Libby Flatt can pinpoint the moment she knew Best Buddies was working. One of her students looked up from the cafeteria table and said, “We used to sit at our own table at lunch, but now we don’t have our own table anymore — because we’re sitting with everyone else.”

At Herrin Junior High, Monday afternoons begin with something more powerful than a lesson plan. During Tiger Time — the school’s character and social-emotional hour — dozens of students gather for laughter, crafts, and connection. It’s the weekly meeting of Best Buddies, a program pairing students with and without intellectual or developmental disabilities in friendships that have quietly transformed the culture of the school.

Flatt launched the program three years ago with about twenty participants. Today, more than sixty students fill the room, spilling into the hallway when the laughter gets too loud. “It started small,” she says, “but once people saw how much fun it was — and how much it mattered — it just took off.”

Each participant is matched one-to-one with a peer buddy, though there’s always a waiting list. “We have what I call a deep bench,” Flatt says, smiling. “That’s a good problem to have.”

The group’s activities stretch from tie-dying socks for Down Syndrome Awareness Day to field trips at Bandy’s Pumpkin Patch, to holiday contests that turn Santa’s beard into a team relay. But Flatt insists it isn’t the events that make it special — it’s the everyday moments that ripple through the halls long after the meetings end.

“Before Best Buddies, some of our kids felt invisible,” she says. “Now they walk through the cafeteria and everyone knows their names. That’s inclusion you can feel.”

Eighth-grader Faith Teckenbrock, who plays bass drum in the band, calls it her favorite part of the week. “It makes me happy,” she says. “I get to hang out with my friends.” Her peer buddy Emma Patalano, an oboe player, basketball athlete, and future neurosurgeon in the making, nods. “They’re always smiling,” she says. “No matter what kind of day I’m having, I leave here feeling better.”

Emma often drops by before first period just to say hello. “They’re sitting in their chairs,” she says, “and when I walk in, they all get really happy.” Flatt smiles at that memory. “That’s the best thing about this group — everybody gets to be themselves.”

Kruz Ingram, a seventh-grader with a quick grin, brings his own humor to every meeting. “I’d rather be a teacher than a student,” he says. “I’d be more strict.” The laughter that follows proves he’s already mastered classroom command.

For Flatt, who holds a master’s degree in Autism Spectrum Disorders and more than a decade of experience, Best Buddies is less a program than a philosophy. “When students feel accepted,” she says, “they learn better, behave better, and care more about others. That’s not just good for my classroom — that’s good for our whole school.”

She’s watched the shift happen in real time. Three years ago, her students sat together at lunch because they had no one else. Now they’re surrounded by friends — athletes, musicians, honor-roll kids, all sitting shoulder to shoulder. One former buddy, now in high school, even returned to volunteer and plans to become a special-education teacher because of the friendships she found here. “That’s how you know it’s working,” Flatt says. “When kindness becomes contagious.”

As the meeting wraps up, students crowd together for a photo — arms linked, smiles wide. Someone starts a chant of “Go Tigers!” and the room erupts again.

Emma glances around at her friends. “This,” she says softly, “is what school should feel like.”

And in that shared laughter — among the flutes and football players, the cheerleaders and science lovers — Herrin shows its truest strength: bringing out the very best in all of us.