Ali survived her morning classes and only got lost once, but the mornings were always easy when she started a new school. It was the cafeteria at lunchtime that was the real beast, with kids rushing to claim a table and shouting at one another in excitement after summer break. Ali stood in the doorway, one foot in and one foot out, a silent sentinel. And she did the same thing she did at every new school: she wondered if there were any Copycats.
Gigi and Digger believed that around one percent of the population had Copycat abilities. One time she and Digger had passed a stranger on the street in Campbellton, and he and the man had high-fived. When she’d asked Digger who the man was, he’d said they could both tell the other was a Copycat. When she’d pressed him on how he could tell, he’d said, “Because both of our features shifted slightly, like there was a magnetic pull that wanted us to change into the other. It happens so fast and is so subtle that someone who isn’t a Copycat doesn’t notice. But we do.” The other man appeared to be a Constant to Ali, the term Copycats used to refer to people who couldn’t change. Now, standing in the doorway to the cafeteria, Ali did a quick calculation. More than a hundred kids meant that at least one could be a Copycat.
Despite her years of experience as a new student, Ali had never gotten used to the blur of unfamiliar faces and the dreadful realization that they were all strangers. She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and forced herself to step into the cafeteria. Everything would be fine if she followed her rules.
Ali liked rules. In third grade, she’d discovered there were scientific laws for things like gravity, time, and the orbit of planets, which helped people understand the world around them and create order from chaos. Ali decided she needed her own laws to make sense of things she couldn’t control, like Digger’s Copycat powers and her family’s constant moving. Laws sounded too fancy, so Ali called them rules, and copied each one into a tattered green notebook in her spidery cursive handwriting. Gigi said cursive writing was a dying art, but that Ali should master it, because someday she might have to write a thank-you note to a king or queen. Over time, there were so many rules she was forced to put them into categories, like New School Rules or Digger Rules, which pleased her because the laws of nature were categorized, too.
The most important new school rule was: Sit at a table closest to the teachers when you don’t know anyone. That way no one could try any monkey business. She’d learned that at Milltown Elementary School in grade three, when a boy covered in freckles named Carl stole her lunch. Which wasn’t a big deal because that was the year her family was on welfare, and all Carl got was half a peanut-butter sandwich on stale rye bread. He never bothered her again. Ali scanned the cafeteria, spotted the teachers’ table, and dodged her way through the crowd until she reached the table next to it. She was pleased when her homeroom teacher, Ms. Ryder, smiled and waved.
ALI’S NEW SCHOOL RULES
The next thing was to snag a seat in the center of the table between two groups of kids. This was a trick learned at Port Elgin Regional School in grade four, when she’d realized that sitting at the end of a table by yourself was a recipe for unwanted attention. And not just of the bullying kind, but of the look-it’s-a-new-kid-let’s-be-her-friend kind, which led to: Get the lay of the land before you make friends. It had taken her months in Port Elgin to extricate herself from a group of girls who talked about nothing except their favorite TV shows, something Ali couldn’t do because her family didn’t own a TV.
The spot she found today was perfect: to her right were two kids—a boy and a girl—who smiled at her when she sat down, then resumed their heated debate about interstellar travel. They seemed familiar, which meant they were probably in one of her morning classes. To her left, three girls whispered and painted their fingernails. They didn’t glance up when Ali sat down next to them. She’d chosen well.
Eating lunch alone wasn’t horrible, thanks to a rule she’d created in fourth grade at Lawrence Station School: Always carry a book. You were never alone when you had a book. She pulled The Golden Compass out of her knapsack. She and Gigi had started a book club two years ago because Gigi thought it would give them something to talk about during their weekly phone calls. So far, they’d read the Anne of Green Gables books and the first two Harry Potters. The book club kept going after Ali moved in, and the latest book was The Golden Compass. Ali was anxious to read whenever she got the chance. Gigi was the faster reader and had a tendency to share spoilers. Lyra’s adventures didn’t erase Ali’s cafeteria loneliness, but they did make it bearable.
“Emily Arai!” someone squealed.
Ali glanced up and saw a bunch of girls chasing a boy with a basketball. She didn’t need to know who they were to know they were popular. She recognized the girl named Emily from homeroom, because when Ms. Ryder had read her name, Ali had thought it was pretty. Plus, like every popular kid Ali had ever known, Emily had a hidden spotlight that shone on her at all times, so you couldn’t help but notice her.
The five of them did another loop around the cafeteria, only this time the boy skidded to a stop next to interstellar boy and girl. The girls smashed into him, and uproarious laughter ensued.
Basketball boy pointed at interstellar boy. “We could use you on the team this year.”
The girls disentangled themselves and nodded to interstellar boy. Ali knew she shouldn’t stare at popular kids, so she began to read again, allowing herself a quick grin when interstellar girl muttered, “As if.”
Interstellar boy laughed. “You know I hate sports, Tom. Now if you want to play Dungeons and Dragons . . .”
“But you’re like the tallest guy in grade seven,” Tom whined. “We could use you.”
“Sorry.” Interstellar boy did sound apologetic.
Tom didn’t seem to want to take no for an answer. “It’s not because you don’t want to leave your girlfriend, is it?”
The girls exploded into shocked giggles. Ali glanced up in time to see interstellar boy glare at them and at Tom, which Tom took as his cue to leave. “Whatever. You know where we are.” He ran off, the girls in hot pursuit. Ali returned to her book, happy she wasn’t part of the drama.
“Man, I hate that.” But interstellar boy didn’t sound mad. He sounded tired.
Ali understood his weary tone. One of the most important new school rules was: Always act like the popular kids. Whatever the popular kids did, Ali did. It was important not to make yourself a target, and if Ali knew anything after attending nine other schools, popular kids were never a target. Did interstellar boy not realize how much easier school would be if he just went along with what the popular kids wanted?
“They’re just being stupid,” said interstellar girl.
Interstellar boy was ready to change the topic. “Hey—I saw Alfie Sloane this morning.”
A stunned Ali let the book slip from her fingers. Was it true? Was Alfie Sloane here, in this building? Because if he was, everything was about to change.