Chapter 2:

The First Day

Pancakes. Warm, golden, perfect pancakes. Thousands of them, piled high. A mountain of pancakes. I put on my climbing gear, threw my rope and grappling hook up Pancake Mountain, and started to make my way toward the summit. As I went along, I reached out and grabbed pieces of the mountain and popped them into my mouth. Glistening streams of maple syrup flowed down the side, and I stuck my tongue out to catch the droplets of sweetness. Then, in a booming voice, someone was calling to me from the peak. What’s that they were saying? They seemed upset. Who could be upset on Pancake Mountain?! Pancake Mountain is a place of joy and happiness. Who—

“MAAAAYAAAAAAAA! I AM NOT! GOING TO TELL YOU! AGAIN! Turn that alarm off and let’s get a move on!”

I sat straight up in bed and rubbed my eyes. I looked around. Not a pancake to be found. Not even the mini-size silver dollar ones. And my mom, from the sound of things, was not happy. It would be so nice to just drift back to sleep, where everything was cozy and warm and syrupy. If only I could turn off that alarm.

My eyes darted to the corner of the bedroom I share with my little brother, Amir. On the desk was a bunch of dried Play-Doh he had left out, a couple of stuffed animals, a model of the solar system with little teeth marks in Saturn and Mercury (I mentioned the little brother, right?), a pile of my overdue library books (I’m almost done with that Mae Jemison biography, and then I’ll send it back! I swear!), and the beeping alarm clock. Next to it was . . . my book bag full of school supplies and the clothes I had laid out the night before. Oh my gosh. Today is the—

“First! Day! Of! School!” The bedroom door flew open and my mother leaped into the room. She tugged the covers off of me.

“Let’s go, Patricia Maya Robinson!” My mother has two jobs but somehow manages to have the most enthusiasm and energy of anyone in the world. I knew she had been up before the sun, getting Amir ready for my grandma to pick him up and take him to day care, getting my lunch together, and listening to the radio. Unlike pretty much every other adult I’ve ever met, she didn’t even drink coffee, but she always seemed ready to do backflips in the morning. Maybe that would be a good science fair project, I thought. Adult responses to caffeine. Does it have to do with age? Height? Weight? Blood type? What about—

“Maya, don’t make me tell you again.”

“I got it, Mom. I’m up.” I groaned and climbed out of bed. “I’ll get dressed.”

“Oh, I know you will,” she replied. She went over to the desk, threw the dried Play-Doh in the trash with lightning speed, and picked up the neatly folded school clothes. She tossed them onto the foot of the bed. “You got five minutes, baby girl. I need you washed, dressed, and ready to eat, fast, so you can get out the door on time. I picked up Ms. Yolanda’s shift, and I can’t take you to school if you miss the bus.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, still half-asleep. Drowsily, I tugged off the satin bonnet that I had worn to protect my freshly braided first-day-of-school hair. I was surprised it stayed on throughout all my sleeping and dreaming. I probably had a big line on my forehead.

“Better hurry up,” Mom called over her shoulder as she hustled out of the room and back to the kitchen. “I made pancakes.”

“Pancakes!” Suddenly I wasn’t so sleepy. “Why didn’t you say so?”

I got dressed in record time.

If only the first day of school had ended as well as it started. The pancakes were delicious, and then it was pretty much downhill from there.

When I got to the playground, right away I headed to where MJ and Jada would be waiting for me. I know everyone thinks that their best friends are the best best friends, but my friends are the certified, record-breaking greatest friends in the solar system. Probably the galaxy. I was really excited to get back to school and see them. Most of the kids at my school live in different neighborhoods and different parts of the city, so I don’t get to see them as much as I want to. Sometimes I read books and see TV shows where the characters are riding bikes to each other’s houses every day after school, and that always makes me sort of jealous. If I could ride my bike to see Jada or MJ, I would be with them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Instead, I have to wait for someone to plan it out and give me a ride. That’s no fun.

When we are able to get together, we think of really creative things to do. Jada and MJ are always down to assist with my latest science project, and they get just as excited as I do when I can actually get something to work. One time we spent twelve hours building a Rube Goldberg machine that could tip a watering can and water a plant when you put a race car on a track. Another time we made up our own movie, with a script and everything, and then MJ’s brother let us use his phone to record it and edit it. It was a mystery called The Case of the Missing Toaster, and I got to be the detective searching for the toaster, MJ was the villain who stole it, and Jada was the director. We tried to make MJ’s cousin Boogie play the role of the toaster, but he wouldn’t do it. Another time we went down to Jada’s basement, built a giant fort out of blankets, and spent the rest of the day with some flashlights, making up stories and looking through the photos and yearbooks Jada’s grandpa left down there, laughing at the funny old hairstyles and fashions. Jada’s mom has a catering business, and sometimes she lets us help her prepare food for someone’s birthday or wedding shower. One time she showed us how to test if a cupcake is done (you stick a toothpick in the center, and if it comes out wet, it needs more time) and how to perfectly balance a cherry on top of a bunch of frosting.

