Harley closed his notebook, forced down one last bite of oatmeal-it was hard to get food past the knot in his stomach-and took his bowl to the sink. He rinsed it quickly before his mother could see how little he’d eaten. He’d studied hard, but he still didn’t feel ready for his exam. And he had to ace it. If he didn’t, he’d ruin his perfect 4.2-and probably his one shot at the scholarship for MIT. He needed more time. Even one more hour would help. His cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Christy. “Thx, Scooter! See you there! Xoxo.” Scooter-as in the opposite of Harley Davidson-had been his nickname in elementary school. Only Christy still called him that. He didn’t love it, but it was better than Vespa. Harley frowned at the phone. He hated to miss her pep rally, but it was his only chance to sneak in more study time. Besides, she’d never know if he didn’t tell her.
Harley leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Bye, Ma. Don’t work too hard.”
As was her habit, she walked Harley to the door.
He slid into his backpack. “Love ya!”
“Love you back!” His mother swallowed hard as she watched him head out, his heavy backpack swinging behind him. He still moved like the little boy who’d given her a nervous-brave smile as he left for his first day of school-a side-to-side roll that reminded her of a skater. She smiled with wistful eyes as he headed down the front walk and out into the world.
10:45 a.m.
Principal Campbell’s voice blared through the classroom loudspeakers. “As you know, it’s Homecoming, and I’m sure you’re all as excited about it as I am. Pep rally starts at eleven a.m. sharp. Show your school spirit and greet our new cheerleaders. See you there! Go, Falcons!”
Groans went up in nearly every classroom as the students rolled their eyes and traded disgusted looks. The truth was, they didn’t mind the break. Any excuse to get out of class.
10:59 a.m.
The gymnasium buzzed with heat and raucous energy; the bleachers, designed to hold three thousand, were nearly packed to capacity. Girls’ high-pitched notes and boys’ hornlike, cracking bleats mingled and snowballed into a roar. Wincing at the din, geometry teacher Adam Levy leaned toward Hector Lopez, the Spanish teacher. “Bet you wouldn’t mind having library duty today.”
Hector sighed. “Yeah, no kidding. Sara totally lucked out.”
Finally, Principal Dale Campbell walked out to the center of the floor, the wireless microphone invisible in his large mitt of a hand. He still carried himself like the linebacker he’d been when he was in high school. The principal loved these rare opportunities to see all the kids together like this. To him it was a family gathering. He tapped the mic, waited for everyone to settle down, then thanked the crowd for coming-as if they’d had a choice-and read off the announcements: a bake sale for the Woodland Hills Home for the Elderly, the job fair next month, and the upcoming performances of the junior and senior orchestras and jazz bands.