Chapter Two

Where’s Dad?” I ask the next morning at breakfast.

“Dad went downstairs to the store early,” Mom says. “He’s expecting another big shipment today so he’s getting the shelving ready. I expect you both to help out after school.”

“I still wish Dad could drive us to school,” I say. “At least on our first day.”

“You’ll be fine,” Mom says. “The bus stop is right down the street. But you’d better hurry. You don’t want to miss the bus!”

Of course Mom plans to take Sophie to first grade at her new elementary school. Sophie shouts from our room that she can’t find her shoes.

“It’s always something,” Mom says.

Josh, hungry as usual, grabs another muffin and globs strawberry jam on it as Mom shoos us toward the door.

How can Josh be hungry at a time like this? I do not feel good about this day at all. Mom gives Josh and me each a kiss.

“Oh, wait,” Mom says, reaching for a file folder.

“Mom—” I say, but she interrupts me.

“You’ll both do great at your new school,” Mom says. She takes a breath, as if trying to convince herself of what she’s just said. “I’ve already registered you with the school secretary. They know you’re coming. But she said she needed copies of your vaccination records and latest report cards.” She holds up the folder, looking back and forth between Josh and me. “Don’t worry, Jules,” she says, “I have every confidence in you both.” She hands the folder to Josh.

Mom seems to have more confidence in Josh than in me.

The kids at the bus stop nod when Josh says hi, but no one really talks to us. In fact, no one comes near us. Josh keeps smiling at everyone and making eye contact. He’s good at playing the friendly guy. Not me.

Everyone pretty much avoids us except a red-haired girl with freckles carrying some kind of shoe box with a towel over the top. She walks past us as the bus pulls up. She stares at Josh’s muffin and says, “You’d better hide that. The driver is a real grump about food on the bus.”

The bus door opens, and everyone piles in. There is no garbage can inside or outside the bus, so Josh hands me Mom’s folder, wraps the muffin in his paper towel, and hides it by cupping it between his hands.

“Take your seats!” the driver calls.

The red-haired girl pauses in front of me, trying to decide where to sit. There are only a few seats left. Both of her hands hold the box. She has no hands free to steady herself, so she turns around, facing me for a moment, and tries to back into the seat while holding the box with her two arms in front of her.

“Let me help,” I say, reaching out, but that’s when the bus jerks to a start, and I plow right into her. The box makes an awful crunching sound between us. “Sorry. Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, completely horrified, not just because of the box, but because my arms, neck, and face are right up against her chest; she’s much taller than I am. My face is red hot, and I try to back up so I’m not so close. But the bus moves and I start to fall into her again.

“Watch it!” she yells as she angles her rear end into the seat.

“Take your seats!” the driver yells again.

Josh is right behind me, and when he falls forward into me, he pushes me into the seat beside her. Even worse, his muffin flies up in the air. I can’t believe this is happening. I drop the folder and try to catch the jam-covered muffin. But I miss it, and it goes right past me, skimming the edge of the red-haired girl’s towel and cardboard box. The muffin disappears near our feet. I’m hoping it didn’t land on the file folder.

The girl beside me is still and silent. The word livid from last year’s spelling bee comes to mind. I can’t make myself look at her, so I look at Josh instead. He found a spot to sit across from me, one seat back.

When the girl beside me leans over her shoe box to look at her feet, the box buckles even more. I look, too. Josh’s upside-down muffin on the floor would be bad enough. But this is worse. It missed the file folder, but it’s upside down on her sneaker.

“Oh,” I say, grabbing the file folder and stuffing the now-wrinkled papers back into it. “I’m so sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. It was an accident.”

She gasps. There’s a brief moment of silence before she yells, “You ruined everything!”

Okay, this is bad, but it’s just a shoe. I don’t know why she is freaking out.

“Sorry,” Josh says. He tries to hand her the paper towel he is still holding, even though it’s covered in jam from the muffin.

“Get away! Both of you, just get away!”

“Don’t yell at my brother,” I say. “You can wash your sneaker.”

“I don’t care about my shoe. Look what you did to my science project! I’ve been working on it for weeks. You crushed it!”

The bus driver looks at us in his rearview mirror. In fact, I’m sure everyone on the bus is looking at us. I bet my face is as red as the strawberry jam.

Another girl behind us peeks over and under the seat, then she asks the redhead, “Are those the sneakers your cousin sent you from Hollywood?”

“Yeah,” the redhead says.

Hollywood? Please, who buys their shoes in Hollywood? Who does she think she is?

“Come to my locker when we get to school,” the other girl says. “I have an extra pair of sneakers.”

“Thanks,” the redhead says, loud enough for the whole bus to hear. “What I’m going to need is glue and a whole new science project. If I get a bad grade, I’ll be grounded for life. “

Josh leans toward her and turns on his charm. Once more he says, “We’re really sorry—”

“Don’t talk to me,” the redhead says, lifting the towel and peeking at her project. Then she tries to kick the muffin onto my shoes.

Josh convinces the kid next to him to move back a row when the driver isn’t looking.

“Jules,” he says, motioning to the empty spot next to him.

Josh and I slump in tandem beside each other.

“Well, things can only get better now,” Josh whispers to me, trying to make me smile.

“Yeah,” I say.

I hate that we have to start all over again in a new middle school. I hate riding the school bus. I hate that girl. And it’s pretty clear that she hates me, too.