My bad day starts out at school like many teenage problems tend to. Outside it is a gorgeous early spring day, but inside me, there is a storm of troubles brewing. I have a Chem test to makeup, two lessons of Calculus to finish and a huge English project due tomorrow. All that and student council is driving me totally insane.

The lunch bell has just rung. As I weave my way through the throngs of students, who are meandering down the halls like packs of snails, I try to dodge teachers who I know are just waiting to get me involved in some new project or program they are working on, like a Venus flytrap waiting for flies. After falling into step behind a group of unsuspecting sophomores to hopefully avoid detection, I finally turn the corner into the relative safety of my own quieter hallway and my locker is within sight. But as I walk towards it, I realize I’m not as safe as I thought. There is the principal, leaning against my locker, in a casual way that asserts her authority. This is not good. Now I have two options, face whatever issue there is head-on, or high-tail it out of here but run the risk of her calling me to the office later, missing a bit of class and adding even more work to my already crammed schedule. Since there’s no way I want to run the risk of missing class, I know that I only really ever had one option. I walk up to my locker to face her, thinking with a hopeful desperation that she might be bringing some good news for once. But the moment after that thought crosses my mind, she catches sight of me and my hopes were dashed. The over-bright smile that lights up her face like a Ferris wheel at night can only mean that she has a favour to ask of me, and since she is not only the principal but also my mom, there is absolutely no way for me to refuse.

In spite of the butterflies now fluttering in my stomach, I plaster on an equally bright smile and try to relax my tight neck and shoulder muscles in the hopes of concealing the mountains of stress I’m carrying and avoid an uncomfortable heart-to-heart in the middle of the hall. “Hi Sweetheart! I’ve got a quick favour to ask of you. Could you watch the boys tonight? I have to work late, then I’m going to dinner with Gina and Carol. We’ve had to reschedule twice already so I can’t bail on them again.” She is a flurry of activity and I faintly catch a whiff of her tangy citrus perfume that was for so long synonymous with her fun, loving, caring arms, but now only reminds me that she is as unobservant as a blind fish where I am concerned. There is no “Are you feeling ok? You look kind of stressed.” or “Do you have anything going on after school?”, not even a “How is your day going?”. Nope, I may not be the middle child, but I am definitely the forgotten one. I sigh internally, knowing that her asking a favour is just a formality; wave my productive evening of studying good-bye, and attempt to embrace the hours of the wiggles, tickle monster chases and hide and seek that await me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my little brothers, but sometimes they are more trouble than they’re worth. With a nod, a quiet “Yeah. See you later then” comes out in a monotonous voice, because I’m still trying to conceal from her the burden of my anxiety. As she walks away, I open my locker feeling even more weighed down.

So now, not only do I have a pile of homework the size of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch weighing me down, a pile that will equally difficult to get rid of; but I won’t have any time to chip away at it tonight, since taking care of my brothers require all of my time and energy. I feel a monster of anxiety creeping into my stomach, joining the nervous butterflies that were already swirling around, and curling up there just waiting to squeeze my insides at the moment I least expect.

As soon as I’ve exchanged my books for my lunch bag, I snap my locker shut and try to make my escape from the crowds, but am immediately ambushed by my track coach. His outdated faded blue Adidas ball cap is looking extra disheveled and slightly lopsided today. I can hear the rustling of his cherry red tracksuit and the angry squeaking of his white New Balance sneakers that are the source of many inside jokes as he takes the last few steps towards me. Mr. Wilson looks like he got stuck in the 80s. And right now he looks like an angry man that got stuck in the 80s. I break into a cold sweat and the monster in my stomach starts twisting around, wrapping itself around my guts and squeezing a bit, making me slightly nauseous. This won’t be good. I haven’t seen him looking this angry since half the team missed practice because they were too hungover from Mila Turner’s famous pool party. “Johnston! Where have you been? You’ve missed every practice this week and half of last week’s! I expect better of you! We have a competition next weekend and I need everyone, especially my captain, in tip-top shape!” A small groan slips from my lips as I smack my forehead with my palm. “Sorry Coach, I completely forgot about . . .” But before I can finish, he cuts me off impatiently. “I don’t want to hear excuses, I can get those a dime a dozen; I want you to show up. Your kind of talent doesn’t show up every year. There’s a reason I made you captain. Be on the track right after school. No excuses!” With that, he walks off, ignoring my faint “But I have to watch my brothers”, the shrill echo of his sneakers filling the halls behind him.

