“We haven’t had a theater department in years,” she said, her mouth curling down in a frown. “It just wasn’t very popular.”

“That’s okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t. It just seemed like the right thing to say.

Ms. Milan smiled at him. “I really think you’ll enjoy Mrs. Caroline’s class. And if not, you do have another week to change your mind.”

Throughout his day, Héctor couldn’t ignore that everyone had started without him. He struggled to catch up with lessons that had already been taught, chapters that had already been read, discussions that had already been had.

Lunch rolled around, and the square of pizza he was given was swimming in oil. When he sat at the Table of Misfits, he saw that Jackson had dumped a pile of napkins on top of his pizza.

“Yo, what’s with the food here?” Héctor asked. “It all seems . . . I don’t know. Not that great?”

“That’s an understatement,” said Jackson, and he adjusted his glasses. “It’s like an alien came to earth and ate pizza, and then described it to another alien, and that’s what this is.”

“Wait, aliens made our food?” said Taylor, his eyes wide.

“Oh, honey,” said Aishah. “Your soul is too pure for this world.”

“How’s your second day, Héctor?” said Carmen.

“It’s okay, I guess,” he said. “Aside from the food.”

Jackson raised a monstrous blob of oily napkins above his tray. “Yeah, this is gross.”

“I switched to art,” said Héctor, looking at Aishah. “So I’ll see you after this.”

“Yay!” Aishah said. “I promise you, you’ll love it.”

“Mrs. Caroline is the best,” said Jackson. “If I wasn’t allergic to art, I would be in her class, too.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Héctor.

Jackson did not get to say whatever was about to come out of his mouth. There was a loud laugh, almost more like a bark, that rang out behind Héctor, and he watched the color drain from Aishah’s face.

“Oh no,” she said. “He’s coming.”

In an instant, the others dropped their heads down and began to act like their greasy food was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Um . . . what’s happening?” said Héctor.

“Hey, new kid!”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Hard.

“No one told me there was a new kid here!” the voice continued. Héctor craned his head around and stared up into the face of a tall, lanky kid with blond hair and green eyes, his pale face slightly sunburned like Taylor’s. “What’s your name?”

Héctor looked back to the others at the table. None of them made eye contact with him or the boy who had strolled up to the table.

Oh, this seems bad, he thought.

“I’m Héctor,” he said hesitantly. “You?”