Like a chameleon, I blend in.
“Sweet TOMS,” a voice says, presumably to me. I step back from my locker to investigate. A pretty girl a few doors down is pointing at my silver glitter slip-ons.
“Thanks,” I say, wiggling my toes inside the canvas shoes. Thoughts of birthday party invitations fly into my brain, and I decide to try to keep the conversation going. “I like your hair.”
The girl runs a hand through her two-toned tresses—golden blond on top and jet black underneath—and smiles with her whole face, from her Hollywood chin to her dark brown eyes. She’s wearing a turquoise sundress and low cowboy boots, and I’m positive she has to be the most popular girl in school. Everything about her is cool.
“Thanks,” she said. “My mom hates it.”
“My mom hates these shoes,” I say, shrugging, which is mostly true. Cassie doesn’t like anything remotely flashy or attention-getting.
The girl laughs.
“I’m Audrey McKean,” she says.
“Daisy West.” I smile.
“You must be new; I know everyone.”
Yep, she’s popular.
“Today’s my first day,” I say. “We just moved here from Michigan.” Another student approaches one of the lockers between mine and Audrey’s, blocking our view of each other. Audrey peeks around him and makes a silly face at me, then slams her locker door and moves around the guy.
“So, what’s your first class?” she asks.
“English,” I say. “With Mr. Jefferson?”
“You’re a junior?” she asks.
“Sophomore,” I say.
“No way.”
I raise my eyebrows in question.
“You look older,” she explains. “You must be a huge nerd.”
>“They’re older than dinosaurs, you know.”
I move my eyes from the sharks to the man, smile politely, and then look back at the tank. I can see in my peripheral vision that the man’s eyes are back on the water, too.
“Amazing creatures,” he adds with a hint of a disarming lisp. I feel free to answer back.
“I like the sea turtles better,” I say, dreamlike, as I watch one swim by. My face is lit up by the shimmering sea.
“Hmm,” the man murmurs. “You’re right…. They’re quite spectacular, too.”
The man and I are two of maybe five people in a tunnel cutting through the aquarium itself. We are under the ocean, or at least a man-made version of it. It is sedative and beautiful: a claustrophobic’s hell on earth. For a blink, I wonder what would happen if the glass overhead sprung a leak. I imagine drowning. Again.
“Is school out today?” the man asks evenly.
“No,” I say. “We just moved here. I start school tomorrow.”
“Moves can be difficult,” says the man in a quiet, soothing voice.
“Mm-hmm,” I say.
“What grade are you in?”