By the time school was actually ready to start for the year, Brendon had worked himself into a state of happy anticipation. It wasn’t because he liked school; quite the opposite, he hated anything that involved sitting still and being quiet. Even so, he told himself, school could not possibly be more deadly than the long mornings of sitting in hotel rooms and being tutored by his mother. At school, at least, there would be other boys.

Strange to say, in his entire nine years, Brendon had never really gotten to know another boy. Through the years spent in various hotels, his sisters had been his chief companions. He was fond of them in a way, but most of the time they drove him crazy. Kirby was always springing up and down on her toes and Nancy was always frowning into a book.

There was something about the sight of Nancy reading with her brows drawn tight together and her long, straw-colored hair hanging down her back that made it impossible to resist grabbing a handful and pulling. Then she would scream. There was no sound in the world that could match Nancy’s scream. She would drop her book and leap up to slap him, and he could jump aside and kick at her, and for a few heavenly moments there would be a real down-on-the-floor scuffle.

It never lasted long, however. Soon the energy would begin to pile up inside him all over again. In an hour he would have to go looking for Kirby and do something to her—pinch her, perhaps. Kirby never got as furious as Nancy, but it was only fair to pick on her part of the time, too, so as not to favor one sister over the other.

Now, however, there would be school. He pretended, of course, that he didn’t want to go. He knew that no normal kid would ever admit he wanted to go to school. Still, it was all he could do to keep himself scowling as he climbed out of the car and faced the crowd surging up the concrete steps of Palmelo Elementary School.

“Don’t you want me to come in with you?” his mother asked in surprise. “You won’t know what room you’re in or anything. It might be confusing.”

“I speak the language,” Brendon said. “I’m not a baby, Mom!”

“Well, go straight to the office then,” Elizabeth said. “I called yesterday to say you were coming. They’ll give you your room number and tell you who your teacher is. I’m going to run the girls over to the high school, and I’ll see you at the end of the day, okay? I’ll pick you up right here.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Brendon said. “I’ll walk. I know the way to the house from here. It’s not so far.”

“Oh, Mom,” Nancy said with disgust, “can’t you see that he’s trying to get out of this? I bet he doesn’t go in at all. He’ll turn around and go home as soon as we’re out of sight.”

Elizabeth said, “Brendon wouldn’t do a thing like that!” but she sounded a little doubtful.

Brendon noticed that she sat in the car and watched him until he was up the steps and safely into the building.

Once through the school door, Brendon found himself faced with a noisy, milling mob of what appeared to be at least a million kids. They shouted and shoved and disappeared into doorways and came popping out again with lists in their hands. A few of them had harried-looking mothers hurrying along behind them, but most, like Brendon, were without parents. There were signs on the walls with arrows pointing in all directions. TO THIRD GRADE CLASSROOMS, they said, and TO FIFTH GRADE CLASSROOMS, PTA REGISTRATION, RESTROOMS.

With a feeling of adventure, Brendon hurled himself into the swirling mob and was immediately swept along like a leaf in a river. A few moments later the door marked OFFICE swam by him on the right, and he hauled himself through it into the comparative calm of a sunny room full of desks and telephones.

A woman behind the first desk looked up.

“Hello, there,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Brendon Garrett,” Brendon said formally. “I’m new. My mom said for me to come in here and find out where to go.”

“Brendon Garrett.” The woman repeated his name slowly. Then suddenly her face broke into a great smile. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “You’re Liz Burke’s little boy! Marvelous! Mr. Manzi said your mother called yesterday to register you.” Turning to the woman at the desk behind her, she asked, “Is Mr. Manzi in his office? I know he’ll want to meet Liz Burke’s son. Liz was always one of his favorite students.”

“He’s in there,” the second woman said, “with the Russo boy. First day of school, and he’s in trouble already. He was shooting water pistols filled with ink. He got little Amy Steider right in the middle of the back and ruined her new dress.”

