As I walk up the stairs and tell the driver my name, I start to feel all wobbly. I’ve never felt this way on the first day of school before. Is it because it’s a new school? Or because I’m still thinking about my spots?

The front seats are mostly occupied by kids who are squirming so nervously, they must be sixth graders. I hope I don’t look as anxious as they do. In the back, there are two boys, both wearing headphones, who look up at me and away again. And in the middle are two girls sitting next to each other who stare at me. They seem like they might be seventh graders, too. They’ve painted their nails the same color blue, and one of them has the exact backpack I dumped a few minutes ago. She starts whispering to the other, and they giggle. I take a seat two rows in front of them and on the opposite side of the aisle.

The bus pulls away, passing Morning Glory Cottage and Ruth’s house and Professor Swann as he walks past the graveyard. Past the leafy orchard and Briar Hollow Lane, and suddenly we’ve left Lanternwood behind. I feel a nervous twist in my stomach, like there’s an invisible string connecting me and the village, and the farther away we go, the tighter it pulls.

Relax, I tell myself. It’s just school.

A few minutes later, we turn into a neighborhood where some kids who definitely look like eighth graders get on and go straight to the back of the bus. Behind them walks a girl with strawberry-blond hair that’s perfectly straight. When she looks at me, I can tell she’s wearing mascara, but not because she’s done a bad job putting it on. She drums her fingernails against each of the seat backs as she walks down the aisle. The nails are painted blue.

“Edie!” calls out one of the two girls who stared at me earlier.

Edie’s eyes fall on Gram’s bag, laid across the seat next to me, and her eyebrows arch before she moves on. The bus jerks forward, and she gives a little screech of laughter that’s echoed by the other two girls.

At the next stop, there’s only one girl waiting. She’s got frizzy red hair and an impressive collection of freckles, and she keeps her eyes on her shoes as she walks. When she glances up at me, I smile—to let her know she can sit with me if she wants—but she has already looked away again. She takes an empty seat behind the sixth graders.

A few minutes later, we’re pulling up at school, where the assistant principals are waiting inside to sort us all into our homeroom classes. Kids rush around me, laughing and calling out to one another.