Prompt: "Don't worry. Everybody does that on their first day."

"I can't believe it!" She wails miserably, pounding her fist against wall. I'm scared that she may injure herself due to the force she's applying behind it. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. . ."

I try to comfort her as best as I can by putting my arms around her, but she's absolutely hysterical. The instant my fingers – timidly – come in contact with her shoulder, her cries grow more profound and escalate to an even higher pitch.

Now I feel scared for my wellbeing. My ears are going to explode any second now.

I retract my hand quickly, trying and failing to resist rolling my eyes. Has she always been this dramatic? What happened to the "tough-as-nails" girl?

"Died," she sobs. "It's only my first day and my non-existent reputation has already plummeted to the dirt. I could have died back there."

"But you didn't," I counter fiercely. "Come on! Stop beating yourself up. Sure, it was a little embarrassing, but you have to put it behind you! How are you going to survive the rest of the year if you don't face your fears?"

"'A little embarrassing'," she mimics. "Easy for you to say. How do you know what I'm going through? Just leave me alone, okay? I'll handle this on my own."

I ignore her. "Don't worry. Everybody does that on their first day."

She pauses and looks at me wide-eyed. "What are you saying? Everybody humiliates themselves?"

"Of course," I lie quickly. "Every year, people manage to humiliate themselves on their first day in front of everybody. Naturally, people will laugh because it's funny, but they forget about it practically the very next day."

She eyes me sceptically. "Really?"

"Yeah! Why, on my first day. . ." I invent quickly, "I accidently slipped on a . . . banana peel in the cafeteria . . . and dropped my own food on my head. I was pulling spaghetti out of my hair for weeks. You sure are lucky this will only last one day."

"Seriously?" she laughs.

I nod eagerly, glad to see her cheerfulness is coming back.

"Fine. I guess I was exaggerating a little. But we'll eat in the library, okay? But I'm not ready to face them right away. I don't want them to laugh at me again."

"Fair enough. I just wanted you to stop crying. So. . . feeling better?" I hope.

"Yeah," She wipes her eyes, smiling. "Thanks."

"Anytime," I respond easily. "Now, why don't we remove all traces of your little incident."

And together, we proceed to remove the fifty foot (and ongoing) roll of toilet paper that's stuck to her shoe.