THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE

That weekend, Mom got me a bus pass so I could get myself back and forth to Cathedral while she drove Georgia to her own school in a different part of the city.

But on Monday morning, she said she wanted to drive us both, just for the first day. I think she was more excited about Cathedral than I was.

“You’ve got your sketchbook?” she said.

“Right here,” I said.

“And your good pen?”

“Got it.”

“Should I come in with you?” she asked when we pulled up in front of the school.

“Nah, I’m good,” I said. About a million kids were hanging out on the sidewalk, and there was no way I was going to let them see my mommy walking me inside for the start of seventh grade.

“Okay, then. Well…” Mom kept looking at me the way she does when she’s about to get all mushy. And then sure enough—

“You know, art school was always a dream of mine,” she said. “And even though I never got to go, it feels like that dream is coming true right now. ”

I was afraid she was going to start crying next. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s when Mom cries, even the happy kind of tears.

But then—for once!—my sister’s big mouth actually came in handy.

“Come on, come on, LET’S GO! We’re going to be LATE!” Georgia screamed from the backseat, like there was some kind of lifesaving information handed out in the first ten minutes of fifth grade.

“All right,” Mom said. “Well… good luck, honey!”

“Let’s GOOOO!” Georgia said. “Rafe, get out!”

That was fine with me. Before Mom could kiss me good-bye in front of the whole school, I opened the car door and made my getaway. Then I headed straight inside for my first day as a real, live, actual art student.

Whatever that meant.