Libby Lewis is third-generation at Joppa. Her grandpa went here. Her dad went here. She's going through now. Born in Marion, about 45 minutes away, she's lived in this community her whole life.

It's the place where she was bullied, and it's the place where she's starting to heal.

In seventh grade, the name-calling was relentless. Chubby. Overweight. Her whole family was targeted.

"So many people called my whole family bigger," Libby said. "Which — yes, they are. My whole family is a bit on the bigger side. But they're not specifically obese."

The pressure pushed her somewhere dangerous. Over two and a half months, she stopped eating. She lost 30 to 35 pounds.

"I was starving myself," she said.

The consequences were real. Libby developed POTS — a condition that affects blood circulation and heart rate, causing dizziness and sometimes fainting when she stands too quickly. She takes multiple medications and supplements now.

She was in junior high when it happened. Not even high school yet.

Becky Beatty's road to Joppa was longer and harder to map. She was born in Spring Hill, Florida. Her older sister was born in Alabama. They lived in two different places in New York. Becky grew up partly with her biological parents, partly with her dad and her aunt in Florida, then with relatives in Gladstone, Oregon — her dad, her aunt Elaine, and her uncle Sammy.

In Oregon, meals were sparse. Cereal for breakfast. Ramen or sandwiches for lunch — or nothing. Dinner was small, or didn't happen.

"When I came here, I weighed 95 pounds," Becky said. "Which is below what I normally should weigh."

She's been in Illinois for almost two years now. She's in her second foster care placement. Her weight is up to 149. She's healthy.

Both girls are freshmen. Both ended up in the same building, in the same ag and entrepreneurship classes, drawn to the same teachers for the same reasons.

When asked what she values most about school, Libby didn't lead with academics. She led with space.

"I only like a couple of teachers so far," she said. "Mostly the more chill teachers — like Mrs. Heady or Mrs. Clinger."

What makes them different, Libby said, is respect. They give students room to breathe, trust them to manage their own time, and don't force everyone into the same mold.

"As long as we get the work done, she doesn't care," Libby said about Mrs.Clinger. "It gives me more space to be myself and be free."

Then, quietly: "Not everyone can be the same."

Becky's connection to Mrs.Clinger. is even more specific. Earlier this year, Becky had a panic attack in the bathroom. Clinger was the one who found her.

"She told me to keep my head up and kind of stand straight up so I could breathe better," Becky said. "And she was really understanding when I told her what was going on."

Mrs.Clinger is new this year. She wasn't at Joppa when Libby's crisis happened. But both girls landed on her name independently — because she sees them, and she doesn't judge.

Libby wants to go into medicine. Neurology, cardiology, urology — she's drawn to the idea of helping people survive. Given what her own body has been through, the motivation is personal.

Becky wants to work with exotic animals, open her own business where the public can come experience them, and rescue abandoned animals on the side. She also wants to work part-time at a daycare because she's good with kids.

"Animals are basically as equal as we are," she said.

Both girls are fourteen. Both carry histories that most adults would struggle to describe out loud to a stranger. And both sat down and told the truth anyway — about weight, about food, about panic attacks, about foster care, about what it feels like to be judged for things you can't control.

Near the end of the conversation, Becky mentioned a song she'd heard that changed how she sees herself. She didn't name it, but she remembered the lyric:

"You don't have to change a thing. The world can change its heart."

She said when she first heard it, it hit hard. It made her realize she doesn't have to change for anyone.

"They can accept me for who I am," she said. "Or not."

Two freshmen at a small school in Southern Illinois. One whose family has been here for three generations. One who arrived from the other side of the country, weighing 95 pounds. Both are learning the same thing — that standing tall starts with someone believing you deserve to.

Mrs.Clinger believed it. Ms. Heady believed it. And now, slowly, they're starting to believe it themselves.