chapter 7

First Day

Monday, January 7

Instead of stepping into the school’s front office, I hesitate beyond the threshold, folding and refolding my schedule between my hands like a master origamist, questioning every decision I’ve made since the moment Dad announced we were moving to Fayetteville. I glance through the doorway, pondering the unlikely series of events that brought me to the lobby of M.A. Hopkins High School in the first place, wondering if speaking up about my true feelings back in November would have made a difference. Would I be spending the day with Zander instead of a stranger if I had been firmer in my resolve about not wanting to leave Iowa?

The only other student in the office doesn’t look up from her book as the door closes behind me with a gentle click. She’s sitting in a chair against the back wall, her nose buried in a copy of Girl With a Pearl Earring. Her face is concealed behind by a chin-length bob woven with streaks of purple and blue. A wrist-full of gold bangles jingle as she turns the page.

If Zander was here he’d walk right up and ask if she’s my mentor, but of course, I don’t want to disturb her because interrupting is impolite. Without him, I lack the courage to introduce myself, so I’m still standing there like an idiot when Mrs. Fields finally looks up from her desk.

“Leonetta?” she says. “Your buddy, Tess, is here. Now put down your book and show this nice girl around.”

I’d worked myself into a frenzy over the weekend worrying about two things: why Zander still hadn’t texted me back and whether Leonetta was going to like me. A tiny part of me thought perhaps she’d be another Midwestern transplant since Mrs. Fields had promised the two of us would be ‘a perfect match.’ Looking at Leonetta now, with her perfectly shaped eyebrows and rich, ruby lipstick, I brace myself for her disappointment. There’s no way she’s gonna want to spend the day with some freckly farmgirl who doesn’t even have her ears pierced, and I halfway expect her to ask Mrs. Fields to reassign me to someone else.

“Nice to meet you,” she says instead, smiling brightly as she slips her book into her bag before hoisting herself from the chair. “D’you just get into town?”

I follow her like a puppy into the hallway now teeming with students, hurrying in every direction. “Yeah. Last week,” I say, the relief of her tentative acceptance spreading through me, casting away a few of my initial concerns.

She asks me where I’m from and about the reason for our move before holding out a perfectly manicured hand. “I need your schedule so I can help you find your way to class. I’ll be staying with you all day, making sure you get from place to place.”

I’m simultaneously relieved and dismayed as I hand her the paper. Relieved she’ll be navigating for the next seven hours but dismayed I’ll be on my own by this time tomorrow.

“So, uh, it turns out I’m in three of your four classes,” she says, her voice laced with something like relief. “Plus, we both have second lunch.”

The mention of concurrent lunch assignments sparks a tiny flame of hope inside me. Perhaps her acknowledgment will result in an invitation to eat together later in the day. Back at East Chester, I never worried about having someone to sit with: Zander was always by my side. But then again, with so few students, there was never a need for more than one shift, guaranteeing we’d always be together. I’m still pondering how many students necessitate multiple lunches when Leonetta stops abruptly in front of what appears to be a computer lab. “They already assign you an email address?” she asks.

“Yeah. When I enrolled last week. They set me up with a Chromebook, too.”

She takes a step back as a kid carrying a printer exits the lab. “D’you test it out to make sure it works?”

I shake my head. “Didn’t know I needed to.”

“It’s alright,” she says with a sigh. “We can try it later. Half the time they don’t load properly. You know how glitchy school computers can be.”

I purse my lips and swallow down the urge to panic. “Actually, we just had textbooks at my old school. I don’t know anything about using a Chromebook.”

She nods sympathetically and continues moving down the hall with purpose, shuffling along in her flats. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “If it’s not working, I’ll just give you access to my stuff ‘til we can get it sorted.”

“Really?” I can’t believe she would do that for me. We don’t even know each other.

“Yeah, of course. It’s no big deal. Being late to Krenshaw’s class is definitely a big deal, though, so we better hurry up.”

Neck craned and eyes wide, I must look like a tourist walking beside her, trying to get a sense of the school’s overwhelming expanse. I’m still wrapping my head around the enormity of the building, which seems to go on endlessly in every direction, when she stops beside a classroom door. “This is you. First period. The only class we don’t have together. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be back before the bell rings to take you to your next class.” She turns to go but abruptly changes her mind, pivoting on her heel. “And just FYI, this is American History with Ms. Krenshaw. She’s a triflin’ heifer. Don’t sit in the front row or the back row. Pick somewhere in the middle. Promise me.”

