With each step, I can feel my peers' eyes on me. It used to bother me. Used to confuse me.

Why did they care about me? Why did they look like that? Was I weird? Did I have something on my face? Did I step on toilet paper on the way out of the bathroom?

But I grew accustomed to it, as people often do. People are brilliant; terrible, but brilliant creatures nonetheless.

But something about today is different. I can feel it in the way the hairs on my neck stand up, and in the way my eyes flit back and forth. I'm nervous, which is strange. I'm never nervous, not since before.

I do not like it.

But, as humans do, I endure.