ON WEEKENDS, MAMI MAKES FABULOUS breakfasts. Everything from omelets to huevos rancheros to French toast covered in maple syrup—Mami can do it all. Visions of those meals danced in my head as I slowly woke up. For a brief moment, I thought I could even smell them.

But then I remembered that this was a Monday. And on Mondays, Mami always wants to be at the high school before seven o’clock, so there’s no time for her to make a serious breakfast. And Mom, who has lots of other wonderful qualities, isn’t much of a cook. She wants our food to be healthy and nutritious, but to be honest, she doesn’t much care how it tastes.

So as I pulled on my robe and left my bedroom, no delicious aromas greeted me. In the kitchen, Mami was already dressed and finishing her coffee.

“Buenos días, mi hija,” she sang out.

“Buenos días, Mami.” I rubbed my eyes. “Mami, why do you always leave so early on Mondays?”

“Because, my darling daughter, as I’ve told you before, I do not like to work on weekends when I can spend time with my family. So I must get to school early to prepare my classes.” She bent, kissed my forehead, and took one of her usual granola bars to eat on the way to work.

I grabbed a box of cereal. Mom, looking much less alert, came into the kitchen just as Mami was opening the back door.

“¡Adios!” Mami called, and blew us a kiss before she walked out.

Mom isn’t a morning person. She mumbled a greeting, I greeted her back, and she began to rummage around in a cabinet for a mug. Back at the dining room table, she drank her coffee and I ate my cereal, and we sat in comfortable silence together.

By the time we left the house for the walk to my school, Mom could actually begin to talk like a human being.

“Anything special going on at school today?” she asked.

“Just the usual,” I replied.

“No book reports to give?”

As much as I love to read, and to write about the books I read, I hate getting up in front of the class to present them. And this year, my English teacher has us doing a lot of presentations. Mom understands, and she’s always prepared to give me a little pep talk when she knows I have to do it.

“Not today,” I told her. “Oh, I’m going to Ellie’s after school.”

“And someone will give you a ride home? Or walk with you?”

She always asks that, and I sighed. “Mom.” It’s about a fifteen-minute walk from Ellie’s house to mine, through a perfectly nice and safe neighborhood. And it was March, almost spring, so the sun wasn’t going down as early as it was in January, when I first started going to Ellie’s. I didn’t bother pointing any of this out to Mom, though. Just like I didn’t bother to respond to her question. She knew I would obey her wishes.

As usual, when we neared the school, I ducked my head so I wouldn’t make eye contact with any classmates. Not that they’d notice me anyway. I’m always so quiet that nobody pays attention to me. But I still feel embarrassed about being walked to school.

I raised my eyes as we approached the entrance and was happy to see Alyssa and Kiara standing outside. I didn’t have to be embarrassed in front of them.

“Hi, Ms. Levin-Lopez,” they chorused politely, and Mom greeted them. She knew better than to kiss me publicly, so she just gave me a little squeeze on the shoulder and said, “Have a nice day, girls,” before leaving.

“Hi,” I said. “Where’s Ellie?”

Alyssa looked to the right and then to the left. “Not here.”

Kiara frowned. “I think that’s obvious.”

I grinned. This was so typical—Alyssa being a smart aleck and Kiara not recognizing her sarcasm.

“Okay,” I said. “Why isn’t she here?”

Neither of them knew, and then the warning bell rang. Everyone hanging out in front of the school started hurrying toward the building, and we did too. Since we all have different homerooms, we had to separate once we got inside.

There are about thirty kids in my homeroom, and as they entered, most of them stopped by friends’ desks to talk before we all had to sit down. I didn’t greet anyone, and no one greeted me. This was typical, and it didn’t bother me at all. I slipped silently into my chair.

After a few minutes, people began going to their assigned seats, except for Paige Nakamura and her little clique. Paige is practically famous in the seventh grade. To be perfectly honest, I’ve never really understood why kids look up to her, why they think she’s so special. True, she’s very pretty, she wears very nice clothes, and she carries handbags with the name of a designer on them. And she always wears a hairband that matches whatever else she’s wearing. Lately, I’ve noticed that all her friends are wearing hairbands too. Paige is what you might call an influencer.

