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“Mr. Hoffman, here is your new student, Sasha March. Miss Dirk is to be her big sister today.”
A chubby, dark-haired, light-skinned African American girl stood. She looked to Mr. Hoffman, who nodded, and then she came around the end of her row to us. She wasn’t much taller than I was, and if it were not for her full, round, bloated face, she could be very pretty, I thought. She had unique-colored eyes that were like a very dark blue. Every-one else continued to watch us as if we were about to begin some traditional ritual of greeting.
“Hi. I’m Lisa,” she said, extending her hand. I took it and nodded. “You’re sitting right behind me,” she added loudly, and the boy who was sitting there stood up and moved to the back of the row.
Dr. Steiner watched it all unfold and smiled with satisfaction.
“You’re in good hands now, Sasha. Everyone be sure to make Sasha feel at home,” she said, her voice, though still with that nasal quality, sounding very authoritative. She nodded again at Mr. Hoffman, handed me my class-schedule card, and left.
I followed Lisa to my seat.
“Welcome, Sasha. I was just explaining that this home-room period will be extended so we can go through some of the rule changes at the school,” Mr. Hoffman told me, and then said, “Number three.”
The only rule change that made the students around me groan was the prohibition against cell phones being on during classes. Texting during class would result in suspension.
The redheaded boy across from me leaned over to whisper. “That’s because Jean Trombly was caught cheating. Someone was texting her the answers on the test.”
I just widened my eyes. And then I realized that the phone Mrs. March had give me was on. I quickly dug into my book bag, took it out, and shut it off. The phone made a musical sound as it went off, and everyone looked at me, most smiling and laughing. Mr. Hoffman didn’t crack a smile. I shoved the phone back into my book bag quickly.
“Number four,” he said sharply, and they all turned back to look at him. He went through five more rule changes before finishing.
When the bell to end homeroom finally rang, Lisa spun around quickly.
“Let me see your class schedule,” she said. I handed it to her. “Oh, good, you’re in instrumental music next. I was afraid you weren’t.”
“Instrumental music?” I hadn’t looked at the card. She handed it back to show me.
“Room fourteen,” she said. “It’s a bit of a walk. What instrument do you play?”
“I don’t,” I said.
She tilted her head and pressed her lips deeper into their corners. “Weren’t you playing an instrument in the school you attended before you came here?”
“No. We didn’t have a school band.”
“We have an orchestra. Not a band,” she corrected, and I followed her out. “We have three full minutes between classes, so being late is considered serious. Two times late for classes will result in one day’s detention. And you don’t want to be in detention here. Mr. McWaine runs it, and he doesn’t let students do anything for the whole hour. No reading, no homework, nothing but sitting up straight with your hands clasped. Not that I’ve ever been in detention,” she added. “Have you?”
“No.”
“You might get away with it because of your limp.”
“I don’t want to get away with anything because of my limp,” I said sharply, but she didn’t notice my annoyance, or if she did, she ignored it.
“That’s the way to the cafeteria,” she said, nodding to our left. “On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, they have pizza. It’s thick and full of cheese, and you can ask for pepperoni to be put on it if you like. I love pepperoni. The juniors and seniors have their classes mostly down on this end,” she continued. Then she leaned in to say, “Everyone’s going to be asking me all sorts of questions about you. For starters, who was Chinese, your father or your mother?”
“My mother.”
“Did you eat with chopsticks? I hate it. It takes too long to eat. My fingers are too fat and clumsy, anyway.”
“We didn’t eat with chopsticks at home,” I said. “But always in an Asian restaurant. You shouldn’t eat fast, anyway. It’s not good for you.”
“Oh, are you one of those health nuts?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just nuts.”
She looked at me and laughed. “You lived in Santa Barbara?”
I nodded.
