Next year I’m going to be in ninth grade, a freshman. 

People may believe that the ‘fresh’ in freshman stands for a fresh start,

starting anew. 

Though I think it has a different meaning entirely. 

            Fresh meat. 

Newcomers for the seniors to prey on. 

New environment? Check.

Youngest, and typically smallest? Check. 

Big, tall, hormonal people everywhere? Check. 

            Attending a school for the first time has always been a worry of mine, 

but high school has been a fear I've had for as long as I can remember. 

The thought of wandering through the halls,

 not a clue where to go. 

The thought of first impressions on teachers. 

The thought of my voice cracking when I say, “here.”

            Head held low, 

my shoulders slouching until my back hurts.

Taking my sweater on and off, shivering then sweating. 

The awkward hand raise to go to the bathroom, the room deadly quiet,

All heads turn to you, 

all the eyes watching you as you walk through the door. 

            A folded test being handed back,

people giving you a look that says, “I’m smarter than you.”

            The bright, pen markings on papers, shouting, “hey look at me!”

            The ear-splitting sound of half the class chewing gum,

 mouth particles floating in the air. 

            The fear festering in your stomach, 

building, 

building, 

building, 

Until it all blows up. Everything you've shrugged off,

everything you pushed down. 

It all comes back.