The hustle and bustle of middle school swirls around me. I feel so foreign standing in this space, as middle school is but a foreign memory for this current iteration of me. Suddenly a girl appears, her purple and blue polka dot bag hung from both shoulders. I smile as I feel my own mint bag hung on just my right. The girl has glistening blue eyes and her short brown hair bounces with each step she takes. I take a moment to look at my own hair, quietly laughing to myself about how short it is. She’s wearing a blue half long sleeve shirt, one that ties in the front with a matching pair of floral leggings. I am wearing black flare leggings with my blue Drama Society shirt (I don’t realize that the little pony tail I have tied on the shirt is poking out). We are both wearing white converse, although mine appear to have significantly more wear than hers. I watch as she struggles to open her locker, knowing that I entered my combo wrong this very morning. My focus on the girl is interrupted by the song changing in the left AirPod I’m wearing. I scramble to turn down La Vie Bohéme as I never want to be the person with music spilling out of their headphones. Our eyes meet as I fumble with my phone and it feels as though we are the only people in the packed sixth grade hallway. 

Time stops for a second as tears fill my eyes. I didn’t realize how little I was (even though my height has remained close to the same). The girl I’m staring at doesn’t hesitate to ask if I’m okay as she notices my tears. I’m quick to reassure her that I’m fine but her persistence carries forward. She asks why I’m crying, and I tell her I never thought I would get to meet her. She is confused, as to her I’m just a random high schooler. She seems nervous that she is talking to someone in high school. I reassure her that she’s okay and promise I would never let anything happen to her. She asks how I know her, I tell her I’m the seventeen year old version of her. Her blue eyes grow wide. 

She stares at me in disbelief, almost as if she is surprised that this is who she will become. She sheds a tear as the realization dawns on her. I ask her to sit down in the project area, she immediately grows wary.  I tell her that no one understands following the rules more than I do and I promise her she won’t get in trouble for talking to me. I can tell how nervous she is so I ask her to trust me. She is quick to trust as she automatically gives the benefit of the doubt to almost everyone around her. She nods as I lead her to one of the project area tables. 

We both put our phones on the table, our eyes simultaneously light up as we see them. Hers light up because she is finally carrying around an iPhone while mine light up as I remember that little red kickstand fondly (dabbing unicorn popsocket and all). We stare at each other, analyzing the other’s movements intensely. I see the gears in her head turning, she is trying to figure out what to ask me first. I am sitting quietly as the awkward overthinking part of my brain is hard at work. I think it’s the only time we’ve ever been this quiet. My eyes wander to her teal binder, the huge zip up ones that physically signify the beginning of middle school. I ask if I can see it, she says yes but is visibly confused why I’m interested in it. 

I open her binder to see the very work that will remain unfinished. She doesn’t realize that these assignments will never get turned in, not because she blew them off but because she has no idea what the world has in store for her. I shut her binder as a tear glistened in my eye. She asks why I’m tearing up, I tell her it’s just the memories of being in her shoes. She asks me to see my phone. I tell her of course and hand it to her. She is in shock to be holding an iPhone in her hands. I tell her to wait for August because that’s when her first iPhone will come. She looks at the case and seems surprised. 

I notice her surprise so I ask her if she’s still dreaming of being an astronaut. She says yes without thinking about it, the same way she has her entire childhood. Yet, I can see the inner workings of her brain turning, the feeling that maybe she doesn’t really want to travel space running through her mind. I tell her she can still love space without wanting to pursue it as a career. She nods, taking time to really sit with my words. I know that she needs to figure it out for herself but I softly smile as though to let her know that it’s okay if science isn’t her favorite anymore. I tell her that I still love space, even if it’s not in the same way she has for so long. This makes her smile as she carefully examines the clear galaxy themed case. 

She asks me if I’ve heard about this new virus, I tell her I know it well. She tells me she heard about it on CNN 10 before asking me if we still watch CNN 10.  I tell her we’re an MSNBC family. She looks at my phone, lying face up on the project area table, a mix between confused and offended. The first photo is not of a quokka. The photo she sees first is of her family, standing in a chapel before her uncle’s wedding. She is in disbelief at how our sister has aged, her jaw hits the ground when I say she is a few weeks away from 25. She is even more surprised that her uncle actually got married. I tell her I know it was such a long time coming. I tell her to tap the photo and she stares back at me blankly. I tell her to trust me, resulting in her tapping the screen in front of her. 

The photo of our family disappears. It is replaced by one of my friend groups, and she stares at it slightly puzzled. The seven girls have their arms wrapped around each other, each smile larger than the next. She asks who’s in the photo, I say doesn’t she recognize them? She further examines the photo as for the most part it isn’t the people sitting with her at lunch each day. I explain these are our best friends, listing the name of each person as I describe them by outfit. As I describe my partners in chaos, I see the heads of the two of the members of the photo coming down the hallway. It brings a tear to my eye to be able to see the version of these two girls that I became friends with so long ago. The two girls are so close now but these versions of them aren’t walking next to each other, in fact they aren’t even acknowledging each other. She has a hard time believing that those two will become friends. I reassure her of their friendship. In a way she seems a little disappointed that the people she is so focused on winning the friendship of aren’t interested in her anymore. I tell her that with these six girls we belong, we have a home with them. We are accepted and most importantly we’re happy. She taps through more photos, seeing a highlight reel of some of my friend group’s favorite memories. The day at the pool, my 15th birthday, Halloween this year just to name a few. 

