The 80s were a strange time to be a seventh grader, especially if you were always the new kid. My parents had this frustrating habit of uprooting us every couple of years, chasing dreams that never quite landed, and I was the one who had to keep starting over. New school, new faces, new rules of survival. It felt like I never had time to settle before the cycle started again. This time, the latest relocation had landed me at H.B. Zachary Middle School, a place that might as well have been another planet.

This school was different. It was middle class, filled with kids who had the kind of lives I could only imagine—parents with steady jobs, homes filled with things like cable TV and clothes from stores I’d only seen in the mall. Name-brand jeans, Keds with the little blue tag, Esprit bags slung over shoulders. I was the outsider from a family that scraped by, my wardrobe a mix of discount store finds and secondhand luck. From the first day, Michelle Ortega made sure I knew exactly where I stood. Michelle was the queen of H.B. Zachary, the kind of girl who didn’t need to earn her power—she simply had it. Her hair was always perfectly feathered, her clothes straight out of a Teen magazine ad. And she hated me on sight. Maybe it was because I was new, or because I didn’t fit in, or because she just liked breaking people down. Whatever the reason, she made my life a nightmare.

I had no allies, no history in this school to protect me. I ate lunch alone, rode the bus home under her relentless torment, and dreaded every single school day. One of the worst moments came when I finally saved up enough money to buy a shirt that looked like the designer brands all the popular kids wore. It was a knockoff from the flea market, but for once, I felt like I might blend in.
I wore it to school, hoping—just hoping—it would buy me a little peace. But Michelle saw me. She saw everything. In the middle of class, she walked up behind me, grabbed the collar of my shirt, yanked it back, and triumphantly announced to everyone that it was a fake. She held the tag up for all to see, and the room erupted with laughter.

Humiliation burned through me. I wanted to disappear. It wasn’t just about the shirt. It was about everything. About never having enough. About always being on the outside. About knowing that no one was going to stand up for me because they were all afraid of Michelle Ortega too.
And then, one day, I met Shana Burleson.

She was quiet, not one of the loud, attention-seeking kids, but she had this way about her that made you feel safe. We were both just trying to get through seventh grade, both dealing with our own bullies. She didn’t judge me for my secondhand clothes or my flea market finds. Instead, we bonded over our love for 80s rock—Cinderella, Metallica, Poison, and Bon Jovi. She was probably more into the heavier stuff, while I leaned into the glam bands, but we never cared. We just loved the music, and it gave us something to hold onto. With Shana, I could laugh again. We’d joke in between classes and listen to music together, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t completely alone. Michelle Ortega still lurked in the halls, still found ways to remind me that I was nothing in her world, but it didn’t sting as much now. Because now, I had a friend.

The first time I went over to Shana’s house for a sleepover, I stepped into a world that felt foreign and wonderful all at once. Her mother, Mrs. Burleson, had set up a full spread of snacks—chips, sodas, and the most amazing chocolate chip cookies I had ever tasted. No one in my life had ever done anything like that for me before. My parents had their own struggles, their own chaos, and home was never a place of warmth like this. But Mrs. Burleson? She welcomed me like I belonged there. Her kindness was effortless, her home filled with our laughter and a feeling I didn’t get to experience often. Joy.

That night, we stayed up late talking about music, our favorite bands, and our dreams of someday seeing them in concert. For once, I wasn’t the kid who had to keep moving, keep starting over. I was just a seventh-grade girl at a sleepover, eating cookies and drinking Coke with my best friend. And it was perfect. I never forgot that night, or the way Mrs. Burleson made me feel. She didn’t know it, but she gave me something I’d carry with me forever. To this day, I still go out of my way to find those same chocolate chip cookies because they remind me of her and that moment of belonging she gave me.

Shana Burleson was the best friend I could have asked for during the hardest time in my life. Her friendship shaped me, taught me what kindness looked like, and made me promise myself that I would always be that kind of friend to others. Today, through Uncle Jenn's World, I work with a lot of kids and have the chance to return this kind of kindness and confidence to young kids. And because of Shana, because of her friendship, I make sure to tell them the same thing I wish someone had told me back then: ‘Always carry kindness in your hearts.’

It’s my tribute to one of my greatest friends. To Shana Burleson, the girl who changed my life in seventh grade. And to Mrs. Burleson, who showed me what love could look like in the form of a plate of cookies and an open door.