How does Jimmy’s attitude toward the new school change from the beginning to the end of the passage?

I watched Letty twist her hair apprehensively as she kept glancing at me over the faux-leather school bus seat with questioning eyes. I could tell she wanted me to comment on how the student body at our new high school would likely welcome us with open arms or how things here would be so much better than at our old school. I didn’t oblige, mainly because my stomach was churning in distress. As I plodded from the school bus to the counselor’s office, Letty grabbed my elbow. “Should I be concerned that you haven’t commented on the move?” “Long bus ride,” I muttered distractedly, as I contemplated why my sister even endured me. I wanted to be coaxed out of my misery about relocating from the city to the country, but I was being deliberately stubborn; it was all going to be so …unexceptional. “Jimmy, we’ll adjust.” She was implying I know you’re super-anxious. Letty would adapt with ease; she’d volunteer for about seven clubs because they’d desperately need her, and she would get to know the entire student body because she was predisposed to love everyone. We entered the office of Academic Counselor, where Mrs. Chavira extended her hand and it registered that she was welcoming us. Sitting with Mrs. Chavira, I realized the school’s offerings were deficient, since I was a sophomore but had acquired almost enough academic credits to graduate. This can work; there have to be more electives offered than what I saw online, I thought, searching frantically for an exit sign. Mrs. Chavira fixed her gaze on me and divulged her observations: “Jimmy, you’re in a brown study—the deepest state of contemplation! Clearly your last high school had endless options, but we can improvise here… “I noticed you took Digital Storytelling,” she muttered, brow furrowed; that class seemed as unfamiliar to her as a skyscraper. I needed to bolt. I couldn’t go through with it because this school was going to be the smallest pond ever—a real Gopher Prairie! Mrs. Chavira spoke some clichéd soothing words but was earnest, so I willed myself to submit to her humility. I wondered if this move would give me more time to work on my passion project: making a documentary. It was then that I realized the possibility of a sympathetic teacher at this smaller school locating resources like grants to add art electives, so perhaps they had always needed me—a catalyst for change in the only high school in the school district.