A few more kids straggle in. The final one, a tall white girl, takes the empty seat next to me. I notice her backpack, stuffed so full that the zipper doesn’t shut. I also notice a purple-and-green snake poking out of it. After another second or two of looking at it, I realize it’s not a snake but a coil of climbing rope, which is maybe not as weird a thing to bring to school as a snake, but it’s unusual. And the third thing I notice is the patch sewn on the shoulder of her denim jacket. It’s the wing logo of Night Kite, my second-favorite comic book character. Night Kite doesn’t have any superpowers, but by training her mind and body she turned herself into a living weapon against crime and evil.

My first-favorite character is Star Hammer, an alien who lives secretly among humans on Earth.

I look up from the girl’s patch to find her staring into my face, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her, dreading the answer.

Without breaking eye contact, she jots something down in a little black notebook. “You’re Jake Wind.”

“How do you know—?”

The school bell chimes, and Mr. Brown tells us to be quiet.

He goes over some announcements and rules and the student conduct code. A lot of time is spent on the subject of chewing gum.

“Gum is disgusting,” he rants. “I don’t want to see gum stuck under your seats. I don’t want to see it between your teeth. I don’t want to hear it smacking in your mouth. I don’t even want to see it in its wrapper.”

I find gum relatable since it can be transformed from a rigid rectangle into a shapeless wad, but Mr. Brown has a zero-tolerance gum policy.

Now that Mr. Brown has expressed his feelings, he finally gets around to taking roll. I learn that the girl with the Night Kite patch is named Agnes Oakes.

My nerves get jangly when Mr. Brown gets to the S names, because it means he’s getting to the end of the alphabet, which means he’s going to call on me soon, which means at least a few kids are going to turn around to look at me when I raise my hand. My heart pounds and my fingers twitch and my face tingles and there’s a big resounding hum between my ears and I wish I could just fly away like a bird.

“Jake Wind,” Mr. Brown calls.

Wishing bird-related thoughts turns out to be a mistake.

I’ve sprouted feathers on my right hand. Actual bird feathers, speckled brown and gold.

This is a first.

“Jake Wind?”

I tuck my right hand under my desk, between my knees.

“Jake Wind, going once, going twice . . .”

“Here!” I squeak, putting my left hand up.