Ever since the first day of my freshman year, I  dreaded the arrival of a particular day. Unavoidable in nature, this day crept up on me like a shadow, until on the first day of my senior year, it suddenly struck.

This marked the day my sister, Makinna, started high school, and we once again would walk the same hallway

Now, my sister and I had attended the same school previously. Makinna was a first grader and I was a fourth grader at Reeves-Hinger Elementary, but a lot has changed since the days of Crayolas and Junie B. Jones. Developing a superiority complex, I no longer wanted to be associated with my “annoying sister,” much less see her at school.

The first day of school, as I was driving my sister in my charcoal grey Toyota Corolla, our nervousness became evident. For Makinna, it was the beginning of a journey through high school, and for me, it was my final chapter. Turning down the music blaring through the radio, I smiled in her direction and gave her words of reassurance. “Everything is going to be fine,” I told her, “High school is not nearly as bad as it seems.”

As far as I was concerned, this interaction would be the extent of my kindness. At home and in the car (far enough away from the school of course), we were allowed to be the loving brother and sister we always have been. At school or any school-related function, we were acquaintances at best.

I think my biggest worry was embarrassment. My sister has always been the clown of the family. Nothing really embarrasses her, and in turn, her actions have humiliated me. Deep down, I had to admit she was hilarious, but on the same foot, I didn’t really want my friends thinking I had anything to do with a young girl who wasn’t afraid to bust a move in a supermarket.

As the first few weeks of school progressed, the “no interaction” rule between the two of us subsided, and friendly smiles and kind hellos were a common occurrence between classes. It didn’t take me long to realize I enjoyed having my sister at the same school. No matter what happened with my ever-changing life, my sister was constant. Whether I failed a test or had a rocky path in my friendships, my sister would always be just that: my loving sister.

Now, another day looms ominously over my head, a day that I’m dreading even more than the first day of my senior year. I’m nervous for the first day of university, when I walk through the campus and don’t see a familiar blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl smiling back at me.