She’s sitting over there, four rows up to the right of me. Beautiful glowing skin, green eyes, and dimples the size of 10-carat diamonds. Ugh, I wish my crippling social anxiety would let me make my fantasy come true. But no. Her name is Maria Fernandez, and I’ve known her since we got lost together at orientation last year and had about a four-minute conversation. It wasn’t much, just how we didn’t know where we were going, and we were nervous about starting high school. It was an accomplishment for me for somebody who has a mini panic attack every time I speak to somebody. I still remember the last thing I said to her, “Good luck in big boy school.” Corny, yes, lame, defiantly, but that was the first thing that came to mind. One year later, that remains the last words I’ve ever said to her. We didn’t share any classes freshman year, and she would go on to be semi-popular while I kept to myself and got by. I was so afraid of eye contact I’d immediately look down if I knew she was around.
But that was last year. Today’s the first day of sophomore year, and there she is, first period, in my class. My therapist said to overcome my fears. I’m going to have to embrace discomfort if I want to evolve. So imma doing it. I’m going to talk to her.
As the class is about to end, the teacher is giving his last few remarks. The nervous energy that’s become all too familiar seeps through my body. Either I’m going to fiddle my thumbs and stay here until she walks out, or I’m going to do something I should have done months ago. It’s now or never. Almost instinctively, as the bell rings and she walks by, I slowly put my head in my bag as looking for something I knew I didn’t need. When I came up, she had walked out of the class, and I knew I blew my chance. Annoyed, but I was trying to stay optimistic, telling myself it was sophomore year and, unlike last year, I’d have more opportunity.

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