I promise, thankful for this unsolicited advice, but as I enter the room, I’m suddenly nervous, imagining how one should handle a ‘triflin’ heifer.’ I familiar with the protocol for regular heifers but the trifling kind? Not so much.

The room is divided into five rows of seven, and one of the only available seats is on the far side of the room by the windows, but it’s toward the middle, so I grab it. The rest of the class carries on, raucous and disorderly, and I busy myself with my new school supplies to avoid drawing attention to myself. I’m doodling mindlessly on the first crisp sheet of paper in the spiral notebook Dad bought me at the PX when someone slips into the seat beside me.

“Hey,” a girl says, startling me from my sketch.

I lift my chin to respond only to find her rustling through her shoulder bag.

“Hi,” I say back, my voice thin and tentative.

“This your first day?” She pulls a laptop from the bag and dives back in without making eye contact.

“Yeah.”

“You from Bragg?”

“Yeah. Well, I’m actually from Iowa. But we just got here. To Fort Bragg.”

She finally looks up from her gigantic purse, lip gloss in hand, eyes wide with disbelief. “Iowa? Isn’t that out west somewhere? Like one of those tornado states?”

“You’re thinking of Kansas or Oklahoma,” I tell her. “But we sometimes get tornados. And there are a lot of farms.”

She’s back in her bag again, searching for something else. “D’you live on a farm?”

“Yeah. A dairy farm.”

“That’s cool,” she says, returning from her bag a third time, this time with a pack of Orbitz gum. She holds out a stick. “Wanna piece?”

I thank her and take the gum.

Ms. Krenshaw arrives a moment later, and by the stern look of her, Leonetta’s warnings were not without merit. “You people have three seconds to get your tails in your seats or I’m passing out ASDs.”

I glance at the girl beside me, and she rolls her eyes in a show of solidarity. Ms. Krenshaw’s barking around the room, clearly taking some sort of informal attendance. She stops once she gets to me.

“Tess Goodwin?” she asks.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Grab a map supplement from the shelf back there. And hurry up.”

I weave my way through desks, backpacks, and indifferent stares to the back of the room, where, after several moments of searching, I select a book from the stack.

Since they’re discussing World War I, a subject my old class covered in the fall, I find myself zoning out, reflecting on how nice Leonetta and the Orbitz girl are and what I would be doing back home if I hadn’t been dragged out of Iowa. It’s earlier there because of the time change, so instead of being in school already, I’d still be out in the barn for the morning milking. I’d trade Sunshine for Ms. Krenshaw in a hot minute.

Halfway through class, Orbitz girl leans over, whispering across the aisle. “You should definitely be taking notes. Krenshaw’s tests are legendary.”

I give her a small smile. “I already did World War I back in Iowa. The stuff she’s covering is review.”

With a shake of her head she returns to her laptop. “Must be nice.”

When the bell rings, signaling the end of first period, I have a page full of doodles but not a single note from the lecture. Everyone else is on their feet before it’s even done sounding, and when I glance to my right to ask for Orbitz girl’s name, I’m disappointed to discover she’s already gone.

Out in the hallway, Leonetta’s right where I left her. “How bad was Krenshaw?” she asks as I fall into step beside her.

“She’s definitely not winning any Miss Congeniality awards.”

Leonetta nods. “I told you. Triflin’ heifer.”

We push through the crowd of endless backpacks, past banks of lockers, and dozens of classrooms. The silence between us stretches uncomfortably so I scramble for a topic to keep the conversation going. “I did meet the girl who sat beside me. She seemed nice.”

“What’s her name?” Her tone is accusatory as if I’ve done something wrong.

“I dunno. She didn’t tell me.”

“Then what’s she look like?”

Her hair was short, cropped close to her head in the back and longer in the front. She had rings on her fingers and wore a beautiful linen shirt—completely appropriate for Fayetteville but so different from the jeans and cotton t-shirts I’m used to wearing around the farm. Also, she was black, but it feels inappropriate to add this as part of her description, so I decide not to say anything at all.

“I don’t remember anything specific. Why?”

She sighs heavily. “You gotta be careful who you talk to around here. Some a these girls ‘ill spit on ya as soon as look atcha.”

