There Will Come a Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

I don’t give them the option to avoid mine. The more normal I act, the more comfortable they’ll be. In a few days, it’ll be like nothing happened. I just have to get through today.
    Stephanie comes up and puts her hand on my arm. “So good to see you, Mark.” She gives a little squeeze. Even though Grace and I didn’t go to the same school, everyone knows what happened last year on the bridge.
    â€œYou too,” I say, and push past her, a smile on my face. Seven minutes.
    I go to this high school for the arts, which is pretty cool and kick back, but demanding, especially during recital and concerttimes. I got in after auditioning in the eighth grade. It was the first time Grace and I were really separated. We had always attended the same school. Most of the time we were even in the same classes. She could have gotten in here for her writing, but she didn’t want to apply. She preferred going to the same high school as Hanna.
    The school day is divided. During the first half we function like a normal high school, with typical academic classes like English, math, and science. But the second half is different. The second half is playtime. We spend the rest of the day working in our artistic areas. It’s a long day, some of us don’t leave the campus till six, and sometimes it’s tough managing everything, but we are there for a reason. We are doing what we love to do. We are artists first, brothers, friends, skaters, athletes, whatever, second. Freaks at any other school, I guess, except here, where everyone is a bit odd in their own way.
    The school’s not perfect. They still allow some assholes to attend, but overall it’s cool.
    Before first period, students stand in clusters, most of them according to disciplines. The theatre peeps hang near the auditorium. Musicians, my usual tribe, with their instruments in all shapes and sizes enclosed in black cases, lean against the doors of the music room. Fine artists have claim to the benches in the quad. Dancers get the spot underneath the huge tree at the topof the quad. Newbies wander and mix with the interdisciplinary students, who tend to move from group to group. Nothing has changed. Everyone’s high-fiving and hugging and greeting one another as if a summer away has been hardly any time at all. For me, it seemed like an eternity.
    â€œI’m that way.” Sebastian points in the direction of his class. “You all right, man?”
    â€œYeah, see you in theory.”
    We part ways, and I head in the opposite direction.
    â€œSantos!” Pete skates up behind me and smacks my head. “Glad to have you back!” he calls as he continues down the hallway.
    I yell, “Punk!”
    Pete’s wearing a gray suit and pink bow tie. His long black hair is up in a bun on top of his head. His rollerblades make him, like, 6'4". Last year he experimented with a retro 1980s style; this year it looks like it’ll be the ’40s. He likes to think of life as performance art. The teachers don’t seem to mind. Other than Sebastian, Pete was the only other friend I saw over the summer. A week after the accident, Pete and Sebastian sat on beanbags on the floor of my room with me, playing video games. The second time he brought some fried chicken and waffles and we watched a movie.
    Two minutes. I walk down hallway and head for room 207.
    â€œWhat’s up?” I greet the guys waiting outside as if we just saw each other last week.
    â€œNot much,” Levon says. He’s a talented dancer who can do it all: ballet, hip-hop, modern, and tap. Out of all the kids here, I expect to see him on TV some day.
    â€œYou have Mrs. Yenella for history?” I ask.
    He nods. “I hear she’s funny, but she makes you write research papers.”
    â€œSee you inside,” I say.
    I open the door and enter the room. A short Latina woman is writing on the board. I head for an empty seat in the back