Fears. Everyone has them, I suppose. But I was never a cliche. I could sleep without a light, I didn’t mind spiders. I could play rough and tumble with the best of them. Fearless Julie.

Fast forward to seventh grade. “Does anyone know what the longest word in the dictionary is?” My English teacher asked innocently. Hands waved.

“Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious!”

“That’s not in the dictionary, dummy!”

“Antidisestablishmentarianism!”

I cowered in my seat, covering my ears. My body began to tremble. The other kids were starting to look at me funny. “I think she doesn’t feel well,” said Steve, who was sitting next to me.

“Julie, are you alright?” The teacher asked. I could not reply, just looked at her with wide eyes. Suddenly she began to laugh.

“What?” I managed to croak out. I was not under the impression that this was terribly funny.

“Julie, you have hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia! The fear…”

I don’t have any fears! I thought stubbornly.

“of long words!”

I ran screaming from the room.