“And he’s a psychiatrist’s child!” The woman at the first desk shook her head. “I wish Dr. Russo would try analyzing his own son for a change. In all the years I’ve been working in this school, I’ve never seen a child so—”

She broke off abruptly as the door to the principal’s office swung open. Mr. Manzi stood framed in the doorway, and beside him was a freckled, red-haired boy with the largest ears Brendon had ever seen.

“Mr. Manzi!” the woman said quickly. “Guess who this is? It’s Liz Burke’s son, Brendon!”

“Well, Brendon!” The principal’s stern expression changed at the mention of Elizabeth’s name. The hard set of his mouth seemed to soften, and he came over to Brendon and shook his hand. “It’s good to have you with us, son. Your mother was a pleasure to all of us. It will be a treat to have a child of hers in school here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brendon said. As he was watching the man in front of him, he thought how incredibly old he must be to have actually been a principal here when his mother was a student.

“I think we’ll put you in Ms. Arnold’s room,” Mr. Manzi said. “That’s a good, solid fourth-grade class. Your mother says this will be your first experience in public school. I hope you’ll come to me if you have any problems.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brendon said. He was watching the red-haired boy. The boy was standing very still, and he was wiggling one of his ears. Just one. The right one. Every time Mr. Manzi spoke, the boy’s ear would move up and down in time to the words.

“Greg Russo is headed for Ms. Arnold’s room now,” Mr. Manzi continued. He turned to the boy, whose ear immediately stopped moving. “Greg, I want you to take Brendon with you and show him where the classroom is. And as for you, I don’t want to see you in here again for misconduct. We are not going to go through another year like last year. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said in exactly the same tone as Brendon. He smiled politely, exactly as Brendon had, except that he wasn’t able to make a dimple in his cheek.

“I’m going to have to give a full report of this to your father,” Mr. Manzi said sternly. “Amy’s dress will have to be paid for. I hope your father finds some way for you to work off the cost of replacing it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Greg said. “Can I go now, sir?”

“You may,” Mr. Manzi said. “It was nice meeting you, Brendon. Give my best to your mother. I hope you like it here at Palmelo Elementary.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brendon said, making his voice just like Greg’s voice trying to sound like Brendon’s voice. He even tried to wiggle his ear, but nothing happened. Doing that was more difficult than it appeared.

Once out in the hall, Greg’s politeness fell off him like an unwanted jacket.

“Brenda,” he said. “What kind of name is that—Brenda? It’s a girl’s name. Are you a girl?”

“The name’s Brendon,” Brendon corrected him. “It’s an Irish name. I’m named after my dad, Richard Brendon Garrett. I’m definitely not a girl. Are you crazy or something?”

“Well, you’ve got a girl’s name,” Greg said. “And you look like a girl, so pretty and sweet with fluffy hair and dimples. Gosh, Brenda, I bet you are a girl and just don’t know it. I bet your parents wanted a boy, so they started putting boys’ clothes on you the day you were born and they always told you that you were a boy, so now you even believe it yourself.”

“You really are crazy!” The thought was such a horrible one that Brendon was all but speechless.

“It happens to people all the time,” Greg said. “There’s a name for it—trans—trans—oh, I forget—it’s trans-something-or-other. My dad’s a psychiatrist. He knows all about things like that.”

“For a psychiatrist, he’s sure got a crazy son,” Brendon said hotly. “You try calling me Brenda one more time and I’ll dig out all those freckles of yours with a spoon and make you eat them. Then you’ll be sick and vomit all over the hall.”

It was a fantastic reply, and Greg nodded, looking impressed. Then he said, “Brenda.”

“What did you call me?” Brendon asked hopefully.

His hands at his sides were already made into fists and were starting to itch with eagerness. He saw Greg glance at them and watched his eyes brighten with the same anticipation.

Automatically they both looked up and down the hall. The door to the office was closed and the crowd of students had diminished, although there were still a number of people wandering up and down looking for room numbers.

