as if they can actually read your mind sometimes.
The bell had already rung by the time I finally got there, which was when I realized my mistake in being so slow. Instead of getting to class at the same time as everyone else, I was going to have to walk in when the other kids were already at their desks.
It was all I could do not to turn around and go back home. Facing Mom would be much easier than facing a bunch of strangers. Surely I could think of some legitimate reason that I hadn’t gone to class. But before I could do anything a teacher came along. She asked me who I was, took me to the office, and got the vice-principal.
The vice-principal took me to my new homeroom. As we walked down the hallway he gave me a quick lecture on the importance of getting to school on time and said he hoped I wasn’t going to make a habit of being tardy. Then, as if he thought maybe he’d been too stern, he smiled and added that he was sure it wouldn’t be a problem.
My homeroom teacher, Mrs. McCloskey, was a tiny woman with a squeaky voice. I cringed inwardly as she introduced me.
“Class, we have a new student,” she announced perkily. “This is Sarah Gilmore. I want everyone to make Sarah feel very welcome here at Dr. Losier.”
There were mumbles that could have meant anything from a few of the students. Mostly they just stared as if I were a bug under a display glass. I felt awkward in my jeans and T-shirt and wished Mom and I had been able to go shopping for some new clothes, but the lawyer hadn’t finished straightening out the money yet. My outfit felt old and worn and I blushed as the other kids looked me over.
It was with relief that I took the seat Mrs. McCloskey assigned me. I opened my books and kept my eyes glued to them, trying to ignore the inquisitive looks from my new classmates. I decided that, no matter what, I was going back home at lunchtime. I’d tell Mom I felt sick to my stomach, which wasn’t really a lie.
Our second-period class was in another part of the building, and as I walked along, deliberately trailing behind the others, a couple of the kids from my class joined me.
“I’m Ashley,” one of them said cheerfully. “And this is Jamie.
“Hi,” I mumbled, wishing they’d leave me alone.
“Where you from?”
“Ontario.”
“Oh, yeah? Like, Toronto?”
“No.” I couldn’t help thinking that was a dumb thing to assume. Did the kids in New Brunswick think that Toronto was the only place in Ontario? “We lived in a small town near Belleville.”
“Oh, yeah? Cool.”
I had no idea why she thought that was cool, but I didn’t say anything. I figured if I stayed quiet they’d take the hint and go away. I was wrong.
They talked all the way to the next class, mostly asking questions. Did I walk to school or take a bus? Did I have a boyfriend in Ontario? Who was my favourite music group? I gave one-word answers as much as possible, feeling more and more annoyed.
Even worse, when the noon hour came, they rushed over to me, one taking each arm.
“You can eat with us,” Ashley said. I tried to protest but it was impossible to escape. They dragged me to the cafeteria, offering advice on what to buy for lunch. I fumbled in my pocket for the three dollars Mom had given me. Since I was trapped, I decided that I might as well eat before I went home. Maybe I could convince Mom that the food had upset my stomach.
I had to admit that I actually felt better after I’d had lunch. Besides, by then I’d decided that Ashley and Jamie weren’t so bad after all. They were just trying to be friendly and it was kind of nice to have someone to sit with in the cafeteria.
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