I smile. It’s funny how wherever you go, there are always those people. “I know about mean girls,” I tell her as we come to a stairwell. “We have them in Iowa, too.”

She shakes her head. “Oh no, you don’t either. You don’t have girls like this. They’ll eat an innocent little thing like you alive. Triflin’ heifers, the lot of ‘em.”

Hearing this makes me cringe, but then again, it’s nice to know she sees herself in opposition to those who would be interested in consuming me. I open my mouth to admit how out of place I feel but decide against it. The last thing I want is to be labeled as some sort of outcast on my first day.

“The girl seemed pretty nice. She gave me gum.” I say finally. “Hopefully we’ll see her again today, and I can point her out.”

Leonetta grunts as we start up the stairs, and I don’t know if she’s grunting at me or from overexertion, but I pretend not to notice and follow behind, discreetly checking the stairwell sign. Number seven isn’t somewhere we’ve been before. I sidle up beside her at the top of the stairs.

“Hey. By the way. I might need your help getting around again tomorrow because I have no idea how we got to first period.” I look around and notice we’re in yet another unfamiliar hallway. “In fact,” I continue, “I have no idea where we are now.”

“Were you homeschooled or somethin’ before this?”

I can’t help but smile at the notion. “No,” I tell her. “But my high school was small. Like way smaller than this. They should really give new students a map or something to help navigate this place. Otherwise, I may end up locked in some decommissioned mop closet never to be heard from again.”

She laughs aloud, presumably at my joke and not at the image of my decaying body in a closet. Her loud, guttural guffaw takes me by surprise but also works to ease my fears. Is it possible I’m making my first friend?

“Don’t worry about finding your way,” she says. “I’ll walk you around for as long as you need. It’s all part of my job.” The tone of her voice suggests she’s relieved by the premise of an extended assignment, and it strikes me that the benefits of our pairing might not be one-sided. Perhaps Mrs. Fields saw me as a good match for Leonetta as well.

“You involved in any clubs?” she asks as we continue to second period.

“I was in the chess club back home. Or, back in Iowa,” I say, correcting myself. I wonder how long it will take before I stop thinking of Iowa as home.

“My dad tried to teach me to play as a kid, but I never got the hang of it.”

“My dad taught me,” I say, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “I can totally teach you.”

“That’d be cool,” she says with a smile.

“Is there a chess club here?”

She shrugs. “Not that I know of, but there could be. If not, you could always join the gospel choir with me. Do you sing?”

“Only in the shower,” I tell her.

We arrive at Mr. Hogan’s second-period chemistry class and file in with the rest of our classmates. Just inside the door, I spot the Orbitz girl from American History, and I nudge Leonetta to get her attention.

“There’s the girl from the other class,” I say, motioning toward her with my eyes as nonchalantly as I can. “The one who sat beside me.”

Leonetta smiles. “Oh, that’s Alice. She’s good people. Lucky break,” she says. “Come on. Let’s get you a seat.”

Because it’s chemistry, the class is paired at lab tables, but unfortunately for me, everyone’s already matched. Leonetta leads me to the front of the room and introduces me to Mr. Hogan, a bald, doughy man wearing a pair of quirky horned-rimmed glasses and a bow tie. He shakes my hand and issues me a tray of lab equipment.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tess. We’ve got a group of three,” he says, pointing to a table in the back corner of the room, “so one of them will need to break off to partner with you.”

Leonetta squeezes my arm, and by the looks on the faces of the three girls I’m about to divide, this is not going to end well.

“Tess can partner with me and Desean,” she offers, her voice desperate.

“No. No, that’s silly. Working in pairs makes things easier.” He raises his voice to call across the room. “Monika, come join Tess up front here at this empty table,” he instructs.

There’s an audible groan from Monika as she snatches her bag off the floor and waves begrudgingly to her former partners. She struts to the front of the room, glaring daggers at me, and I can tell she’s definitely one of the girls Leonetta warned me about.

We sit side-by-side for the entire class period without looking at one another. Her anger is palpable, radiating from every pore in her body, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t glance in my direction. And she definitely does not offer me a piece of gum.

*

By the end of class, I’m sweating profusely, perspiration pooling under my armpits as if I’ve been mucking stalls for five hours in the middle of July. The stress of sitting next to Monika made it difficult to concentrate on Mr. Hogan’s explanation of covalent bonds, and I’m beyond relieved to see Leonetta waiting for me outside the door after the bell.

