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suck you in.
    He glances up and smiles. “Oh, it’s always like that. Pretty sweet, huh?”
    I shudder, horrified. “How can you stand it?” He turns back to me, confused, but I’m done with the chat. I need cover from all this sunshine, from the bright colors and beautiful smells that scream “Be happy!” The closest indoor space is the school, so I decide to stick it out for now. I’ll get the money tonight, after Hank goes to sleep, and sneak out at dawn. That’s a better plan.
    I push off and skate toward the entrance. Behind me I hear Yearbook Guy clickety-clicking, but I’m in motion, so he’s going to end up with nothing but blur.
    As I feared, the halls are painted a cheerful baby blue and there are exclamation-point-heavy posters everywhere, praising the latest Green Warrior of the Month and cheering the all-state coed tetherball team, and urging everyone to say “No!” to nonrecycled paper and “Yes!” to sunscreen. The kids are way too awake and upbeat for pre–eight a.m. incarceration. I’m used to grumbling and hunching andpale pillow-creased faces. And where’s the washed-out green glare of the fluorescent overheads? I glance up to the ceiling. I can’t believe it. There are actually skylights. Even inside, the sun shines here. It’s not natural.
    At least the office is right next to the front door, so I don’t have to ask any of the pastel-clad natives for directions. The secretary smiles at me as she hands me my schedule and locker assignment, but her eyes flick from my belt to my boots and I can tell the smile is only barely covering a “what some parents today let their children get away with” frown. Whatever.
    “You must be Delaney!” A freakishly tall ponytailed man in black jeans and a Hawaiian shirt bounds out of the back office. He grabs my hand and shakes it. “I’m Principal Rosenthal, but you can call me Lee.” He waves to one of the chairs against the wall and then takes the seat next to me, the smell of cigarettes plus spearmint wafting off him.
    “So sorry to hear about your loss.” His face droops in super-sadness, like he’s donned the Mask of Tragedy. A quarter of a second later, Comedy’s back, though: huge beaming smile, eyes curved into delighted half-moons. “But we’re
so
glad to have you here at Allegro. You’re going to love it. And I want you to feel free to come in and see me anytime, Delaney, whether it’s to get advice on making friends or help in adjusting to a different way of life. I think you’ll find that we’re a little more laid-back here.” He leans back as if to demonstrate, and then glances at my crossed arms and at the heel of my boot, which I’m tappingon the floor impatiently. “We operate at a slower pace.” I unfold my arms, stop the tapping and try leaning back like Laid-Back Lee, but it just makes me more anxious.
    I refold my arms and go back to tapping. I want to get to class already, get on with it. Principal Lee continues with the welcome speech anyway. “We have lots of fun electives to choose from,” he says, and forces a typed-up list on me. “They’re all wonderful opportunities to interact and blend.” Blend? What am I, a fruit smoothie? “You can go to the library for seventh period until you pick one.” He leaps up from his seat like a giant grasshopper and reaches out for my hand again. “Don’t forget: my door is always open. ‘Principal’ is just a long way of saying ‘pal.’ So stop by whenever the mood strikes. Will you do that for me, Delaney?”
    “Uh, sure.”
    “Great!” Principal Pal Lee beams, relieved. I’m relieved too, to get out of here. I never thought I’d miss Mrs. Buckston, aka the Hornet, our bitter, teenager-hating principal at East Lombard, my school in New Jersey. She may have operated at nonstop-scream level and handed out unfair punishments like confetti, but at least she never tried to be your “friend.”
    My first class is AP Chem I: Room 135, Mr. McElroy. I’ve only