I sat there expressionless as a thousand worries danced on my nerves. It was the day before I’d officially be a ninth grader and I was sickened with anxiety. I never knew anything about high school beyond the ramblings of older friends. In an attempt to soothe my anguish, I dragged myself to my aunt’s home. My aunt Heather has always helped me through situations I never thought I’d overcome. My aunt persuaded me out of my trance of distress and calmed me down.

“What am I going to do tomorrow when I walk in there?” I asked her, shattering the silence slithering between us.

“You’ve always been great at making new friends,” she reminded me. It was true; I always have been exceptional at making friends. “You’re a friendly person, don’t worry,” dashed in circles through my mind. She read my face and knew that I was becoming stressed again. I cleared out the fog of angst enough to see a smile run across my aunt’s lips. Suddenly, she glided up the stairs, almost without making a noise.

“Aunt Heather, what are you doing?” boomed my voice.

“Hold on! I’ll be down in a second,” she spoke, her voice gracefully floating down the steps. I slouched down in my chair and waited for her return. In a minute or two, she was standing in front of me holding out her hand. In her palm lied a stone shamrock. The green tint of the smoothed, marble shamrock glimmered under her chandelier, mesmerizing me.

“Here, take it. It’s good luck. I used to wear it myself when I was a teenager,” she informed me. I reached out and took it from her palm. A feeling of warmth rise out from my chest, forcing out the voices that tormented my conscience. I turned my face up to her and smiled.

“Thank you Aunt Heather,” I exclaimed. The next day, I walked into to my high school grinning with the pendant around my neck. I don’t know whether it was the shamrock that relieved my worries, or my aunt’s encouragement. All I know is that on my first day of high school, I felt happy.