One of the first times Angel and I crossed paths was when she was biking from her grandma’s house to the library, something she often did. That day, she unknowingly rode past the home of a local bully, who happened to be outside with his friends. They noticed her and, taking a different route, decided to follow her. Eventually, Angel turned down my street, where I happened to be chatting with a friend. She stopped to talk with us, and just as she did, the bullies caught up to her in front of my mom’s house. She had set her bike down while we were talking, and the bullies took the opportunity to try and steal it. What followed was a bit of a scuffle as we stepped in to help her get her bike back. Eventually, the bullies gave up and went home, but not before they had damaged the bike’s wheel. I made sure Angel was okay, and although the situation was rough, it marked the beginning of something important. That was our first real interaction—but from that day on, she knew she could count on me to protect and care for her.

The first time I really hung out with Angel was on a chilly September day—my birthday, actually. I was in the backyard of my mom’s house, hanging out with friends, when Angel—on her usual route to the library—stopped by and asked if she could join us. Of course, I said yes and welcomed her in. As the weather got colder, we all headed inside to the basement to keep the fun going with a few rounds of ping pong. What I didn’t realize at the time was that this was Angel’s very first time visiting a friend’s house like that since moving to Mount Prospect. We were laughing, joking, and enjoying the game when my mom mentioned that it had started to snow outside. Suddenly, Angel looked worried—she said she needed to get home quickly to avoid having an asthma attack from the cold. She was only wearing a T-shirt and capris. Without a second thought, I offered her my double hoodie—the one I always wore instead of a winter coat because it was extra warm. She hesitated at first, but I insisted. I stood at the door and watched her walk away, bundled in that oversized hoodie, until she disappeared from sight. Looking back, it might seem like a small moment—but to us, it was the beginning of something special.

Back in 2009, I had one of those birthdays that started off pretty rough. It was a Saturday, and all morning my family hadn’t said a word—not a “Happy Birthday,” not a single plan to celebrate. I felt completely forgotten. So, I decided to do something for myself: head to the library, watch some anime, and pick up a few books. On the way, I passed Brian’s house. He and Matt Horn were outside skateboarding and building ramps, like they often did. I stopped to say hi, and they could tell something was off. When I explained why I looked so down, Brian didn’t hesitate. He told me they had been hanging out to celebrate Matt’s birthday which was the day before—and then, without missing a beat, he invited me to celebrate mine with them too. That simple gesture meant the world to me. We spent the day building ramps and laughing. Brian even tried to teach me how to skateboard (I was terrible, by the way), but he was so patient and kind. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t do it—he just wanted to include me and lift my spirits. That was Brian’s gift: he made people feel welcome, seen, and like they mattered. That day, I realized how powerful it is to have someone who shows up when you need it most. Little did I know that the same guy who turned around my birthday would one day become my forever teammate.

When we were both in 8th grade, our class field trip for science class was going to 6 Flags Great America for our physics unit. Everyone in our grade was partnered up and we were set loose on the amusement park with a packet to fill out as we went. The beginning of the trip went about as expected; everyone who had been there numerous times were bored almost immediately and everyone who hadn't been there was fascinated by all there was to do. Well, it was Angel's 1st and only time going there and she was so excited to go on a real roller coaster (not just the carnival rides she had experienced before)! One of the first rides that Angel went to was the American Eagle. I had found her group in line right before they had boarded the ride and found her quite excited, yet nervous to go on such a large ride. I reassured her that this particular ride had been around since the late 70's/early 80's, so it wasn't nearly as fast or as scary as the newer, much faster roller coasters that were scattered about the park. She finally relented and when the time came to board, she got on the ride and braced herself. As the safety bars were being fastened, a look of "what did I just sign up for?" came across her face, and she looked toward me for reassurance, and I nodded and shouted, "It's going to be okay, I'll be right here when you get off the ride!". I walked over to the exit gate and waited for the ride to finish up. As the roller coaster came to an end I saw the car that had Angel and her group aboard and they all seemed to have had a great time--except for Angel. She was stiff as a board, eyes straight ahead and locked in place with a death-grip on the safety bar. As the ride came to a stop, her group all hopped out and tried to reassure her briefly, and loosen up her grip, but to no avail. I saw the look of terror in her eyes and ran over to console her but she was unresponsive to anything happening around her. I gave a go at loosening her hands. I got my pinky finger under hers, then my ring finger under hers, then my middle and pointer finger under hers and matched her closing grip with my opening grip and I squeezed - with considerable effort - and was able to loose her hands from the safety bar only for them to re-curl into a fist. I had to manually insert my fingers into each one of hers to have them lock around my fingers and match her grip in order to hold her hand as I assisted her off the ride and onto the exit ramp. For the next several minutes, we sat on a nearby bench trying to get Angel to gather herself as she slowly gained awareness of what had happened, and had her get her breathing under control. After that the group decided they would go and get something to eat and maybe check out a few more rides, and I volunteered to hang out with Angel, as she still appeared to be shaken by the experience. While walking through the park, we came across a stage that was hosting Karaoke. I knew that Angel had a talent for singing and suggested that as something to do that would be better than a roller coaster ride. She expressed how nervous she was going on stage in front of a bunch of random people and told me her stage fright would get the best of her and not allow her to sing. I tried convincing her that she would do great and anyone who heard her would be impressed and enthralled, but once again her nerves were shaken. At this point, I went up to the karaoke machine and picked out a song that I would sing to show her that it was okay for her to be herself in front of a crowd (I have little to no ability to sing, and I knew it). I went up and sang Viva la Vida by Coldplay (it was a hot single that year) and she watched me intently while I impressed no one in the crowd. But I could tell that this gesture had made an impact on her. I stayed with her when she was frightened after a ride, and then went up on stage and showed her that it's okay to be yourself in front of everyone and anyone--no matter what anyone thinks of you.