While I put together the envelope for Miss Flora Mae, I play some music for the plants and find myself swaying along to a man named Otis Redding singing about sitting on a dock. I slide each letter into the large manila envelope and I hold the last one there in my hand for a moment. There’s some kind of rush I can’t quite explain that I got from responding to Kiera. And it wasn’t just because I knew her situation so well. I liked the idea of helping someone, and to be honest, it kind of made me understand why my mom takes her job so gosh darn seriously.

On Monday morning, I settle into my desk. I try waving at Oscar, but I think he’s doing everything in his power not to look in my direction. I tried calling him over the weekend, but every time either Luis or Jorge picked up the phone and said Oscar was busy. Busy with what? His new career on the wrestling team that he has yet to tell me about?

“All right, class!” Mrs. Young claps her hands to get our attention. “Before we get going for the day, I want to remind you all of your last assignment before finals.”

The class simultaneously groans. Our dreaded research presentation. Even though Mrs. Young assigned it back in April, I’ve been putting it off this whole time, and from the looks of it, I’m not the only one.

She’s unfazed. “Before I can let you move on to your new life as eighth graders, you’ve got one last hurdle to jump.”

Someone at the back of the class mumbles, “I don’t jump hurdles. I’ve got a doctor’s note.”

“The seventh-grade research project!” Mrs. Young says, as if any of us could forget. “On any prominent figure you like. Living or dead. Now, remember, they can be YouTube stars or singers or artists or engineers or web designers. As long as you can find actual bona fide research on them using the tools we learned about during our weekly trips to the school library.”

The class begins to buzz with possibilities. No one likes doing a project, but the thought of getting to choose anyone and not just another dusty old white guy? That’s pretty cool.

“Presentations will be given verbally next week just before our social studies final. You have until next Monday to let me know whom you’ll be presenting on,” she finishes.

Kiera swivels around. “Dibs on Jungkook.”

“On who?” I ask.

She gives me a swoony sigh. “Only the dreamiest member of BTS. Honestly, it’s too late for you to even call dibs, because I’ve been working on this project for weeks.”

“BTS?” She is literally speaking another language right now.

“BTS,” she says. “The K-pop band? Ya know, Korean pop music?”

“No comprende,” I tell her. From the corner of my eye, I see Oscar watching us from across the room. We’ve been talking, but things just feel weird, and I’m sure him seeing me and Kiera all buddy-buddy isn’t helping.