I smile and laugh as I tell her about the memories of the photo. I tell her how hard we laugh together, but that we love each other even harder. She sees one final group photo and her curiosity peaks. She sees us all sitting in my basement (she has yet to discover that her basement will be the hangout spot in her friendships), Christmas decor lining the walls. She asks why pictures are covering the rug, I tell her we were just reminiscing. I don’t have the heart to tell her the truth. She notices the necklace I’m wearing matches the ones displayed in the photo. She looks at the necklace confused. I smile as I tell her all seven of us have one, that we will always fit perfectly together, like puzzle pieces. She seems confused, I tell her that we each have a piece of that puzzle, holding my necklace out so she can see. I tell her that her fear of rejection, exclusion and loneliness are behind her and the necklace is a symbol of that. She smiles, tears running from her face.

 I watch as she continues to tap through the photos, innocence radiating off her. I watch her giggle, her smile is one of her pure happiness. She has no idea how the world will change her, how she will be forever changed by the virus swirling through the air. She pauses on a photo, turning the phone around so I can see. She does not recognize the faces, the blonde girl dressed like Dorothy and the brunette in the black shirt are strangers to her. She does not know them but from the photo it is obvious they know her. Or better yet they will know her. I tell her to give them time, that those two are the little sisters she’s been dreaming of. Once again she is puzzled. I tell her they make her feel seen and validated, they do not judge her for her interests, but encourage her to pursue them. I tell her what good friends they are and how she is a better person because they are in her life. She asks me to introduce them to her. I tell her I can’t as right now they are all living in different worlds. I tell her that she needs to be patient as these two will become characters in her story the minute they are supposed to.

 She is impatient but I tell her that her story will unfold the way it’s supposed to. She continues tapping through the photos on the lock screen, as if she is searching for someone. She taps through rapidly until she reaches the start again. Surely she must have missed her, surely in the future she wouldn’t have forgotten to include her. I grab her hands right as they’re about to start retapping and look at her, tears in my eyes. Her hands seem so small when taken in mine, I can’t believe my hands really were once this tiny. I take a deep breath as I know this will crush her. I tell her that she won’t find the photo she’s looking for. She stares at me in disbelief, rapidly letting go of my hands. She cannot imagine a world without her friend in it, as she seems so central in her orbit now. I want to protect her, shield her from the pain she will experience. She begins searching again, tapping as though I’ve simply made a mistake. I grab her hands to stop her. I tell her that the person she is searching for is no longer in her life. She asks me a series of stunned whys and what happends and hows. I tell her that our friendship changed, not as a reflection of her but as a reflection of the other person. I tell her that S (the girl she’s searching for) has not been in her life for a while and that she is okay, even though the pain is part of her story. The last thing I want is to hurt her and taint the friendship I know she holds so dear. I tell her to hold on to the people who make her feel seen and heard, that she will have the best friends because she is the best friend. I tell her it’s not her fault that she cares about other people more than she cares about herself. I tell her she will make the right decision, even if it’s hard, even if she gets hurt in the process. She nods, simply trying to take the whole thing in. 

I don’t want her to dwell too much on the information I’ve just shared so I ask if she has anything to ask me. She asks what I did for Egypt day. I pause before answering, I don’t need to crush her spirit by telling her that we will never get to experience Egypt Day. So I say I can’t remember. I feel bad lying but I don’t want her to lose hope during the dark days ahead. She tells me how excited she is for it, I smile as I listen. I remember the innocence of waiting for Egypt day, the innocence of believing the second half of sixth grade would be normal. I asked if she had a good time at rehearsal yesterday. She eagerly tells me yes and begins to recap the rehearsal. She seems surprised that I remember a singular rehearsal but can’t recall my Egypt Day Project. I tell her to hold onto the joy she felt during that rehearsal as she will need it for the days ahead. She stares at me blankly, I tell her to trust me, and she nods. 

 I notice her hand is softly trembling. I take her hands and tell her she is okay. She quickly asks me how I know. I tell her that her nervousness and apprehension is okay. I tell her that her fears (better known as her anxieties) are part of her, even if she is pretending they are not. I tell her that we will get the help we need, that we still struggle with our anxiety but we’re okay now. I tell her that even after the darkest night, there’s always another sunrise. We stare at each other, really examining the person opposite us. She hears the bell ring and begins to get up. I follow suit and give her a hug. I tell her to enjoy the moment she is in, to hold onto the here and now. She nods as she lets go of the hug. As she walks away, I hear the middle school announcements echo “Good morning Winthrop Vikings. Today is March 13th 2020…”