One late spring day when I was ten, I sat in my sixth-grade class and felt a dull tingle throughout my head. I remember beginning to panic. My eyes darted around to see if anyone else had noticed that something was happening to me. It was a sunny afternoon, and the class was drowsy. Thankfully, the other students were slumped in their chairs, eyes toward the front but minds wandering.
I fled the classroom, hiding just outside the door. My head cocked at a slight angle as the shaking began. With each twitch, I repeated a lie: this is the last one this is the last one this is the last one. The storm inside my head eventually subsided; the shaking stopped. I returned to my desk with a dull headache.
