I knew the first day of high school wasn't going to be easy. Even though eighth and ninth grade are one year apart, switching from middle school to high school is like going from the main floor to looking out of a ten-story window. It’s a completely different view. The halls would be longer. The amount of students would multiply. The teachers would be more difficult, but that’s where I was wrong.

The bell rang, dismissing Arrowhead High School students from their seventh-hour classes. I pulled out my phone to look at what class I had eighth hour. Spanish. Room S114. Just one problem: where is room S114? 

Trekking the halls looking for this room was an impossible mission. The clock ticked as my four-minute passing period somehow turned into 30 seconds. Luckily, I made it in my seat ready for Spanish. 

My teacher, Sra. Sadowski began asking for our names to do attendance. “Megan,” I told her. The confusion on her face brought a queasy feeling to the pit of my stomach. 

She stated, “Oh I see the issue! You aren’t on this list because you have this class next hour.” 

We looked at my schedule and she was right. I was in such a rush I skipped right over my actual eighth-hour class: English. 

Walking into the wrong class is something every freshman dreads and I had to experience it. By the time I got to the door of my English class, eighth hour was halfway done and I was full of embarrassment. Step by step. Inch by inch. I walked through the door knowing all eyes were on me. 

“Welcome! You must be Megan, we’ve been expecting you.” My teacher directed me to my seat. I found myself at the last desk in the third row next to a girl who was a stranger. Little did I know that wouldn't be the case by the end of the semester. Mr. Andrews continued informing us of his classroom, rules, and curriculum. However, that didn’t take long. Next thing I knew, the class was on their feet eager to play a game of silent speedball. I no longer remembered my embarrassment. I hardly felt like a freshman. Someone had flipped a switch. That someone was Mr. Andrews. 

Each day the first bell of eighth hour brought a new journey for me to embark on. I would sit in my seat expecting the unexpected. If a student had Mr. Andrews as an educator there was no reason to not want to go to school. He made the class likable, laughable, and lively. Personally, there was one challenge I knew I would have to face in high school and I couldn't have overcome it without Mr. Andrews.

Coming into high school, I had friends I would be able to connect with. However, I feared it would be difficult to be myself around unfamiliar faces. I closed my door and locked it, letting no one in and not letting my true self out. As much as I tried, I couldn’t find a way to open up. However, Mr. Andrews was someone who held the key to that door and knew exactly how to open it. Her name is Eden. She sat in the last desk in the row to my left. Mr. Andrews paired us together for everything. I thought, Why does Mr. Andrews always put us together? I sit here today thinking If it wasn’t for Mr. Andrews, the girl who was once a stranger wouldn’t have become one of my best friends. Eden and I clicked like seatbelts. We had the same personality but the best part was that we could express our silliness with Mr. Andrews since he was a child at heart too. 

Even as a junior, Mr. Andrews is someone who I can approach with any issue or favor. From the last day of class sophomore year to the middle of my Junior year, Mr. Andrews never stopped being an educator in my life. Thank you Mr. Andrews for opening my door freshman year and leaving yours open whenever I need someone to talk to.