• It's Saturday. My friend has invited me to the movies, which of course means that suddenly my favorite shirt has gone missing. And when I finally find it I feel stupid because it was somewhere obvious. It never fails...

    I'm looking through my backpack, convinced I must have put it there when I changed during gym yesterday. Not there. Instead, I find something else. A report I had written at the beginning of the school year. Looking at it, I was struck with a realization.

    Several months ago, my teacher handed it back to me, going out of her way to tell me it was brilliant. I remember how good the praise felt, as it was the last time anyone complimented my work. As the months went on, my work got worse and worse. I didn't see any point in it anymore, no conceivable way that I would need it in real life. That's when it started. Now I wasn't getting bad grades because I didn't do the work, I really didn't know the answers. I was threatened with being held back, not going to high school. I had learned the previous week that I had been accepted to the magnet school I wanted to attend. A tear ran down my face. There was a good chance that I wouldn't pass this year, effectively torching my permanent record.

    I'm reading over the paper again. I don't understand half of the words. I stuff it back into my bag, before I have the chance to breakdown. I glance under my bed and saw my shirt. I slip it on and wipe the tears off my face. Beeping noises outside. I grab my phone and run out the door. Things are going to change. They have to.