I didn’t know what to expect walking into the building. Everywhere I looked I saw either faces of people who were smiling and not caring that it was the first day of school, or faces that were sleeping with their eyes open, crust and drool forming in their crevices. I saw the new freshmen; some huddled in the same corners my friends and I had huddled in the year before, and others seeming so sure of themselves.

All too sure of themselves.

I was just like then. Both groups of them. Huddled quietly in a circle of friends who, together, thought ourselves infallible. We were fourteen and fifteen, and we thought we ran things. We were the only ones in the building. The school was ours. Oh, but were we wrong.

Oh so wrong.

This year can’t be like last year. I told myself. I had woken up that morning and swore to myself that last year would stay in the past. But as I enter though the back doors of the school, laughter hit my ears. Laughter from a lifetime ago. I shook my head, cleansing my mind of the memories; said hi to my AVID teacher, Mrs. Pence; and walked though the cafeteria doors. It was awkward for me. I had always eaten in the Bistro. And even though the Bistro was meant to be a quiet place to do you school work with your friends, we always went in there because the drama of lunchtime in the cafeteria was too much for us. The Bistro was our safe haven.
I checked to see if it was opened, but since the library was closed, the Bistro was inaccessible.
I looked at the cafeteria around me, and I saw a sea of kids. Straight-haired, made-up faced, skinny-jeaned, chiffon-shirted females – with the occasional hoodie – and hoodied, polo-shirted, cargo-shorted, snapback-from-the-belt-loop having dudes scattered among sweat-pants’d, track-and-basketball-shorted, cut-off shirted athletes that couldn’t care less about looking good since that had been either playing or practicing since at least July, and gauge-eared, *insertbandnamehere* shirted kids affiliated with everything but being mainstream. Hundreds of kids, but no one that I care to sit with.

How could I have alienated myself so much?

I looked around from table to table, waved to a few familiar faces, glanced past a table of boys with skateboards, then finally found a friendly face.

“Hey, Henri-Ana!”

And though everything seemed that everything was the same, I could feel that nothing would as it was.

Nothing special happened that day. So far, my first semester seemed destined to be only slightly better than mediocre.

But just as I had been last year, three weeks into the year, I was fated to be wrong yet again.
Fourth period chemistry.

When I walked into chemistry the first day of school, I recognized some people: some from middle school, others just from the halls, and one boy from the table of skater boys. And three weeks into the year, it was that skater boy that made me change my mind about the year. But he’s also the one that made me second guess my promise to myself.

It wasn’t that cutest thing ever, and I only said yes because I felt obligated to, but I am so glad he asked me to homecoming. I didn’t know that someone that I’ve only known for four weeks could come to mean so much to me. The feeling that I couldn’t fall came over my being, scaring me. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t relive last year. And seven weeks into the semester, I was making straight A’s, I wasn’t getting into trouble, and my social life was attempting to exist. Already, though, I was slipping, falling. Falling for this boy I had just met. Wondering how he could feel my heart with so much joy and passion. Trying to figure how someone could bring my such happiness, yet have that elation entitle pain and fear.

I fear that I will fall for him. I fear that I will fall alone. I’ve come to learn that ‘I love you’ doesn’t mean anything to some people. I fear that he won’t take love seriously. I fear that he’ll take one look at who I am and will be scared of he sees. I fear that I have too much baggage for anyone to ever love me. I fear that I worry too much and that that alone will be enough to cause him to not want me.

And every day, I wonder if that will be the day everything goes awry. But as he looks into my eyes and whispers that, though he can’t promise forever, he’ll promise right now as long as there is a right now to promise, I know that he means it. I don’t know why I believe him, but I do. And I fear that I am being naïve, but then I remember that I’m young and that making mistake is the hallmark of teenagers. But then it won’t matter because I figure that as long as I continue to do well and do good, everything will be ok.

It’s only been a few months since I walked through the doors of this school as a driven sophomore determined not to have an average year of school, but in just these few months, I’ve been able to keep my promise of not letting sophomore year be a repeat of freshman year, and I was wrong. Wrong about this semester being mediocre. I was so wrong.