"Is this Class 23?" I asked, holding my campus map like a shield.
"Right here," Joanna said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and squinting at my map like it owed her money. "You okay? You look like you swallowed a test."
"I'm fine," I lied. My voice came out thin. My hands shook so the map crinkled.
A tall man in a gray coat closed the classroom door with a decisive thud and the room folded into attention. He didn't smile.
"Good morning," he said. His voice was low, the kind that made a joke land like homework. "Sit."
I followed the rustle of bodies. Seats were already taken. Heidi waved me into the second row like she owned the place.
"Hi," Heidi said, plopping down. "I'm Heidi. Loud, fast, and not afraid of anyone except cafeteria hot sauce."
"Juliette," I replied, grateful for the single syllable that lived in my throat like a small, heavy stone.
The teacher crossed his arms and scanned us like he was weighing fruit. "I'm Mr. Barr. Chemistry. Roll call will be quick. Say your name, and keep it short. We don't have an hour for introductions."
He looked at me as he said 'quick.' I felt the room's attention like a spotlight trained on my palms.
"Thompson," I heard myself say when he called, my voice thinner than I'd planned.
"Juliette Rebecca Thompson," he read from the list. "Born September third. Address: 12 Mariners Lane. Parent
