boyfriend?” she asked.
Summer glanced from Crystal to Nate and back. The question made her feel a little awkward. After all, she had saved him a seat.
“No, I’m her fiancé,” Nate said.
“We’ve been promised to each other since birth,” Summer added.
“Our wedding isn’t until March.”
“What’s your name?” Crystal asked Nate.
“Nate.”
“I’m Kiersten.”
That was right. Kiersten, not Crystal. Who was Crystal?
Summer glanced at the door. Her eyes widened. Pigeon had just entered wearing a black leather jacket with shiny zippers and metal studs. It was obviously brand-new.
“Nate, look at the door,” Summer suggested.
“Oh, no. What is he thinking?”
Pigeon saw them and crossed the room. Summer moved her notebook and he took the desk.
“Nice jacket,” she said.
He looked like he was holding back a smile. “Thanks. Remember I said I had a surprise for today?”
“Little hot for a coat, isn’t it, Pidge?” Nate asked.
Summer glared at Nate. Pigeon would receive plenty of teasing today without his friends adding to it.
“This one stays pretty cool,” Pigeon assured him.
“All right, class, we need to begin,” said the portly woman at the front of the room. Summer checked the clock. They still had two minutes before the bell would ring. “Don’t get comfortable in your seats. We will be reseating alphabetically as we take attendance. Would you all move to the back of the room?”
Summer grabbed her stuff and went to the rear of the room with everyone else. Her last name was Atler, so she was the second person seated. The bell rang as she reached her desk. Pigeon was really named Paul Bowen. He ended up two desks behind her.
“Could you just call me Pigeon?” he asked the teacher when she read his name.
“Does your mother call you Pigeon?”
“No.”
“Then to me you are Paul.”
Skylar Douglas sat down next to her. What was Nate’s last name? She couldn’t recall.
Nate was one of the last to sit.
“Nathan Sutter,” the teacher read.
“Here. My mother never calls me Nathan.”
“Is it Nate?”
“She calls me Honeylips.”
The class exploded with laughter. Summer almost fell out of her desk. The teacher frowned. She had deep lines from her nose to the corners of her mouth from too much frowning.
“That was not a good way to start the year, Nathan,” the teacher said.
“Sorry. Mom calls me Nate.”
Nate ended up sitting at the second-to-last desk of the farthest row from Summer, over by the windows. After everyone was seated and accounted for, with an empty desk left for Charlotte Merrill, the teacher wrote her name in cursive on the chalkboard.
“My name is Miss Doulin,” she said. She underlined the word Miss. “Not Mrs. Doulin. Mrs. Doulin is my mother.”
Miss Doulin had to be in her late thirties. She was not a pretty woman. Her hair was shaggy, her lips were thin, and her eyes were too close together. Worse, she seemed to have a sour disposition. Summer doubted whether Miss Doulin would ever have a Mrs. in front of her name.
“Some of you may have heard that I don’t allow a lot of horseplay,” Miss Doulin continued. “This is true. You are now in the fifth grade. You are growing up. More will be required of you this year than ever before. You are preparing for junior high, and I promise you no horseplay will be tolerated there.
“This classroom is a place of learning. Without order that will never happen. If you work hard and participate in class discussions, we can have a little fun. For example, I have a trivia question. The first of you to answer correctly will have no homework tonight. But be careful. If you answer incorrectly, you will have extra work.”
She gave the class a meaningful stare. Summer shook her head slightly. It was not a good sign to be talking about homework
Summer glanced from Crystal to Nate and back. The question made her feel a little awkward. After all, she had saved him a seat.
“No, I’m her fiancé,” Nate said.
“We’ve been promised to each other since birth,” Summer added.
“Our wedding isn’t until March.”
“What’s your name?” Crystal asked Nate.
“Nate.”
“I’m Kiersten.”
That was right. Kiersten, not Crystal. Who was Crystal?
Summer glanced at the door. Her eyes widened. Pigeon had just entered wearing a black leather jacket with shiny zippers and metal studs. It was obviously brand-new.
“Nate, look at the door,” Summer suggested.
“Oh, no. What is he thinking?”
Pigeon saw them and crossed the room. Summer moved her notebook and he took the desk.
“Nice jacket,” she said.
He looked like he was holding back a smile. “Thanks. Remember I said I had a surprise for today?”
“Little hot for a coat, isn’t it, Pidge?” Nate asked.
Summer glared at Nate. Pigeon would receive plenty of teasing today without his friends adding to it.
“This one stays pretty cool,” Pigeon assured him.
“All right, class, we need to begin,” said the portly woman at the front of the room. Summer checked the clock. They still had two minutes before the bell would ring. “Don’t get comfortable in your seats. We will be reseating alphabetically as we take attendance. Would you all move to the back of the room?”
Summer grabbed her stuff and went to the rear of the room with everyone else. Her last name was Atler, so she was the second person seated. The bell rang as she reached her desk. Pigeon was really named Paul Bowen. He ended up two desks behind her.
“Could you just call me Pigeon?” he asked the teacher when she read his name.
“Does your mother call you Pigeon?”
“No.”
“Then to me you are Paul.”
Skylar Douglas sat down next to her. What was Nate’s last name? She couldn’t recall.
Nate was one of the last to sit.
“Nathan Sutter,” the teacher read.
“Here. My mother never calls me Nathan.”
“Is it Nate?”
“She calls me Honeylips.”
The class exploded with laughter. Summer almost fell out of her desk. The teacher frowned. She had deep lines from her nose to the corners of her mouth from too much frowning.
“That was not a good way to start the year, Nathan,” the teacher said.
“Sorry. Mom calls me Nate.”
Nate ended up sitting at the second-to-last desk of the farthest row from Summer, over by the windows. After everyone was seated and accounted for, with an empty desk left for Charlotte Merrill, the teacher wrote her name in cursive on the chalkboard.
“My name is Miss Doulin,” she said. She underlined the word Miss. “Not Mrs. Doulin. Mrs. Doulin is my mother.”
Miss Doulin had to be in her late thirties. She was not a pretty woman. Her hair was shaggy, her lips were thin, and her eyes were too close together. Worse, she seemed to have a sour disposition. Summer doubted whether Miss Doulin would ever have a Mrs. in front of her name.
“Some of you may have heard that I don’t allow a lot of horseplay,” Miss Doulin continued. “This is true. You are now in the fifth grade. You are growing up. More will be required of you this year than ever before. You are preparing for junior high, and I promise you no horseplay will be tolerated there.
“This classroom is a place of learning. Without order that will never happen. If you work hard and participate in class discussions, we can have a little fun. For example, I have a trivia question. The first of you to answer correctly will have no homework tonight. But be careful. If you answer incorrectly, you will have extra work.”
She gave the class a meaningful stare. Summer shook her head slightly. It was not a good sign to be talking about homework
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