I remember noticing how her hair was in pigtails, something a bit unusual for her but I didn’t know that yet. Her glasses were slightly too big for her face, slipping down her nose and enlarging her eyes. They were sure to fall off her face at some point. 

She was very well dressed in a pale pink long sleeved shirt and a white skirt. The light purple shoes she wore were pristine and practically sparkling. Even her lavender backpack was perfectly clean and looked like it cost a hefty amount of money. 

I looked upon her enviously because of her obvious wealthiness, but those feelings soon slipped away when she walked in and tripped. Her glasses flew off her face, as I had predicted, and she did a face-plant onto the carpet. 

I had been sitting in the first row at the time, the second from the door. This positioned me in exactly the right spot to witness her humiliating clumsiness with perfect clarity. 

I didn’t decide. I knew instantly that I would help her. I had grown up with several siblings, so I knew what it felt like to be laughed at, and how this could ruin her day. 

I jumped up as soon as she fell, picking up her glasses, which had flown to my feet. I went quickly to her side and helped her up. 

The laughing already started, picking up in volume. Kids were snickering and whispering behind their hands. I gave them a sideways glare, but it only silenced a few of the judgemental and inconsiderate students. 

“Are you okay? That looked like it hurt,” I asked worriedly. Her eyes were misting, and I knew she was trying her hardest not to cry. 

As I scanned the rest of her, I saw that her entire outfit was now scuffed up with dirt and there was a rip in the hem of her skirt on the left side. I looked at the torn threads with sympathy. And, as I continued to look, I saw that her left knee beneath the rip was scraped and bloody. 

“Oh, no! You’re bleeding!” I exclaimed. She looked to where I was looking and her eyes teared up even more, her bottom lip wobbling in an attempt to stifle her sobs. She lifted her head back to look at me briefly, before turning to the teacher. 

But, before anyone could say anything, I turned to the teacher and asked, “Can I take Dahlia to the nurse? She’s bleeding bad.” 

I remembered that the teacher smiled very widely and fondly. She nodded and warmly said, “Yes, of course. Take the hall pass and make sure to sign out.” 

I took Dahlia’s arm and steered her towards the door. I grabbed the hall pass, handing it to her, and signed both of our names out for the nurse in my neat print. 

Then, I marched Dahlia down the hall, towards the nurse’s office. When I peeked at Dahlia, she was smiling through her tears. She was staring at the ground, but turned to meet my gaze before looking away quickly. She was shy, that was for sure. But she was brave, too. 

By the time we were at the office entrance, there was blood trickling down her leg, slowly getting closer to her pretty ruffled socks and shiny shoes. 

I opened the door for her, and motioned for her to enter. She smiled and nodded her thanks and went in. I quickly followed her and we walked to the front desk. 

“Hi. Dahlia scratched her knee, and it’s bleeding,” I told them. 

“Oh, my!” the receptionist lady said as she leaned over the desk to look at the bloody scrape. “The nurses’ office is down that hall. The first door on the right. Go right ahead, girls.” 

I led the way, walking down the hall and lightly knocking on the slightly open door marked Nurse. 

“Come in,” a voice called, and I opened the door wider for Dahlia, letting her pass me, and that same voice repeated what the front desk clerk person had said: “Oh, my!” 

She immediately told Dahlia to sit on the paper covered bed, and rummaged around for the wipes and bandages. I slipped in and stood next to the bed where Dahlia sat. I watched mainly in silence as Dahlia had her knee washed and patched up. 

As the bandage was being applied, I told the nurse what had happened. She replied to Dahlia with some comments similar to the thoughts I’d had earlier. 

“Wow, you must be so brave!” was one of the things she said. 

Dahlia’s only response was to give a slight embarrassed nod. The nurse left then, probably to go check Dahlia’s medical records or something. I took this chance to sit down on the crinkly paper next to Dahlia. 

“Thanks,” she said quietly. I turned to her, knowingly. 

“No problem. I know what it’s like to be humiliated in front of people. I have three siblings, two of which are older than me.” 

“Oh, really? I’m an only child.” 

“Whoa, lucky! My house is always crazy and full of noise. It would be nice to have some peace and quiet, and maybe-” I gasped dramatically, and continued. “-Privacy!” 

She softly laughed at this, and I joined her. When we caught our breath, I smiled at her, and she smiled back. Her smile was wider, this time, more authentic. 

Then, she stuck her hand out at me like an adult, beaming, and said, “I’m Dahlia Brookes, but you already know that.”

“I’m Iris Siciliano,” I told her, taking her hand. 

We shook hands. 

The bell rang then, interrupting me. I turned around to Dahlia’s seat, which was still empty. This made my smile fade, and worry took its place. I tried to shake my anxious feelings away, and turned back to face my new sort-of friend. 

He was smiling as he pulled out his notebooks and writing utensils, neatly setting up his desk. He turned to me, and opened his mouth to say something, but right then, our math teacher came in holding his lesson plans. 

“Don’t mind me, you guys still have a few minutes to chit chat while I set up,” he told us brightly. 

I turned back to my desk partner who had been interrupted. 

“Were you going to say something?” I asked him. 

He shook his head and said, “Nah, it’s nothing important.” 

“You sure?” I asked in confirmation. 

“I’ll just tell you later. Class is going to start soon.” As if to emphasize his point, the bell rang for classes to start. Our teacher turned to face the class. 

“Okay, class,” he called. “I’m taking attendance, so you should all be in your seats.” 

He pulled out his clipboard and started listing off all of the names in the class. 

“Dahlia?” he asked. A pause. “Dahlia Brookes?” he repeated, looking up from his chart and frowning around the class for a certain missing red head. 

I raised my hand and said, “Dahlia isn’t here today, Mr. Davis.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you, Iris.” 

I lowered my hand back to my desk, and reopened my yellow notebook. I picked up my pencil that was sitting at the top of the desk, and tried to get the inspiration flowing again. But, instead of a killer drawing, I just ended up with a bunch of swirly doodles in the margins of a fresh page. 

I sighed, and slammed my notebook closed in defeat. He was just two names away from my own, and the daily lecture was starting soon, anyway, and I needed to take notes.