The second day of school kicked off with the usual clinking spoons and Grandma's off-key humming. I was at the kitchen table, poking at my soggy cereal, the clock on the wall ticking away smugly, like it never had to rush.
Mom and Dad were already gone for work. A note from Mom was stuck to the fridge:
Have a good day. Be nice to new people. Love, Mom.
Same old line. Impersonal, like a fortune cookie that didn't even know me.
"Eat up, baby," Grandma called out, flipping a pancake like she'd cooked through a gazillion wars, a pandemic, and every Bennett boy for two generations.
"You're gonna be late again!"
I sighed, took two quick bites, and slung my backpack over my shoulder.
"Bye, Grandma."
"Take care of your heart, little leaf," she replied, just like always. I still had no idea what that even meant.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The walk to school wasn't long, but it felt like forever. I dragged my feet through patches of dandelions and stepped over half-buried chalk drawings. I kicked a stone down the sidewalk, watching it skip and tumble until it flew right into the gutter.
My shoes squeaked a little with each step. The sky was full of clouds shaped like animals. I saw a cat, a whale, and something that seriously looked like a dragon eating toast. I paused once to look up and completely forgot to keep moving until a loud horn blared, startling me back to reality.
When I finally got to the school gates, I clutched my backpack straps tighter. The building loomed tall and wide, like some kind of fortress made of noise and nap times. Its red bricks were chipped and painted over, and the windows were smudged with fingerprints from all the curious kids.
Inside, it was already buzzing with kids. Paper airplanes zipped through the air. Shoes squealed on the tiles. Laughter rose and fell like waves.
And then I saw her.
Lena Carter. She was perched at our shared desk, like a queen on a cardboard throne, her legs swinging under the table. She was reading a picture book with serious concentration. I recognized the cover: The Frog Who Lied Too Much, but she held it like it was super important. Her pigtails, tied with mismatched ribbons, bobbed every time she turned a page.
I hesitated at the door.
Was I supposed to sit with her again? What if she didn't want me there? What if she'd already claimed the whole desk as hers?
I walked over slowly, like a squirrel inching toward a suspicious nut.
She didn't even look up.
I sat down. Quietly. Pretending to focus super hard on peeling the label off a crayon.
"You're late," Lena said, her eyes still glued to the page.
I blinked. "You're bossy."
"You're loud."
"You're weird."
This time she actually looked at me. Her eyes narrowed, but it wasn't real anger. More like that pretend angry look cats get when you boop their noses.
"You broke my blue crayon yesterday."
"It was already broken," I shot back.
"It was tired. There's a difference."
Before I could argue back, a blur of pure energy slammed into our table.
Max Greene had arrived.
Max was the kind of kid who never walked, he bounced. His hair stuck out in every direction, his face was smudged with something no one could identify, and his hands were always sticky for reasons I didn't want to think about.
"You two are best friends now!" Max declared with the confidence of a mayor announcing a parade.
"We're not," Lena and I said at the exact same time.
Max ignored us. "I told everyone. It's official."
Before we could protest any more, the teacher clapped her hands and called for everyone to quiet down. Max scampered off, humming a tune he probably just made up.
Lena sighed. "He's exhausting."
I nodded. "Like a walking juice box explosion."
We almost smiled at each other.
Almost.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
Snack time was like a reward for surviving the morning chaos. The classroom turned into a makeshift picnic. Backpacks unzipped, sandwiches unveiled, little boxes opened with flair.
I sat beside Lena again, this time without thinking much about it. It just felt… easier.
She had carrot sticks shaped like stars and tiny cubes of cheese arranged into a smiling face. I had a ziplock bag of chocolate cookies and a juice box Grandma had somehow frozen solid.
Lena carefully set two carrot stars between us.
"Trade?"
I looked at them. "Carrots for cookies? That's a terrible deal."
"I'm cute. You owe me."
I snorted and pushed a cookie her way.
We munched in silence for a few moments. The hum of conversations swirled around us.
Then Lena said, in a quieter voice than usual,
"My mom lives in the sky now."
I turned to her, not sure what to say.
"Like… in a plane?"
She shook her head. "No. She died. Three years ago. Daddy says she sends me dreams."
I blinked. "What kind of dreams?"
"Flying ones. Ones with flowers made of light. Ones where she sings."
I didn't know what to say. So I didn't say anything.
I just offered her another cookie.
Lena smiled. "Thanks. Daddy says cookies fix a lot of things."
"Smart daddy."
"He's the smartest. He picked out Clementine."
"…What's Clementine?"
"My backpack."
"You named your backpack?"
Lena nodded seriously. "She gets sad if you forget her."
I looked at my own plain blue bag. "Mine doesn't have a name."
"Then it probably cries every night."
I actually thought about that for a second.
"I'll call it… Shoe."
Lena burst into a small, delighted laugh. "That's a terrible name."
It didn't take long for me to realize, that the talent for naming wasn't the only thing I lacked.