On Halloween, sometimes we trick-or-treat at MJ’s because he lives in a really big apartment building with hundreds of people, not just three apartments like my building. Last year we went door to door inside, which was good because it was pouring rain out, and we still got a lot of candy. I knew that this year we could have just as much fun. When we hang out at my house, we usually play with Amir, and since I have the biggest LEGO collection of anybody, we work on those for hours and hours, either following directions or making our own LEGO designs. We don’t have to be super creative all the time. Sometimes we play video games or watch television and relax. Daddy calls us the Three Jedi Knights. He’s the one who showed us the original Star Wars movies, and then he showed us the old cowboy Westerns where George Lucas got his ideas from. Some people would laugh if they went to visit their friend and their friend’s dad wanted to watch a bunch of old movies, but Jada and MJ were completely into it. They’re really open to trying something new, and even if they weren’t feeling it, they wouldn’t have laughed. See what I mean? Greatest friends in the Milky Way.

I spotted them right away, in our usual spot by the fence, overlooking the basketball court. MJ and I are into watching on the sidelines. Jada, who is a basketball fiend, wishes she could jump in the game. But the older kids always take over, and so Jada usually lingers at the edge of the fence with lost-puppy-dog eyes, trying to get up the courage to ask them if she can join.

Today was no different. “I can’t wait until we’re in seventh grade,” she said when I arrived. No hello or anything, and she didn’t look at me directly. Her eyes were locked onto the ball as it bounced three times against the pavement and then soared through the air, arcing toward the basket. “As soon as I get a chance, I’m—”

“Gonna be the first in line for tryouts,” MJ said. We’ve heard this speech so many times that he’s able to finish the sentence for her at this point. Jada barely noticed, still hypnotized by the action on the court.

“Didn’t Coach Tanaka say she might let you try out next year?” I said to Jada, poking her gently in the arm to remind her that MJ and I exist. “Since you’re already as tall as most of the seventh-grade girls anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jada said wistfully. She turned, consciously noticing me for the first time. “Hi, Maya.”

“Hi, Jada! Hey, MJ!”

Before MJ could respond, an older boy who overheard us walked away from the court and leaned over the fence, furrowing his brow. MJ rolled his eyes. He already knew what was coming.

“Ay!” said the boy. “I got a question. If your name is Michael Jordan, why you so scrawny?” MJ ignored him. But Jada wasn’t here for it.

“First of all,” she said, stepping up to the fence to face the boy. “Your joke isn’t very original. He’s heard it a million times. ‘Ooh, let’s see a dunk, Michael Jordan.’ ‘Where’s your championship ring, Michael Jordan?’ It’s old. Second of all, our boy here grew a good two inches over the summer! Can’t you tell? Sure, okay, some of that is his hair standing up, but—”

By this point, Jada had managed to bore the older boy to death, and he lost interest in making fun of MJ, wandering back toward the action of the game. MJ was flushed red, ready to about die of embarrassment.

“Man, you gotta ignore them,” Jada said. “We’re in fifth grade now. Forget their old jokes.”

“And you really did grow some over the summer,” I said. As MJ stood there with his arms crossed, fuming, I walked around him so that we were standing back-to-back. We were about the same height, but I hovered my hand over both of our heads so that it was hard to tell who was taller. “See? You’re taller than me!” MJ was unconvinced.

“I wish I didn’t have to ignore them,” he said, frowning. “Why couldn’t I have a regular name? Even Michael without the Jordan would be an improvement. I don’t know what my dad was thinking.”

“He was thinking you was gonna be great!” said Jada. “Epic. Unstoppable. A high school basketball star, following in the footsteps of his pops.” She folded her arms, pretending to cradle a baby, and batted her eyes down lovingly. “He was looking at you, his brand-new baby boy, and thinking, He is going to be exactly what it says on the statue. ‘The best there ever was. The best there ever will be.’ ”

Last year, MJ’s dad had taken the three of us to our first basketball game. His brother, MJ’s uncle, works for the city, fixing big potholes in the ground. His job gave him free tickets for a special occasion, and we got to go. We sat so way up high that the players were the size of hamsters as they ran around on the court, but it was still one of the best days ever. And we took a picture together in front of the big Michael Jordan statue. The best there ever was. The best there ever will be. Ever since then, Jada had become obsessed with the phrase, writing it in the back of her notebook over and over.

She turned and grinned at me. “You finally made it!” she said. “I was worried you would be late for the first day of school.” She gave me a big hug. Jada is the kindest person I know. A lot of kids act scared of her or think she’s mean because she’s so much taller than them, but she has been my friend and stuck by me since we were in kindergarten, and she helped me get the best blocks off of the top shelf that I couldn’t reach. But it’s not because she’s my bestie—she’s nice to everybody.

