Most people don’t know what it means to have real courage until they are faced with a situation that requires them to be courage
ous. For me, it wasn’t until eighth grade that I found out how courageous I could be. My family had just moved from a small town in Arizona to its biggest city, Phoenix, and it was my first time attending a new school. Before moving, I had lived in the same house my whole life, and many of the people who were in my seventh grade class had been in school with me since kindergarten. After moving, I didn’t know anybody in any of my classes, and even the campus seemed too big and uninviting For the first couple of weeks, I was too shy to try to make new friends. At my old school, even if I tried to make a new friend, I always had my old friends as backup. However, now that I had no friends at all, the idea of having my feelings hurt from being rejected by someone I wanted to be friends with was just too scary. Instead, I would sit by myself under a big pine tree in the courtyard, watching the other kids laugh and joke with their cliques at lunch. I tried to figure out which group I could join. There were the cheerleaders, a small group of girls who sat at the table farthest away from me. Next to them were the athletes, a much bigger crowd of boys and girls who played baseball, basketball, and soccer together and had formed strong bonds by being part of a team. They all wore their maroon-and-yellow jerseys, sweatshirts, and hats, showing off their team spirit and getting excited for the next big game. I wasn’t athletic, so I didn’t feel like I would ever fit in as one of their “teammates.” Between me and the athletes there were several more tables, all filled with energetic dancers, thoughtful theater kids, and noisy band members with their instrument cases spread over the table along with the peanut butter sandwiches and bags of carrot sticks. I didn’t
which para graph has I shightful reflection and which one has the climax
