each other longer—since preschool. Our teacher, Miss Filbert, introduced us and assigned us to the same work table.
Thornsberry was crying at the time. Of the three of us, he’s the most sensitive. He thought his mother had given him to Miss Filbert for keeps. It took him about a week to figure things out.
I didn’t like Thornsberry at first. It’s hard to get to know a kid who only talks to you from behind a Kleenex. I liked Roger, though. On the first day of school, Miss Filbert asked us to draw a picture of our family. Roger drew a cow.
“Uh, that’s a very nice cow, Roger,” she said. “But are you sure you understood the project? You were supposed to draw a picture of your family.”
Roger just smiled happily and nodded.
Later we learned that cows were the only things Roger could draw. By the end of the year, Miss Filbert had taught him to stand them on two legs and dress them in clothes. Personally, I thought this was a big mistake. In kindergarten, every time Roger drew a picture of his family, it looked like they all had cow heads.
Before the move, I’d talked a lot of my worries over with Thornsberry and Roger. They hated my leaving almost as much as I did, but they tried to make me feel better about it.
“Come on, Howard,” said Thornsberry. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”
“How could it not be bad?” I asked glumly. “Didn’t you ever study about Massachusetts in history? The Pilgrims moved there, and by the first winter practically all of them were dead.”
Roger made a face. “I hate Pilgrims. I’ve hated them ever since my mother made me be one on Halloween. Remember that? She made me wear that stupid top hat and long black coat. Everyone thought I was Abraham Lincoln carrying a turkey.”
Thornsberry gave me a funny look. “You don’t really think you’re going to
die
there, do you, Howard?”
“Well, maybe not actually
die
,” I admitted. “But I’m going to have to go to a stupid new school, and that’s almost like dying.”
Every time I thought about it, my stomach tied itself in knots. “God, I can’t believe it. I’m actually going to have to be a new kid.”
Thornsberry and Roger groaned.
“We got a new kid in our room about a week ago,” Roger said. “No one can remember his name, so we just call him by the color of his shirt. On Thursday he was the kid in the green shirt. On Friday he wore a shirt with his name on it, so we called him the kid in the Kenneth shirt.”
Thornsberry hit Roger on the arm. “We’re supposed to be making him feel better, remember?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “It’s not like I don’t know what happens to new kids. I’ve had enough of them in my class to see how hard it is to fit in.”
“Yeah, but you won’t have any trouble, Howard,” said Roger. “It’s not like you’re a geek or anything. At school you’re practically even
popular.
”
“Sure, Howard,” added Roger. “You won’t have any trouble. You’ll see.”
Thinking about how nice they had tried to bealmost made me start to cry. My mother must have heard me sniffle or something, because she turned around.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, raising her eyebrows sympathetically.
“Everything,” I answered dismally. “Everything’s the matter.”
She just sighed and turned back around. A second later she threw over a granola bar.
Instead of saying thank you, I made a noise like a gorilla. She didn’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure she got the message.
We had turned onto the highway by then, so I spent the next couple of hours reading signs, trying to get my mind off the move. It wasn’t easy, though. Every few minutes, we’d pass a billboard with kids painted on it and I’d start wondering about the kids in Massachusetts. What would they be like? Would they dress the same way we did in Arizona? I hoped I would fit in. One time we had a German kid visit our school, and he wore a suit and a bow tie. He looked
Thornsberry was crying at the time. Of the three of us, he’s the most sensitive. He thought his mother had given him to Miss Filbert for keeps. It took him about a week to figure things out.
I didn’t like Thornsberry at first. It’s hard to get to know a kid who only talks to you from behind a Kleenex. I liked Roger, though. On the first day of school, Miss Filbert asked us to draw a picture of our family. Roger drew a cow.
“Uh, that’s a very nice cow, Roger,” she said. “But are you sure you understood the project? You were supposed to draw a picture of your family.”
Roger just smiled happily and nodded.
Later we learned that cows were the only things Roger could draw. By the end of the year, Miss Filbert had taught him to stand them on two legs and dress them in clothes. Personally, I thought this was a big mistake. In kindergarten, every time Roger drew a picture of his family, it looked like they all had cow heads.
Before the move, I’d talked a lot of my worries over with Thornsberry and Roger. They hated my leaving almost as much as I did, but they tried to make me feel better about it.
“Come on, Howard,” said Thornsberry. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”
“How could it not be bad?” I asked glumly. “Didn’t you ever study about Massachusetts in history? The Pilgrims moved there, and by the first winter practically all of them were dead.”
Roger made a face. “I hate Pilgrims. I’ve hated them ever since my mother made me be one on Halloween. Remember that? She made me wear that stupid top hat and long black coat. Everyone thought I was Abraham Lincoln carrying a turkey.”
Thornsberry gave me a funny look. “You don’t really think you’re going to
die
there, do you, Howard?”
“Well, maybe not actually
die
,” I admitted. “But I’m going to have to go to a stupid new school, and that’s almost like dying.”
Every time I thought about it, my stomach tied itself in knots. “God, I can’t believe it. I’m actually going to have to be a new kid.”
Thornsberry and Roger groaned.
“We got a new kid in our room about a week ago,” Roger said. “No one can remember his name, so we just call him by the color of his shirt. On Thursday he was the kid in the green shirt. On Friday he wore a shirt with his name on it, so we called him the kid in the Kenneth shirt.”
Thornsberry hit Roger on the arm. “We’re supposed to be making him feel better, remember?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “It’s not like I don’t know what happens to new kids. I’ve had enough of them in my class to see how hard it is to fit in.”
“Yeah, but you won’t have any trouble, Howard,” said Roger. “It’s not like you’re a geek or anything. At school you’re practically even
popular.
”
“Sure, Howard,” added Roger. “You won’t have any trouble. You’ll see.”
Thinking about how nice they had tried to bealmost made me start to cry. My mother must have heard me sniffle or something, because she turned around.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, raising her eyebrows sympathetically.
“Everything,” I answered dismally. “Everything’s the matter.”
She just sighed and turned back around. A second later she threw over a granola bar.
Instead of saying thank you, I made a noise like a gorilla. She didn’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure she got the message.
We had turned onto the highway by then, so I spent the next couple of hours reading signs, trying to get my mind off the move. It wasn’t easy, though. Every few minutes, we’d pass a billboard with kids painted on it and I’d start wondering about the kids in Massachusetts. What would they be like? Would they dress the same way we did in Arizona? I hoped I would fit in. One time we had a German kid visit our school, and he wore a suit and a bow tie. He looked
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