“Oh, girl,” she says. “I was hoping he wouldn’t do that, but he did, and you got stuck by the worst of them. Monika is the most triflin’ of the heifers.”

“I noticed,” I say.

“It wasn’t such a big deal today on a-count-a we weren’t doing any lab work, but once you have to work together on an assignment, you’re gonna have to watch out. That girl’ll sabotage you. Seen her do it before.”

I don’t know whether I should be grateful or disheartened by her overtly honest opinion of my situation. I decide, as we lumber along through the throng of students on their way to third period, it’s probably better to know the truth so I can prepare myself for the worst.

Leonetta’s trying to tell me something more about Monika, but the hallway seems busier than it was at the previous class change, and before long we’re overtaken by the mob, separating us from one another.

Luckily, I find her waiting for me at the next stairwell where she explains about the overcrowding. “First lunch is at the beginning of this period. We go in the middle of class with second lunch, and third shift goes at the end. That’s why it’s so crazy. Folks can’t wait to get their lunch on.” She stops suddenly halfway down the steps as if she’s forgotten something important. “Did you pack or are you gonna buy?”

I pat my back pocket where I stashed the five-dollar bill Dad left me on the kitchen counter. “I’m buying.”

She nods approvingly. “Okay. That’s good. Make sure you stay with me through the line, though. That way Cecilia’ll give you the good stuff.”

“Is there bad stuff?” I ask, although I’m not sure I want to know.

“Let’s just say there’s the stuff the school system buys for us to eat, and then there’s the stuff Cecilia fixes. You will never eat another slice of cold, greasy school pizza again.”

Although I don’t necessarily mind the rectangular anomaly that is school pizza, my stomach is already grumbling for lunch, and I’m eager for class to get underway.

“Anything I need to know about this class?” I ask, following her into the room.

She shakes her head. “Nah. Not really. This is English with Mrs. Alexander. Her husband is stationed at Bragg. He’s a colonel, I think. Anyway, she’s real nice, but this is her last year, so don’t get too attached.” We take two seats next to each other in the front row. “You like to read?” she asks, and I remember she was reading Girl with a Pearl Earring while she waited for me in the office.

“I do,” I tell her, “but back home, on the farm, there wasn’t a lot of time for it. I mean, I read for my assignments and all, but there’s always a lot of work to do on a farm.” I don’t add that any free time I did get was usually spent playing chess with Zander.

“Oh,” she says. The disappointment in her voice makes me wish I had some literary point of reference to relate.

“What are you reading in here?” I ask.

“A Raisin in the Sun.”

My heart leaps since it’s something I’ve read. “Lorraine Hansberry, right? About the Younger family and the insurance check and trying to decide what to do with the money?”

“Yeah. That’s the one,” she says. “Have you read it?”

I nod. “And I loved it. What about you?”

Before she can answer, Mrs. Alexander appears at the front of the room, wearing a cheery sundress and a welcoming smile on her face.

“Ah! You must be Tess,” she exclaims, seeing me in the front of the room. “Welcome to Hopkins. I’m glad you’ve met Leonetta.” She gives her a wink. “How’s your day been so far?”

It’s easy to understand why Leonetta likes her, and I admit, to both her and myself, my day’s been fine.

“Well, let me get you set up with our anthology,” she calls over her shoulder as she scoots down an aisle to the back of the room, her head of corkscrew curls bouncing with every step. “The rest of you turn to page 191, and we’ll pick up where we left off Friday, discussing the symbolism of Mama’s plant.”

The first half of class flies by, with Leonetta contributing to most, if not all, of the discussion. I watch her light up as she shares her opinion about how the plant is the only thing the family has left, but the mother still nurtures it despite a lack of sunlight in the hopes of sustaining its life. It seems as though, somehow, the nurturing aspect of the symbolism is something she relates to, but before I have time to consider it further, the bell rings, and it’s time for lunch.

Instead of bolting out the door with the rest of the class, Leonetta hangs back as everyone else funnels into the hallway. Once they’re gone, she approaches Mrs. Alexander’s desk.

“What can I do for you, The Divine Miss L?” Mrs. Alexander asks.

Leonetta crimsons in response to the teacher’s pet name, the affection between them undeniable.

