First, we picked up kids from other classrooms. Then we went down a flight of stairs. I should have known the Learning Center was in the basement. The basement seemed like a good place to stick kids like Dee. And me.

When we got to the door, Dee rushed ahead and ran to a corner in the back of the room. Then he started jumping. I didn’t understand how he could be so bouncy, but when I got inside, I saw a mini-trampoline. Dee jumped and jumped and jumped.

“Third and fourth grade are here, Mr. Lara,” Ms. B. called across the room.

“Good morning!” another teacher called back. He was sitting at a table with a group of little kids. They looked like first graders, second maybe.

“Let me get everyone going,” Ms. B. said to me. “Then you and I will chat.”

The Learning Center was big, like two normal classrooms put together. Even though it was in the basement, there were high windows on two walls to let the sunshine in. There were lots of places to sit—chairs and rocking stools and big pillows and even a couple of beanbags.

“Where would you like to be?” Ms. B. asked me.

I looked over to the beanbags.

“Beanbags, cool,” she said. She grabbed a few things from her desk and sat down with me.

“What can you tell me about this?” she asked. She handed me something stapled and folded and very, very gray.

“I’m done jumping,” Dee shouted.

“You know what to do,” Ms. B. called to him.

Dee took a laptop off the computer cart and disappeared into the hallway.

“Works better without ambient noise,” she said.

I had no idea what she was talking about. Most schools don’t allow anyone in the hall when they’re supposed to be in class.

“So about this,” Ms. B. said.

I looked at the storm clouds swirling around and around the page. They had faded a little over the weekend. Now they were just shadow.

I didn’t say anything.

The truth was, I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like I could tell her that the words started to look like bricks, and the letters started to look like ants, and then the ants turned into dead leaves that were shriveled up with the edges all curling. You can’t say stuff like that at school.

“You see”—Ms. B. interrupted my thinking—“Ms. G. told me she knows that you know all the content, the information, the answers. But then this happened.” She shook my Safety test, like this was its fault.

I looked at my shoe. I said My name is Austin a couple of times.

“How about I ask you a few questions?” Ms. B. said. She suddenly had a clipboard and a pen.

I nodded, but it wasn’t like I could say no.

“Is it hard to read new words sometimes?”