AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Waylon mutters something I can’t make out, but I feel my cheeks heat up like they’re on fire.
For the rest of the lesson, I force my attention on Mrs. Chase and my worksheet, ignoring the whispers and looks coming from the desks next to me. Though it’s mostly just the girl staring, I think. The boy doesn’t seem to like that, because I keep hearing him say, “Stop.”
When Mrs. Chase claps her hands and says it’s time for snack, I frown when everybody gets up all at once, all but running for the cubbies.
Back in New York, the school gave us our snack. We didn’t bring our own.
Grabbing my bag, I look inside, checking to see if maybe Mom packed me something. I spot my MP3 player and headphones, and wonder if snack time is like recess.
But then I remember Principal Gibson said I can’t listen until the end of the day.
They let me in New York…
I angrily zip up my bag and shove it back under my chair. Crossing my arms over my desk, I put my head down, grinding my teeth, feeling heat take over my eyes.
I hate it here. I hate it so much. I want to go home. I want my dad.
Lifting my head, I rest my chin on my arm, and peek around the room.
The rest of the class spreads out in groups to eat their snacks. Cookies. Chips. Crackers.
Mrs. Chase is sitting at her desk, reading through a book, chewing on the end of a pen. Her glasses have been shoved up to sit on top of her gray hair.
Sucking in my cheek, I wonder what Jeremy’s doing. I wish we were in the same class. I hope no one else is giving him a hard time.
Does he have friends? Everyone else seems to.
Duh. They had a whole week to make friends, I remember. And they probably know each other from last year too.
But Jeremy seemed really shy and quiet, so maybe not.
Oh, maybe he’s new too! Not today, but maybe it’s his first year here too.
I’ll be his friend. We both like comic books, so I know he won’t be like those jerk faces back home who called me a nerd for it, or like those bullies picking on him earlier.
We can be nerds together.
“Be nice,” I hear hissed, followed by a, “Whatever,” pulling me out of my thoughts.
Footsteps draw closer, and then a finger taps me on the shoulder from behind.
Sitting up straight, I turn my body, confused when I find that girl and boy who got in trouble for talking standing there.
The girl has crazy brown hair almost down to her waist, and big brown eyes that look almost red from the sun coming through the windows. They’re kind of cool. Reminds me of Cyclops. Maybe they’re red because they turn into lasers when she’s mad.
She grins, reddish-brown eyes big and bright. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I mutter.
“I’m Isobel, but everyone calls me Izzy. Except teachers, because teachers are lame.” She whips her head around, frizzy hair flying everywhere, and tilts her head at the boy slumped next to her. They’re about the same height, but that might just be ’cause he’s got his head down, and his shoulders up near his ears. “And this is Waylon. He’s my best friend. We’re thicker than thieves. Sometimes I call him Way, but that gets confusing sometimes, ’cause people say that word all the time, even when they’re not talking to him.”
The boy looks up at me through dark lashes, mouth pursed. He says nothing.
“I’m Mason,” I say quietly.
Izzy chirps, “We know.” And then she takes the seat next to me—Zachary’s seat; he’s across the room, eating his snack with another boy. She takes out a bag of pretzels and those strawberry wafer things Mrs. Linda has in her cupboard, and says, “Waylon, bring a chair over.”
There’s a huff, then a squeak across the floor. He brings it between my desk and the ones in front of me, taking a seat directly across from Izzy.
