I roll my bike out the front door,
my backpack heavy:
the notebook, granola bar,
jar of ancient, magic clay.
I’ve never skipped school before.
Maybe it’s because the world feels so different
or because of some magic
or change, or maybe it’s just the excitement
of seeing what might happen.
Today I have other things to do.
When I reach Malia’s house,
the fog is already melting away.
The dragon mailbox is wet with morning dew,
drops of water like slimy scales.
Lola is sitting on the front porch, a huge book in her lap.
She waves at me, gets up, goes inside.
By the time I reach the door,
Malia walks through,
Blankie wrapped fully around her,
a huge textbook in her arms.