I was more confident in myself, I wasn't as hesitant to talk to people or answer phone calls, and I had become happier with myself. I was beginning to see myself for me, instead of the swayed and broken illusion of a reflection I had come to know for many years.

"Come on, let's go. You look fine!" I awkwardly walk out of the bathroom with my best friend Eliza. She rolls her eyes and grabs me by my arm, dragging me through the lobby back to our class. As we walk in and shut the door, as we were the last two in, the other girls look up at us. "Are you sure it looks ok? I don't think-" Eliza grabs me and spins me to face her, gripping my shoulders. "YES! Now, we have a dance to practice so LET'S GO!" I silently nod and walk out to the floor towards my spot. Ms Angie, our dance teacher, walks around us, helping us make sure we're in our correct spots. Our recital was in a few months. Eliza, who stood in front of me, leans backward slightly. "Besides," she begins, "nobody cares. We're not teenagers, and that's when looks matter. You're pretty anyways." She straightens up, moving her foot back into 4th position. She was always talking about being a teenager ever since her older sister got a boyfriend. I fake a smile, and get into position. 'She's lying,' I think to myself. 'I'm fat and this dance costume looks gross on me.' I shake the thought away. 'What am I thinking? That's not true. Or is it?' I let out a quiet sight and push the thought to the back of my head. Ms Angie begins playing the music and we go through the dance again.

I had changed since I was younger. I always had a skewed vision of myself, called body dysmorphic disorder, and had trauma-induced anxiety, as well as clinical depression. The other morning I walked down the hallway to my first hour and was happier and more content with myself despite my struggles. I finally found ways to live in reality instead of the pent up version I was trapped in for so long. I've even noticed as I was walking down to the auditorium that morning that I've become more open than I've ever been. I remember being so convinced my life was over and that it would never get better. The thing is, it did, it got much better since I met Connor, and even my other friends I made in STEM class because of him. I've been more open and less hesitant to talk to new people, and have made so many more new friends. No matter how difficult life is, and no matter how bad it seems, it does get better, and sometimes it takes that one person to push you to see that.