The first time I changed schools, everyone told me it would be a “fresh start.”
New hallways. New teachers. New chance to be someone else.
What they didn’t tell me was how far behind I’d feel from day one.
At my old school, we were halfway through algebra when I left. At the new one, they were already reviewing for the final. In English class, everyone referenced books I had never read. Teachers talked fast, like I was supposed to already know how things worked. When I asked questions, they said, “You should’ve learned this last year.”
But last year, I was somewhere else.
Lunch was worse than class. Groups were already formed—inside jokes, shared history, people who knew each other’s siblings. I sat at the edge of tables, pretending to scroll on my phone so no one would notice I was alone. Eventually, people stopped asking where I came from. I just became “that quiet kid.”
Even things like credits didn’t line up. A class I passed at my old school didn’t count here.
