They reached the curb.

“All right, have a great day,” his mom said. “You sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”

“Trevor says they always walk home. You sure I can’t just start tomorrow?”

“We wouldn’t have made it this far if I wasn’t.”

“Mom, this school is named after the devil. That is not a good sign.”

“Somehow I think you’ll survive. Remember, 18-C with a blue door.”

Nate opened his door. The nervous feeling in his stomach reminded him of the butterflies he had experienced before doing a lip sync in his fourth-grade talent show. Had he ever been this intimidated by a first day of school?

He stepped out of the familiar Ford Explorer onto the unfamiliar sidewalk of the unfamiliar school full of unfamiliar kids. He shut the door, waved to his mom, and joined the mass of students flowing into the school.

Covered sidewalks connected the buildings. His mom had explained that his class was in the last building on the left. He wished he had resisted begging to stay home so much. It had really gotten his hopes up for missing the day, which now made him feel even more out of place.

He heard someone crying. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a tiny Asian kid clinging to his mother and bawling. It made Nate feel a little better. At least he wasn’t that pathetic.

He moved along a crowded walkway, tapping his knuckles against a metal rail. The rail protected a grassy area between the buildings. He considered ducking the rail and cutting across the grass, but no other kids were doing it.

Up ahead, Nate identified a familiar face. The kid with black hair who had thrown dirt clods at him. He was not wearing his army jacket. It was already a hot day.

Nate touched the corner of his mouth. After five days, the bruise had faded, but he still had the remnants of a small scab. Nate adjusted how he was walking so that the kid in front of him blocked Army Jacket from view.

He had learned from Summer that the boy with the army jacket was named Kyle. The kid with the flat face was Eric. The blond with the curly hair was Denny. They were all sixth graders this year.

Although Nate had spent the last few days going to the creek and riding around the neighborhood with Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon, he had not run into the irritating trio since they had stoned him. But Trevor had warned him that those guys tried to bully them a lot, both at school and around the neighborhood. Nobody was looking forward to the bullies thinking they ruled the school as sixth graders.

Nate peeked around the kid in front of him, who looked too old to be wearing a yellow backpack with Woodstock on it. Kyle was no longer in sight.

*****

Summer sat at her desk watching kids file into the room. Her backpack rested on the seat of the desk next to her. Her notebook covered the seat on her opposite side.

“Whose notebook is this?” asked a girl with long brown hair. Summer thought her name was Crystal, but had never spoken to her much.

“I’m saving that seat.”

“And that other one too?”

“I have a couple of friends coming,” Summer said.

As the girl claimed the desk in front of the backpack, Nate came through the door. He was in a green button-down shirt and jeans. He looked a little dazed. Then he made eye contact with Summer, and his face came to life. She waved him over. He looked a little hesitant, and then walked in her direction. She moved her backpack and he sat down.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Hot today.”

The girl with long brown hair turned around. “Are you her boyfriend?” she asked.

Summer glanced from Crystal to Nate and back. The question made her feel a little awkward. After all, she had saved him a seat.

“No, I’m her fiancé,” Nate said.

“We’ve been promised to each other since birth,” Summer added.

“Our wedding isn’t until March.”

“What’s your name?” Crystal asked Nate.

“Nate.”

“I’m Kiersten.”

That was right. Kiersten, not Crystal. Who was Crystal?

Summer glanced at the door. Her eyes widened. Pigeon had just entered wearing a black leather jacket with shiny zippers and metal studs. It was obviously brand-new.

“Nate, look at the door,” Summer suggested.

“Oh, no. What is he thinking?”

Pigeon saw them and crossed the room. Summer moved her notebook and he took the desk.

“Nice jacket,” she said.

He looked like he was holding back a smile. “Thanks. Remember I said I had a surprise for today?”

“Little hot for a coat, isn’t it, Pidge?” Nate asked.

Summer glared at Nate. Pigeon would receive plenty of teasing today without his friends adding to it.

“This one stays pretty cool,” Pigeon assured him.

“All right, class, we need to begin,” said the portly woman at the front of the room. Summer checked the clock. They still had two minutes before the bell would ring. “Don’t get comfortable in your seats. We will be reseating alphabetically as we take attendance. Would you all move to the back of the room?”

Summer grabbed her stuff and went to the rear of the room with everyone else. Her last name was Atler, so she was the second person seated. The bell rang as she reached her desk. Pigeon was really named Paul Bowen. He ended up two desks behind her.

“Could you just call me Pigeon?” he asked the teacher when she read his name.

“Does your mother call you Pigeon?”

“No.”

“Then to me you are Paul.”

Skylar Douglas sat down next to her. What was Nate’s last name? She couldn’t recall.

Nate was one of the last to sit.

“Nathan Sutter,” the teacher read.

“Here. My mother never calls me Nathan.”

“Is it Nate?”

“She calls me Honeylips.”

The class exploded with laughter. Summer almost fell out of her desk. The teacher frowned. She had deep lines from her nose to the corners of her mouth from too much frowning.

“That was not a good way to start the year, Nathan,” the teacher said.

“Sorry. Mom calls me Nate.”

Nate ended up sitting at the second-to-last desk of the farthest row from Summer, over by the windows. After everyone was seated and accounted for, with an empty desk left for Charlotte Merrill, the teacher wrote her name in cursive on the chalkboard.

“My name is Miss Doulin,” she said. She underlined the word Miss. “Not Mrs. Doulin. Mrs. Doulin is my mother.”