AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do you like the Bills?” This time it’s a boy from the front row calling out.
I shrug and look down. “I guess. It’s my dad’s favorite team.”
“Cool,” he says.
After that, it’s quiet, and I chew on the inside of my cheek, hoping I can sit down now.
“Any more questions for Mason?”
No one else says anything, so Mrs. Chase clutches my shoulder in a cold, bony hand, and points with the other toward an empty seat in the back row.
“You can have a seat back there with Zachary. We were just about to start working on our spelling, so you arrived just in time. Keep your bag on you for now, and later I’ll show you to your cubby.” She gestures to the back corner, across from the windows, where everyone’s hung their coats and bags.
I head down the aisle between desks. There’s three rows of two facing the board. Only one desk left empty for me.
The boy sitting right next to my seat—Zachary—says nothing, but flashes a small smile at me. I nod, and murmur hi. Dropping my bag, I kick it under the chair, and sit down.
A glance around shows everyone with sheets of paper out that have big dashed lines across it.
Mrs. Chase appears, setting some down on my desk along with a #2 pencil.
“Okay, class,” she says, returning to the front of the room. She rounds her desk, and grabs a piece of chalk. On the green chalkboard, there’s already dashed lines running across it that match our worksheets. She starts writing in big capital letters. “Can anyone tell me what this spells?”
A couple hands shoot up, and I bite my lip.
DOG. This one’s easy. But I keep it to myself.
I pick up my pencil, and carefully start writing the letters between the dashed lines on the page as she calls on someone.
Muffled whispering reaches my ears while Mrs. Chase moves onto the next word, and I peek over out of the corner of my eye.
On the other side of the aisle from me, just a step away, is the boy with the black hair, and on his other side, next to the big windows, the girl who asked me if I was from New York City.
The girl is scribbling something on a piece of paper, and the boy huffs. She giggles and says, “Shh.”
I look back up at the board, and quickly catch up on what I missed. So far I know every word—how to read and spell and write them.
“Do it,” I hear whispered.
“No.”
“Pleas—”
“Isobel. Waylon,” Mrs. Chase says, turning a stern gaze on the back of the room.
I follow it to the two sitting next to me.
“Enough with the chatter, or I will separate you.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Chase,” the girl, Isobel, says, fighting a giggle.
The boy, Waylon, just slouches down in his chair. He says nothing.
Now that I’m next to him, I can see the side of his face. He must sense me staring, because he looks over and glares at me from greenish-yellow eyes.
I quickly look down at my sheet, holding the pencil so tight, it creaks.
“Stop it,” I hear whispered.
