Jillian shrugged. Who knew if she even really slept at night? She always woke up tired, her worries buzzing around her head like the moons of Jupiter: homework, grades, Mark Strauss, bad hair, terrorism, school shooters, racial profiling, global warming, college, police brutality, boobs, sex, death. She hoisted up her backpack, so heavy she had to walk bent over. All the kids did. They were like overworked elves, crushed by the loads they had to carry.

“Sure I can’t get you one with wheels? They have some awfully cute ones.”

“Mom. Please.” She shook her head, hot with embarrassment.

“Don’t forget the soccer game this afternoon. Do you have your uniform and shin guards?”

“I’m not three!” Jillian dumped her backpack to the floor with a thud, and ran upstairs to get them. She stuffed them into her backpack and took off out the back door.

Once upon a time—last year, when she was in sixth grade—she and her best friend, Sofia, walked to school together with their matching purple backpacks. Now she was nearly thirteen and purple was a stupid color, but her parents wouldn’t buy her a new one because her old one wasn’t worn out. And worse even than that: Sofia had moved to Paris, leaving Jillian all alone with the idiots at the middle school. Jillian skirted the dumpster and the guy with the yellow hard hat who always greeted her with a creepy, “Good morning, young lady,” and headed down the street.

She distracted herself by naming the Sears houses she could see: the Glyndon, the Hazelton. If she named all of the house models correctly on her way to school, she would have an okay day. She’d learned the names last spring, when she made a model of the town for her final social studies project. She’d stuck to the houses built before World War II. It was weird to think that in olden times you could order a house as a kit from a catalog. She imagined what would happen if you could order a house online. It would probably arrive by drone two days later, possibly crushing an evil witch or two when it landed.

It wasn’t even September yet, but her school supplies had already lost their new-school-year smell. If she ran the world, she’d make it illegal to start classes before Labor Day. It was so hot. Was it hotter this year? Was it global warming? Why didn’t anyone care?

The Coxes’ SUV idled in the driveway next door, Mr. Cox behind the wheel, eyes on his phone. Lindy sat in the passenger seat, her blond mane glowing through the window. She looked at Jillian with no expression at all, as though Jillian were a fence post.