It's my first day of sixth grade. Hoo-ray. I walk down the stairs to see my mom. Her hair is golden brown like mine, but her eyes are hazel, unlike mine. "Good morning, sunshine," she says cheerfully, pushing a plate of pancakes towards me. "Are you excited?" I nod. "I suppose so." "I'm glad. Eat up." I do as told. Warm, sweet, sticky, buttery, and delicious. Yum. "Thanks, Mom!" I say, exiting the apartment with my backpack on my back. "See you after school, honey!" I smile and walk out the door. I breathe in the fresh, clean air. I lean on a lamp post and wait for Dylan. I only have to wait for a few minutes before I see a limping figure equipped with crutches. "Dylan!" "Hey, Celeste," he says. His caramel-colored hair is messy and stuffed into a beanie hat. His peach fuzz goatee is unusually dirty, and his eye is slightly bruised. His green t-shirt is wrinkled and creased. His jeans are surprisingly damp, and his crutches are covered in smiley face stickers and HELLO, MY NAME IS tags, sporting names such as Thor, Joey Fatone, and Inigo Mentoya; you killed my father; prepare to die. His sneakers were theoretically once white, but that was a very long time ago, if ever. "You ready?" I ask. "No. You?" He replies. "Not a chance," I add. "Here we go, then." We both suck in a big breath and walk forward.

The middle school is huge and full of people. I glance at Dylan. He glances back. I nod. He nods. He pulls a crumpled and folded paper from his backpack and unfolds it. The end is nibbled. "Dog," he says quickly. It's his class schedule. I pull my class schedule from a folder in my backpack. "What have you got?" I ask. "Math. You?" I groan. "English." "Ah. B or A lunch?" "B." "A."