But she isn’t a very nice person. I’ve heard her say pretty mean things to people. Alyssa told me that once, when Paige came into a classroom and saw Alyssa sitting at her desk, she accused Alyssa of spreading cooties.

There were just a few seconds before the final bell. Paige left her group and started walking in my direction. This made me nervous.

She paused by my desk and spoke loudly.

“I saw you coming to school,” she said. “Was that your mother walking with you?”

Keeping my eyes fixed on my desk, I nodded. So much for going unnoticed this morning. Sometimes I wish I was really, truly invisible.

“I’m just curious,” Paige continued. “Does she hold your hand when you cross a street?”

I heard a few giggles, and I could feel my face getting warm. Then the bell rang, Paige went to her seat, and Mr. Greene came in.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said. He opened a notebook on his desk and started calling roll.

I could feel my face growing hotter, and I knew it had to be turning red. Since I don’t think much of Paige, I don’t care what she thinks of me. But she’s one of the most popular girls here, which means other kids pay attention to what she says. Would this mean the start of bullying for me?

“Rachel? Rachel Levin-Lopez?”

I looked up, startled. “Y-yes?”

“I’m only taking attendance,” Mr. Greene said.

“Oh! Sorry. Here.”

Behind me, I heard Paige whispering to the girl sitting next to her, and then the girl giggled. Mr. Greene glanced sternly at them and continued down the class list. When he finished, there was the sound of three short bells, and then the voice of the principal’s secretary, Ms. Simpson, came over the intercom. We heard the same words we hear every morning.

“May I have your attention for the morning announcements?”

Since it isn’t a two-way system, we can’t respond, and I’ve always found it strange that she presents this in the form of a question. It’s not like we have any choice in the matter. Why not just say something like “Please give me your attention for the morning announcements”? I made a mental note to share my observation with my friends later.

Her unanswered question was followed by the principal’s booming voice.

“Happy Monday, students,” Mr. Lowell said. “Just a few reminders for you this morning. Tryouts for the Drama Club’s spring play will be held immediately after school today and tomorrow in the auditorium. The Science Club will be meeting in room four twelve. Sixth graders, don’t forget to bring in your signed permission slips for Friday’s class trip to the Lakeside Historical Society. And seventh graders, as you may already know, your student representative, Parker Friedman, recently moved from Lakeside. You will need to elect a new representative. If you’re interested or you want to nominate a classmate, please submit names to Ms. Simpson in the office by the end of the school day tomorrow.

“Thank you for your attention.”

There was nothing in the announcements to interest me. I’m not in any clubs, I would never try out for a play, and I don’t even know what a student representative is.

It turned out that I wasn’t the only one. Someone in the back of the room raised his hand, a guy who I remembered had started at Lakeside in November.

Mr. Greene nodded. “Yes, David?”

“What’s a student representative?” David asked. “I didn’t know we had one.”

Another classmate responded. “That’s because Parker never did anything.”

Mr. Greene frowned at the kid for speaking without raising his hand first, but then he answered David.

“In September, each grade elects a student representative who attends certain meetings with Mr. Lowell and some faculty members and acts as a link between the students, the teachers, and the administration throughout the school year. The representative can make suggestions and recommendations for changes, improvements, that sort of thing.”

David raised his hand again, and Mr. Greene nodded again.

“What kind of recommendations did Parker make?”

“I’m not on that committee, so I only know what I’ve heard from other teachers,” Mr. Greene replied. “Let me think.” He cocked his head sidewise and his brow furrowed as he considered the question. “Hmm… well, the only thing I remember was a suggestion that the teachers assign less homework.”

“Then what happened?” David asked.

“As I recall, nothing came of it.”

“Did any of the other grade representatives make suggestions?”

Mr. Greene hesitated. “Hmm… yes, I heard that the eighth-grade rep asked for longer lunch periods.”

“Is that going to happen?” David asked.

“Probably not.”

David frowned. “Then what’s the point of having student representatives?”

Just then, the bell rang. And Mr. Greene looked relieved.