I cross my arms over my stomach and stare out the window, my eyelids so heavy, that lump in my throat reappearing. I wish I were home right now, snuggled up in my bed with Dewey.

I close my eyes and imagine it, in as much detail as I can, like I’m drawing it in my mind: Dewey’s doggy smile and soft, fluffy fur; her tail wagging as we tumble out of bed and go downstairs for a magnificent French toast breakfast followed by a walk through the enchanted woods, and she’d translate for me what all the forest animals were saying, and I’d be like a cooler version of Snow White (except minus the poison apple/Prince Charming/evil stepmother junk).

With all the woodland creatures as my friends and Dewey as my very best friend, I wouldn’t even need people anymore!

People, how boring! I imagine saying to Dewey, and then all the other animals would join in the laughter too, once Dewey translated what I’d said.

“Wake up, Spacegirl!” a voice yells in my ear.

My eyes fly open, and I can’t tell if I had dreamed the voice or if it really happened. I look up and see that the aisle is already filling with kids standing, waiting to disembark the bus. I meet Jayden’s eyes and they’re staring at me like maybe I am an alien.

“What?” he snaps.

I can’t think of anything to say, except maybe growl because I’m so mad and sad and grumpy, but that would only make him think I was even more of a weirdo, so I clench my teeth and wait until everyone else files out before I get off the bus. Maybe Macy was having one of these grumpelstiltskin days on the first day of school and that’s why she growled. I get that now.

Ms. Avery takes attendance and the morning announcements play all the way through, and still no Macy. When Ms. Avery turns around to write something on the board, I sneak my phone out of its pocket in my backpack, but just as I’m about to tap out a message to Macy, I see something move out of the corner of my eye. It’s her.

“You weren’t at the bus stop this morning,” I whisper to her across the aisle as she sits down.

She organizes her things and then holds up her finger, as if to say, Just a minute. I watch as she pulls a clean sheet of yellow paper from a folder inside her desk and begins writing. She folds it up quickly, into a triangle, looks up to make sure Ms. Avery isn’t watching, and reaches over to place it in my hand.