“Brenda,” Greg said. “Sweet little girly Brenda. Did your mommy come with you, Brenda? Don’t tell me she let her little darling come to school all by herself?”

“Okay, that’s it,” Brendon said, and he punched. It was a tentative punch, a thumping kind of blow such as he might have given Nancy. It landed on Greg’s chest with a plopping sound.

“You even fight like a girl!” said Greg, and he threw his own fist out. It came crashing into Brendon with the speed and power of a bullet. The force of it sent him reeling backward against the wall.

He leaned there for a moment, gasping for breath, and then the glory of it hit him. This was really, honestly going to be a fight!

With a shout he threw himself onto the red-haired boy, both fists flailing. He was hardly conscious of the blows that came back on him, so intent was he upon the ones he himself was delivering. He felt Greg’s fist strike against his cheekbone, and he brought his own knuckles hard into something soft. He heard his opponent gasp, and then he felt a knee come hard into his stomach. He doubled over, and as he went down he grabbed for Greg’s knees and brought him down, too.

Twisting and punching and kicking, they rolled across the floor.

“Boys! Boys! Stop this immediately!” a woman’s voice was crying to them.

Somewhere other voices were shouting. Somebody said, “Run get the principal, quick, before they kill each other!”

Brendon felt a sharp pain as Greg’s fist hit his nose, and he threw himself over, twisting with all his strength to get on top. He saw Greg’s ear in front of his face and wondered if it would be fair to bite. Then he thought of Nancy—that was the kind of fighting she would do—so he let the ear go by and punched Greg’s ribs with his elbow instead.

“Greg! Brendon! Break it up this minute!” Another voice rang out close behind them. A man’s voice.

A hand gripped Brendon’s collar, and he felt himself being lifted upward. He managed to land one final blow as Greg slid out from beneath him, and he felt an answering kick on his shins.

A pretty brown-haired woman was dragging Greg to his feet. Brendon could see that her face was streaked with tears.

“I don’t know what happened!” she wailed. “It’s terrible, just terrible! Mr. Manzi, look at them! I heard the commotion right outside my door, and I opened it, and there they were, trying to kill each other!”

“It’s all right, Ms. Arnold. I don’t think either of them is badly hurt.” Mr. Manzi turned Brendon around so that he could look at him. “Will you two boys tell me what this is all about? You just met each other in my office five minutes ago. What could you find to fight about in that short a time?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Greg said. He looked terrible. His shirt was torn half off his shoulder, and his lip was bleeding, and there was a black bruise all around his left eye.

“You don’t know? Of course you know!” Mr. Manzi turned to Brendon. “What happened, Brendon? I’m sure you weren’t the one to start this.”

“I don’t know, sir,” Brendon said. He reached up and touched his nose to see if it might be broken. There was blood coming out of it, but the bone seemed to be all right.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Brendon.” Mr. Manzi sounded bewildered. “I can’t believe Liz Burke’s son would act like this. As for you, Greg, you got your warning this morning. This is going to mean real punishment. An hour after school every day for a week.”

“Yes, sir,” Greg said. “Thank you, sir. Can we go into Ms. Arnold’s room now, sir?”

“You mean, they’re both going to be in my room?” Ms. Arnold’s face turned pale. “But, Mr. Manzi, what will I do if they’re at each other like this every day? Shouldn’t we separate them, just for the sake of safety?”

Greg grinned at Brendon. The eye with the bruise around it was half closed now.

“You don’t have to worry about Bren and me, Ms. Arnold,” he said. “Bren and me were just letting off some steam. Actually, we’re friends.”

Brendon grinned back. The grin hurt on both sides at the place where his mouth was attached to his face.

“I want to be in Ms. Arnold’s room,” he said. He felt amazing. He felt better than amazing.

As he and Greg followed Ms. Arnold into the room, he tried again to wiggle his right ear.