“Mrs. A, I was wondering, do we have a chess club here at school?”

My breath catches in my throat and I hold it, realizing immediately the significance of this moment.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Alexander glances out the window, trying to recall. “I don’t think so,” she says finally. “But I’m happy to find out. Why do you ask?”

Leonetta motions in my direction. “Tess was in a chess club at her school back in Iowa, and I thought maybe she could join one here, too.”

Our teacher nods. “That’s a lovely idea. And Tess, if you want, you’re welcome to join my literature circle as well. We meet after school on Tuesdays. Leonetta here is actually one of our founding members.”

Leonetta looks at me, the pride visible in the broadness of her smile. “You should definitely come.”

I don’t know her well enough to speculate about the nature of her invitation—whether she’s just an inclusive sort of person or if she genuinely wants me around. Either way, I’m grateful, so of course, I accept her offer.

*

By the time we make it to lunch, the cafeteria is jam-packed, the serving line extending most of the room’s length.

“Holy crap,” I say, “how are we ever gonna make it through this line with enough time to actually eat?”

Leonetta ushers me quickly to the end of the line and hands me a tray. “It moves fast,” she tells me. “Plus, Cecelia will take care of us.”

As we shuffle toward the counter, I glance around the cafeteria and am struck by the pronounced segregation. There are large groups of black students huddled together, and interspersed between them, smaller pockets of white, Latino, and Asian students as well, each isolated from the next. It’s like back at East Chester with the jocks and the brains and the stoners. Only here at Hopkins, it seems as though race is the great divider, some sort of voluntary isolationism. Watching the close-knit groups makes me all the more grateful to have Leonetta by my side.

True to her word, three minutes later, we’re already to the serving portion of the line. She leans down to whisper in my ear. “See the woman with the hot pink hair net on the end there? That’s Cecilia. Don’t take any food from anybody else ‘til we get to her. Follow my lead.”

I shake my head as each of the other cafeteria workers offers me the standard fare: corn dog nuggets, tater tots, Salisbury steak. Finally, we reach the end of the line, my tray still empty.

“Two plates today, Cecilia,” Leonetta tells the woman. “One for me and one for Tess. She just got here from Iowa.”

Cecilia grins at me, as if I’ve just been let in on the world’s best secret. “Oh lawd, girls, are you in for a treat today,” she says over her shoulder as she shuffles off into the kitchen. A minute later she returns with two steaming plates of food. “Pork chop, collards, and homemade macaroni salad,” she says, handing them to us. “Woulda had some biscuits, too, Netta, but our flour delivery got delayed this week. Anyway, y’all enjoy. And it’s nice to meet ya, Tess. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you around.”

I thank her and follow Leonetta to the seating area, which I’m discouraged to discover has limited availability. I figure, though, she probably has a place she always sits, like Zander and I did back at East Chester.

I glance around for a familiar face, realizing how strange it is that she hasn’t introduced me to any of her friends. Is it possible she doesn’t have any?

Does she typically eat alone?

I’m still pondering her seemingly isolated existence as we make our way to what appears to be the last two open seats, nestled squarely between the wrestling team and mathletes. Taking my seat, I laugh quietly to myself, disbelieving of the irony in traveling 1,200 miles only to find the exact same kids I left behind—the jocks and the geeks—and am both annoyed and comforted by the universality of cliques.

The pork chop appears to have been marinated in an unfamiliar spice, so I pick it up with my fingers to examine it more closely before tearing off a tentative bite with my teeth. “Oh my God, this is amazing,” I say. “What’s on it?”

Beside me, Leonetta uses her utensils to cut off a corner of the chop. She shrugs. “Dunno. Cecilia won’t share her recipes with anybody. Says they’re her great-great-great grandmomma’s recipes from when she was a slave down in Louisiana, and she’s probably gonna take ‘em to the grave with her.”

“Well, that would be a tragedy because this is delicious,” I say through a mouthful of my second bite.

“You oughta try the collards,” she says. “And don’t worry, ‘cuz she’s already put in the perfect amount of Tabasco. You won’t need more.”

I stop chewing, holding my chop in mid-air. “What’s Tabasco?”

Now she’s the one who stops eating. “You kiddin’.”

I shake my head. “No. I’ve never heard of it before.”