I stepped back and lifted a hand to greet MJ, since that older boy had interrupted us. “Hey, grumpy.”

MJ reached a hand out, and we exchanged our special dap. Two quick slides of the hands, two quick taps of a peace sign against our chests, and an exploding fist. “Hey, goofy,” he said back. This was our ongoing joke. MJ is as kind-hearted as Jada. But he’s not so quick to show it. He’s always got this super-serious frowny face, and his brain tends to jump to thinking about the worst thing that could possibly happen. He says that I’m too quick to lose track of things, to let my mind wander and start thinking about impossible stuff instead of facing reality. I say that he’s too negative, always so concerned about the bad things that could maybe happen that he forgets the good stuff that is happening. Maybe we’re both right, and that’s part of what makes us a good match as friends—not being the same, but being two sides of the same coin.

I reached into my pocket, grabbed the small plastic bag of apple slices I had brought with me from home, and started to munch on one. “So, are y’all feeling ready for today? I’m just the teeniest bit scared. I know I’m ready for fifth grade, but I have heard that Ms. Rodríguez is really mean and strict.”

Jada and MJ both gave me a funny look that made me nervous. Was I being a baby? “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” I said quickly. “I think we can handle it together. And this is the science fair year! Just kinda got butterflies in my stomach is all.”

They looked at each other, then back at me. “Maya,” said Jada gently. “We both got letters last week saying that we’re gonna be in Ms. Montgomery’s class.” She furrowed her brow, worried about me. “We assumed you got a letter too.”

Ms. Montgomery? They were in Ms. Montgomery’s class?

“What do you mean?” I understood what they were saying but also didn’t get it at all. MJ, Jada, and I had been in the same class since we were five years old. Being in school without them was . . . well, I couldn’t even imagine it.

“I guess some new kids transferred into the school at the very end of the summer, and they had to switch some things around to make the numbers work. MJ and I ended up with Ms. Montgomery.”

Ms. Montgomery had a reputation for being the coolest, most fun teacher in the entire school. She played the blues guitar in a band on the weekends and sometimes would bring it to school and sing songs. She had three dogs, and her room was decorated with pictures of them and lots of other animals. And, most important to me, she was a scientist. A real one. She had been a chemist before becoming a teacher, and she was always showing off amazing science demos in her class. She was even friends with some of the people at the Museum of Science and Industry, and when she took her classes on field trips there, they got special behind-the-scenes tours.

MJ and Jada were going to be in Ms. Montgomery’s class listening to her play guitar and sing songs she made up about the water cycle and the different parts of the ecosystem, and doing real lab experiments with microscopes and chemicals. Meanwhile I would be stuck in Ms. Rodríguez’s class. Ms. Rodríguez, whose main claim to fame was that she once made a kid write a ten-page report about gum after he stuck some under a desk. Great.

And worst of all, we wouldn’t be together. How would I make friends? Who would I sit with at lunchtime? Who would I do group projects with?

Instead of asking any of these questions out loud, I stood there in silence, feeling like a rain cloud was hovering over my head. My worry must have shown on my face, because MJ reached out and patted me on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Maya,” he said. “Even if you don’t make any new friends, there’s always next year.”

“Next year?!” Jada gave him a look. “Don’t listen to him, Maya. You’re going to have a great year. And we can still hang out in the morning. We might have recess at the same time, too! Plus, how bad can Ms. Rodríguez really be?”

I was about to try to say something brave, when we were interrupted by an ear-shattering whistle. We looked toward the school entrance. Ms. Montgomery was standing by the door. She had long dreadlocks elegantly twisted up on the top of her head, a huge pair of glasses with gold rims, and she was holding a bright-pink clipboard. Students were crowding around her eagerly, and she was greeting each of them with a warm smile.

But she was not the one who had blown the whistle.

“Fifth grade!” bellowed a woman standing nearby. “Fifth grade, it’s time to line up! Immediately!” She looked around the playground, scowling. She stood at attention, her back completely straight, and she held a regular plain-looking brown clipboard in her hand, which she tapped impatiently. She reminded me of Miss Trunchbull from the book Matilda by Roald Dahl. Across the playground, kids were scurrying over to her, terrified to get caught in her glare.

This was Ms. Rodríguez.

Jada gulped so loud that I could hear her from a few inches away. Then she smiled a thin smile, putting on a positive face for my benefit. “Well . . .” she said. “Let’s go line up! Maybe we’ll see you later today, Maya.”

“Yeah,” I said weakly. “Maybe.” MJ started to say something but obviously couldn’t come up with anything, so he made a weird face, baring his teeth at me. Clearly, it was supposed to be a smile, but MJ is not very good at faking his emotions.

“Uh . . .” he said awkwardly. “Enjoy . . . your . . . um . . . Don’t forget to write down your homework assignments at the end of the day!” And he sprinted off, lining up with his class. I nodded and started walking toward the door. I knew that I was walking to my doom.