Walls within Walls by Maureen Sherry

disguise.”
    â€œYeah, our uniforms are like disguises, too. Two cool kids disguised as dorks.”
    â€œNever mind that. You look great. C’mon, give me the chant: I feel good.”
    Brid and CJ reluctantly repeated after her, “I feel good.”
    â€œI’m going to have a great day!” their mom continued. This had been a tradition in their family ever since they were little and afraid to leave her for preschool.
    â€œI’m going to have a great day,” they both repeated in a monotone. To their surprise, the familiar words made them feel better.
    â€œYour breakfast is on the table,” their mom said. “Patrick is already there. Maricel will walk you up to Ninety-eighth Street. Your backpacks are in the front hall, and Carron and I are off to yoga class.”
    â€œCarron does yoga?” Brid asked, rolling her eyes at CJ.
    â€œIt’s mommy-and-me yoga. You cannot believe how flexible that baby is!”
    She brushed the back of CJ’s head with her lips. “Have fun,” she said, in a weird, chirpy voice that both CJ and Brid found really irritating.
    With Maricel holding Patrick’s hand, the three kidsheaded north on Fifth Avenue, joining a parade of children wearing a multitude of uniforms. “Where did all these kids come from?” Brid asked. “These streets have been empty since we moved here.”
    â€œI guess everyone is home from their summer houses,” said Maricel.
    â€œSo many different uniforms,” said Patrick, “it’s like we’re at the Olympics.”
    For some reason, this made them all laugh. As they passed a kid in a tartan kilt, CJ said, “It’s a sprinter from Scotland.”
    Next was a gaggle of girls in pale blue tunics. Brid said, “It’s the gymnastics team from Finland.”
    Then came girls in lime-green jumpers. “Oh, it’s the synchronized swimmers from Bulgaria,” said CJ. Even Maricel was smiling. They kept this up until they saw a huge pack of uniformed boys about CJ’s age, pulling on each other’s backpacks, pretending to trip each other, and mussing each other’s hair. Behind them marched a small army of women who appeared to be nannies or housekeepers, wearing the pale gray-and-white uniform of the Upper East Side. The boys were obviously from Saint James’s School.
    â€œGood luck,” Brid said in a barely audible voice as CJ turned toward the wide red doors of his school. It was the first time CJ had considered that his sister could be a little nervous, too.
    â€œYeah, you, too. See you after school.”
    For some reason, this made them both feel better.
    Â 
    After school, CJ bolted right to his room. Nobody had spoken to him all day except in homeroom. When his homeroom teacher had introduced CJ to the class, it made him feel like a freak show. His teacher had CJ stand in front of everyone while they peppered him with questions. The teacher, Master Demeny, a bow-tied intellectual type, encouraged the class to think of the most interesting questions they could concoct, but most were pretty dull.
    â€œWhy did you move from Brooklyn?” “My dad’s job.”
    â€œHow many kids are in your family?” “Four.”
    â€œDo you like Saint James’s?” “I’ve been here for half an hour.”
    â€œDo you live in the neighborhood?” “Yes.”
    â€œWhy don’t you try out for the soccer team?” “I did.”
    â€œWhat does CJ stand for?” “Cavanagh James.”
    â€œDo you play an instrument?” “Electric guitar.”
    â€œWas Brooklyn dangerous?” “Nope.”
    The minute the wall clock hit three PM , CJ bounded past the front doors, past Maricel waiting on the steps with the throngs of nannies and strollers, and straight home. He slammed the door of his bedroom, eager for the privacy of his own space, but Brid was already in there. She hadher