Great! One more thing to worry about. A dull pounding is starting up at the bottom of my skull as if a jackhammer is trying to reach my brain. If I don’t make a practice soon, I’ll lose my captaincy AND get kicked off the team. But if I do go to practice, then I’ll have hell to pay with Mom for bringing the boys to the track. The monster has now wrapped itself tightly around my gut, squeezing until it’s all I can do to not vomit or explode in a rush of uncontrollable emotions.

With a huge sigh, I start down the hall, sidestepping the presidents of both the debate and French clubs, who have been dying to recruit me, the principal’s daughter, since I arrived last spring. Then, I take a clever detour to avoid the crowds gathering around the fist-fight that breaks out in front of the chem labs. Being around all these people is something I really can’t handle right now.

At last, I reach the sanctuary of the auditorium and find my friends. We are a mixed group. There is Kayla is on the scholastic decathlon team. Her blonde hair and blue eyes might make her look like a porcelain doll, but let me tell you, she can be a firecracker when she’s mad. Next, there is Jack, who is more into books than sports or girls. He constantly loses his glasses and his mop of pale blonde hair is always sticking up in every direction; but when it comes to economics, man, I want him to be my investor. And then there is Matt. He is the stage manager of for the drama club, which is why we can get into the auditorium. He is no good with numbers but because of his super warm and welcoming smile, he might just be the most popular guy in the school, especially among the ladies. Finally there is me, Mia Johnston, track team captain and student council vice-president. I’m very easily stressed and don’t like big crowds.

I flop like a ragdoll into my favourite chair, across from Kayla. After looking me up and down once, she says “Spill it”. I guess I look as put-upon as I feel. For a second I consider denying that anything is wrong, but as usual, Kayla reads my mind and asks “Have you seen a mirror recently? The bags under your eyes are bigger than moons, you’re trembling like a leaf and you look like you’re ready to punch someone.”. With a somewhat teasing smile, Matt piggybacks onto Kayla’s comment “You’re super stressed, we can tell. It’s the only time that you ever get here within 10 minutes of the bell ringing. Usually, you have to deal with some crisis for student council, gently break the hearts of at least three guys wanting to ask you out and discuss the nitty-gritty details of your latest French assignment with Mme Rousseau before you make it here for lunch.”. I guess maybe my appearance did scare some people off because I wasn’t stopped on my way here and a glance at my watch confirms that I am a full 6 minutes earlier than normal.

My happiness about arriving early quickly evaporates as the monster in my belly gives a squeeze on my insides and I remember the reasons that I moved so fast. My shoulders tense as I launch into an extremely long-winded rant about the stress of everything, from my makeup chem test to possibly getting kicked off the track team. My anger and frustration turns to despair as I talk and I finish with a small sob of “What am I going to do?”. Jack responds in his matter-of-fact tone “You’re going to let go of the stress, we’re going to make a plan, and you’re going to keep rocking it. Every time stuff plies up you get stressed and act like it’s the end of the world, but as soon as you realize that you are bigger than your combined problems, you end up going above and beyond everyone else.”.

As my friends reassure me and talk me back from the edge of the cliff of stress I was about to jump off, my trembling ceases and a warm fuzzy feeling flows through me. Matt is going to watch my brothers while I’m at the track, then Kayla and Jack will help me with Chem and Calculus tomorrow at lunch so I can focus whatever time I have after the boys are in bed on my English project. What would I do without them? Where would I be? The answer is simple. I would be a complete nervous wreck, seem like I have Parkinson’s disease because of all my trembling, be locked up in a psychiatric hospital for erratic behaviour and never sleep another minute in my life. That is what stress does to me. I get anxious, I tremble constantly, I get grumpy and sometimes lash out at people, and I don’t sleep well, if at all.

Whenever I think about this day or some of the others like it, I realize just how lucky I am. I’m busy because I have lots of opportunities open to me, and I can do so much because I have friends that have my back and support me when I get stressed.