“Hi,” I said. Risk number one.

They grunted.

My own name tent read Cece, which was how I’d been known for the first nine years of my life, a nickname that I wasn’t particularly fond of, but one that had just sort of stuck, like spilled pink lemonade, tacky and cloying, bound to attract bees. I watched this person, this Ros, blacken in the latter half of their name, and it occurred to me that I could do the same.

“Excuse me,” I said, “would it be possible, please, if it’s not too much trouble, if you might lend me your pencil?”

I had my own, but asking to borrow Ros’s was risk number two.

Ros considered me, then handed me their pencil. It was stubby and missing an eraser and covered in teeth marks. I carefully crossed out Cece and wrote Celia above it. There—much more dignified. I sat up straighter.

I handed their pencil back to them. They had dirt under their fingernails.

“Thank you so very much,” I said.

In response, they barked at me. Quite literally: a single, unmistakable woof that sent our teacher’s head a-spin and garnered some questioning looks from our desk mates. It was a little weird, I thought, to bark hello, but mostly they sounded like my dog Tabitha during a thunderstorm. She’s just scared, my mom would say, and rub her velvety ears. Buckets, unmoved by thunder, would pant solidly beside her, like a big blocky-headed port in the storm.

“Nice Ros,” I said. “Good Ros.”

They blinked at me, stunned. I pulled a clementine from my pocket and began to unpeel it, trying to keep the peel in one long strip.

“Want some?” I said, holding out a piece.

They took it from me and placed it into their mouth, though I couldn’t tell if they were chewing.

“How is it? My friend Touchstone gave it to me. Sometimes they’re too mealy or tough and I have to spit it out, but sometimes they’re juicy and perfect and I could eat like twelve of them. Once I did eat twelve of them, and then I threw up, and that was atrocious,” I said.

Ros chewed, swallowed.

“Good, then?” I said.

“It’s… orangely bright,” they said finally, and I laughed and they laughed.

“Just so you know,” they said, “I’m not a dog. I’m a wolf.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t care what they were. I just wanted them to be my friend. “I’m not really a student. I’m a princess in disguise.”

“Cool,” said Ros, and the rest was history.