I sat down in my first class of the year.  Freshman year. My first class of course, Spanish. My back hurt from carrying my backpack; had it really only been 15 minutes?  I looked around awkwardly, the realization that I did not recognize anybody set in. It was all new. The walls of the classroom. New. The colorful decorations on the wall. New. My sweaty hands. That one was really new. My hands never got sweaty. 

The short, beautiful, brunette teacher asked us to go around and introduce ourselves. The lump in my throat restricted my voice. I quickly said my name. “DeAnna” in an embarrassingly squeaky voice. I was the new girl. I had never been the new girl before. 

My thoughts twisted and churned like your stomach does when you skip breakfast. Speaking of which, I had forgotten to eat breakfast. Dang it. I glanced over at the girl next to me, “Hi, I’m DeAnna.” Why did I say my name again? So embarrassing, I thought to myself. She waved and got back to reading her book. I really did not want that to be the only conversation I had that day. I decided to ask her if she had gone to this school before. She looked up from her book “No, I'm new.” I was suddenly jealous. She was so unbothered, calm, confident even. She did not even seem to care that no one knew her, and that she knew no one. I have never been the introverted type, so hearing this made me remember how confident I can be. She reminded me that it was just a normal classroom, and I was just a normal student.