She laughs aloud, and I’m afraid she’s going to spit her food across the table. “Girl, you sure got a lot to learn about livin’ in the South.” She clears her throat in mock seriousness. “Number One: Thou shalt douse Tabasco, also known as hot sauce, on pretty much everything, including, but not limited to, eggs, chicken, collards, and jambalaya.”

“Should I be writing this down?” I ask.

She nudges me in the arm with her shoulder. “Just try the collards,” she says.

The collards are bitter and spicy, and I’ve almost convinced myself I don’t like them when I take another small bite to appease Leonetta who’s watching me with rapt anticipation. By the third bite, the richness of the flavors begins to grow on me and before long, I’ve cleaned my plate.

“So, Tabasco,” she says, grinning through a mouthful of her own collards.

“It’s the heat, right?”

“Yes, the heat.”

We chat together for a few minutes about my friends back in Iowa before I decide to ask about her typical seating arrangements. “Am I keeping you from sitting at your regular spot?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t look up from her food.

“Oh,” I say. “Then who do you usually eat with?”

She bows her head, wiping her face with her paper napkin to keep from welling up. I mentally slap myself for saying anything. “I’m sorry,” I say before she’s able to respond.

“No. It’s fine. It’s just that recently, I’ve been sittin’ by myself, readin’ my book. But I used to sit with my best friend, Tanya. We met at the end of eighth grade and spent two and a half years together here. But her family PCS’d right after Thanksgiving.”

“PCS’d?”

“It stands for a ‘permanent change of station.’ They were military and she moved away, just like you.”

Immediately, I think of Zander. About how I permanently changed my station, leaving him behind. But unlike Leonetta, he isn’t completely alone. He has the guys.

My heart aches for her, and I struggle for the words to make it better. “Well, you’ve got a new lunch partner now if you’ll have me,” I tell her. When she finally looks up, I don’t know whose smile is bigger, mine or hers.

*

After lunch, Leonetta drags me into the hall, insisting I be the one to lead her back to English. We’re both surprised when I’m able to get there without making a single wrong turn.

“You’ll know this building like the back of your hand by the end of the week,” she tells me as we take our seats together at the front of the room.

By the end of class, we’ve finished our dissection of A Raisin in the Sun, and after Mrs. Alexander assigns our reading homework for the night, she stops us as we’re filing into the hall.

“I asked some of the other teachers in the faculty room about a chess club, and we don’t have one,” she tells me. “But I bet Mr. Wilson might be willing to sponsor you if you’re interested in establishing one.”

“Mr. Wilson’s our geometry teacher,” Leonetta tells me. “We’re heading there now. He’s really nice and really smart. He stays after school most days to tutor kids who need extra help, so I bet he’d let you hang out and play chess in the back of his room if you want.”

Just as Zander and I were relegated to the corner of the library back at East Chester, I’ll be facing the same partitioned existence here. Apparently, regardless of the locale, chess doesn’t take priority on anyone’s hierarchy of afterschool activities.

I thank Mrs. Alexander, and Leonetta leads me to geometry, where I notice Orbitz-girl Alice sitting beside another girl I recognize from English. Their heads are knitted together across the aisle and they’re engrossed in conversation over a small spiral-bound notebook.

“Who’s the girl talking to Alice?” I whisper to Leonetta as we weave our way down the row in their direction.

“Summer Phillips,” she says. “Why?”

“Is she nice?”

She shrugs. “Don’t really know her that well. Why?” she asks again.

We snag two seats behind them and without thinking I say, “She and Alice are the only interracial friends I’ve seen today, that’s all.” It doesn’t occur to me until I hear it coming out of my mouth how my comment might be misconstrued, but before I have a chance to explain myself, Mr. Wilson strolls in. Craning my neck to properly view his face, he reminds of the basketball players Dad and I watch during March Madness—unimaginably tall and thin, with hands the size of dinner plates.

“What’s going on, Geometry?” he calls to the class, illuminating the smart board at the front of the room to reveal what I assume are the answers to the weekend’s homework assignment. “Check your proofs quickly and holler at me if you have any questions. One similar to number six threw a bunch of you last week, so hit me up if you’re still having trouble with triangle bisection.”

Alice and Summer have stashed away their notebook and are now checking their assignments with the rest of the class. Alice raises her hand, and as Mr. Wilson lumbers over to her desk he notices me.

