We spend the next few minutes going over the schedule for today, my core class schedule for tomorrow, graduation and extracurricular requirements, and things like dress code and attendance policies. Mom, Dad, and I already filled out a mountain of paperwork over the summer—hasn’t this school heard of electronic forms?—but there are still a few for me to sign.

I wonder if my brother, Thane, is going through the same thing at his school.

“Are you ready for your first day at Alpha?” Ms. West asks with an enthusiastic smile.

I take a deep breath. Am I ready? New home, new city, new school, new friends. Hopefully. New life. New me.

I feel equal parts fear and anticipation. But one look in Ms. West’s sharp eyes and I feel a jolt of confidence. I feel strong and invincible. How can I let myself be afraid of change, when it’s what I want? The chance to become the strong, confident young woman I’ve always dreamed of being.

This is the first step.

“Yes,” I say, gathering my courage. “Ready.”

“Do you have any questions or concerns before I send you to class?”

I square my shoulders and shake my head. I’m ready for this.

“If you need anything,” she says, “my office door is always open.”

I nod, trying to mimic the same air of self-assurance she exudes, as if I appreciate her offer but will never need the help because everything will work out in no time. The facade makes me feel a little more sure of myself, of my future at Alpha and in San Francisco.

The power of positive thinking.

She leans out into the hall. “Miranda, would you come here please?”

When Miranda shows up at Ms. West’s door, my false confidence quivers and that sense of dread plops into my stomach again.

“Yes, Ms. West?” asks the girl who plowed through me in front of the school.

“This is Grace Whitfield,” she explains, gesturing to me. “She’s new at Alpha. Since you two have the same homeroom, I thought you might give her a quick tour and then show her to class.”

“Of course,” Miranda says with a blinding fake smile. “It’d be my pleasure.”

Think positive, I tell myself. Maybe I misinterpreted her earlier comment. Maybe she’s a really nice person. Maybe she’ll be friendly, now that she knows we share a class. Hitching my backpack up on my shoulder, I smile and hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Miranda.”

She smiles and shakes my hand. For a second I believe this positive thinking thing really works. Then, as soon as Ms. West turns back to her desk, Miranda drops my hand like it’s a plague-ridden rat, rolls her eyes, and stalks out of the office.

My shoulders sink.

“Have a wonderful first day,” Ms. West says.