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Roman ends up beside me, with Nora on my other side. Harper stays a few paces ahead of us. She’s wearing a jean jumper today and her pants are wide bell-bottoms that flare at the bottoms of her legs. She’s tall, but Daddy says I’m going to be taller than she is when I grow up.
“You still scared?” Roman asks.
I turn to glare at him.
“What’re you scared about?” Nora turns to look at me with a frown.
I want to grab one of the corn husks and whack him in the face with it.
“I’m not scared.”
I give him my back, because I don't want him to see that I'm lying. I really am scared, but he's a jerk for saying it in front of other people. I nibble on the piece of toast that's now cold and soggy, handing the apple off to Nora. She bites into it easily, the juices wetting the corners of her lips and some of it hits my arms.
"Gross," I mumble, my nose wrinkling up in disgust as I wipe off the small droplets.
"Sorry." Nora wipes her glistening mouth with the back of her hand.
Our school is up ahead, and right across the street is the middle school that Harper will be attending. The grass is damp from the dew, and a bit of a fog still lingers in the air. If I listen hard enough, I might even be able to hear the loon that sings a beautiful tune every morning from across the lake.
It doesn’t take long for us to walk down the quiet road. The sun is up, though it’s not very bright out yet, and soon enough, our feet crunch through the small rocks at the park as we make our way across the street.
Big yellow busses park against the sidewalk by the school, opening their accordion doors, and I watch as a flood of kids in all colors of the rainbow fly down the stairs and into the school.
The nervous feeling tickles my belly again.
A warm hand folds over mine and gives it a tight squeeze. My eyes shoot over and lock with Roman's. His dark brown eyes swirl with a warmth and protectiveness that shouldn't be there at our age. He shouldn't have this nobleness about him. Sometimes it's like he's an old soul. At least, that's what my mom calls it. She tells me that I have an old soul all the time. "You're an old soul, Luna," is what she would say. "I have a feeling you've lived many lives." Then she'd take another hit of her joint before passing it to my dad.
"Don't be scared. I'll see you at lunch and recess." He slides his hand out of mine, but not before giving it one more squeeze.
"You okay, Luna?" Harper walks over to me, her backpack slung over one arm. She's so cool. She knows less people than I do. At least I already have two friends. She doesn't know a single person, yet she looks like she's ready to go inside and conquer the entire school.
I nod at her, feeling less certain than I look, I'm sure.
"I'm going to head inside. Go to the park after school, okay? I'll meet you there and we can walk home together."
I nod at her again, feeling like helium is filling up my brain. My head feels full, and all I can hear around me are the sounds of a bunch of kids who are all great friends and I only know two people.
Harper gives me one last wave before hopping off across the street. Then it's only us three.
"Ready?" Roman asks, his shoulder bumping mine.
"Yeah."
"Let's go."
CHAPTER FOUR
ROMAN
"Everyone is talking about your neighbor, Roman," Flynn says as he scribbles on his Seven Summer list. We really were lucky this year; I have Clyde, Flynn, and Lonnie in class with me. We have Ms. Bierbaum as our teacher. She's about one hundred years old, and my mom had her as a teacher when she was a kid. That's how old she is. Mom says she's a crotchety old hag. I'm not sure what that means, but if it's true, she's going to have a fun time with the four of us this year.
We were all assigned to get in a group and fill out our Seven Summer list. The seven best things we did over the summer. My summer was actually pretty boring, and I'm having a hard time listing enough things to fill the list.
And even worse, I want to list Luna as one of those things on my list.
I look up at Flynn, feeling like he's digging into my thoughts or something. The pencil in my hand is brand new and sharp as a knife. I press it into my thumb until I have a tiny brown dot in the center. I bring it up and rub it across the eraser, frowning at the rough and unmovable pink surface.
Mom bought the crappy pencils this year.