“Overheard we were gettin’ a new addition today,” he says with a smile, teeth gleaming. He leans down, practically bending himself in half to shake my hand. “You’re Tess, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good to have you,” he says. “If you have time after school today, I’d love to chat with you about your situation.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Sir?”

He smiles again, explaining further. “You know, to get an idea of what you’ve been taught so far this year at your old school, to check for gaps between what we’re studying now and what you already know. Geometry-wise,” he adds.

“After school today?”

He nods. “Or tomorrow. Or anytime this week. Before school even, if that would work better for you.”

Ashley’s expecting me to be home after school today and will probably worry if I don’t show up. And I’m already looking forward to Mrs. Alexander’s literature circle tomorrow afternoon.

“I was actually taking Algebra II back in Iowa, but none of the Algebra classes fit into my schedule here so I guess they just put me in geometry and figured I’d catch up.”

His eyes widen. “Catch up? What are these guidance counselors even thinking? Dear Lord, we definitely need to talk, Tess. The sooner the better.”

“Do you think we can meet after school on Wednesday?”

He nods. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

As we’ve been talking, Alice has completely turned around in her seat and is now watching us intently. For a second, I think she’s upset that I’ve kept Mr. Wilson from answering her question, but her curious expression confirms she isn’t annoyed by the delay. Once we’re through, she speaks with him briefly, and as he ambles back toward the front of the room, she swivels around to face me again.

“You’ve never taken geometry before?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“But you already know what we’re covering in history?”

“Right,” I say, wondering what she’s getting at.

“How would you feel about tutoring one another?”

Her question takes me by surprise. “Really?”

She sighs heavily, shaking her head. “I’m practically failing history because Ms. Kenshaw’s such a craptastic teacher, and it’s killing my GPA. I’m a wiz at geometry, though, so I was thinking maybe we can help each other out. I work after school at Krispy Kreme but maybe we could get together at night or on the weekends or something?”

The desperation in her voice is unmistakable, and I’m definitely going to need the help in math.

“Sure. Let’s do it,” I say.

“You’re the best,” she replies enthusiastically, ripping a sheet of paper from her notebook. “This is my cell.” She hands me the paper which includes her name, the ten digits of her phone number and a heart, all hastily penned in her flowing script. “Call or text me tonight, after seven,” she says.

I open my mouth to respond, but Mr. Wilson’s at the board now, explaining the proof for an isosceles triangle on the coordinate plane. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I begin taking notes with the others just the same. Halfway through the explanation, I must be exceptionally focused because when Leonetta snatches Alice’s sheet off my desk, I nearly jump out of my seat. I don’t have time to ask what she’s doing because a moment later she returns the paper, sliding it beneath my notes. Now her name and number appear beside Alice’s in large block letters.

I turn to acknowledge the gesture and find her eyeing me expectantly as if she’s overstepped some unspoken boundary and is now second-guessing herself. I tear a corner off the bottom of the sheet, scribble my own digits, and slip the note back onto her desk. She returns my smile, visibly relieved.

After the exchange, class plods along through a blurry fog of confusion, and I’m relieved when the bell at the end of class also signals the end of the school day. Students flood into the hallways, more rambunctious now than they were at the start.

“You survived,” Leonetta says as we shove our way toward the student parking lot.

“It was good,” I admit, surprised by how good it actually was.

“I’m glad,” she says. “And hey, if you want I’ll text you tonight, and we can go through your Chromebook together to make sure you’ve got everything you need.”

We already discovered my Quizlet login doesn’t work, so there are bound to be other issues. “That’d be awesome,” I tell her. “Thanks. And you can text me anytime. I literally have nothing going on.”

“Okay.” She hesitates then, chewing the inside of her cheek. “You want me to meet you in the office again tomorrow morning?”

There’s a hopeful edge to her voice, but I really want to see if I can make it on my own. “How about if we meet at Ms. Krenshaw’s. I’ll try to get there by myself, but if I don’t make it by the warning bell, come look for me in the office.”

She agrees, and as we go our separate ways, she to her car and me to mine, and I’m struck by how easy spending the day together was. How effortless. How despite our obvious differences, we somehow managed to discover common threads between us, creating a tentative connection. In light of this observation, as I pull out of the parking lot, I’m forced to acknowledge that maybe fitting in here won’t be as difficult as I thought, and for the first time since November, I’m no longer dreading the days to come.