David regarded himself in the mirror. He wanted to make sure he looked normal. He wanted to make sure he looked like a boy perfectly capable of making heaps of friends. He frowned at his reflection. His eyes were too close together, he decided, and he looked too Jewish. It was like he had a big neon Star of David with an arrow pointing down on him. One of those light-chasing arrows that buzzed annoyingly. He pushed back his brown curls with his fingers and stuck his tongue out at himself.

"Forget about it," he told himself sternly. "Go and meet people."

"David!" his mother called to him from the kitchen. "If you don't get your kiester out here now, I'm leaving without you!"

David looked at himself one last time in the mirror, adjusting his blue baseball t-shirt. There. Completely normal. He grabbed his backpack off of the carpet and turned the light off in his room. Completely normal.

"This will be fun, won't it?" his mother asked as she pulled up in front of the school.

David didn't answer her. Instead, he stared out the window at the school. It looked like a school from a sitcom: red brick and tan concrete with long steps and a black-painted railing that probably felt the wear and tear of skateboards everyday. The bricks looked dull and the concrete was chipped and there were those Dalmatian-spot black blobs of old, chewed gum plastered everywhere. Graffiti was scrawled thinly over the steps that looked more like it was put on with a paint gun than a can of spray paint. He barely made out the word 'Cowboy' written in red paint on the third step to the top. What a weird thing for someone to write. Maybe it was their nickname or something but who would nickname anyone Cowboy?

"Oh, yeah," his older sister, Sarah, chimed in from the back. She was obviously trying to sound enthusiastic but neither of them were any bit of happy about moving to Manhattan in the middle of high school. "It'll be great."

David turned from the window and nodded. "Yeah, mom. We'll have fun."

His mother smiled. "Great! Let's get you guys registered."

"Great," Sarah and David echoed hollowly.

David looked at the schedule in his hands, surprised that he could find his first class at all. He put his hand on the brushed-steel of the handle and took a deep breath. Usually, he had no problem meeting people but this was high school, which seemed to make things harder. He was entering a school where everyone already knew each other and had their own friends. He started to turn the handle and heard a catch of conversation from who he assumed to be the teacher.

"…which makes the book utter tripe. If the book was a drinking game and I had to take a shot every time Holden said the word 'crummy', I'd be dead. In conclusion, the only reason that pompous big head, Salinger never allowed a movie to be made of it was because there is a paper-thin plot. The 'movie' would be a thirty-minute long special on the Lifetime network profiling 'troubled teens of the 1950s'."

The teacher put down the paper he was reading and clapped his hands. "Very interesting interpretation of The Catcher in the Rye, Michael."

"Whoo!" a boy in the back called. "Go Skittery!"

The teacher, a middle-aged man with plain brown hair and a constant smile, put the paper on his desk and reached for another. "Now—"

He stopped himself when he noticed David standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Well, hello young man," his smile widened. "Are you new?"

"Yes!" David nearly shouted and immediately hated sounding so jumpy. "I mean, yeah. I'm new."

He held up the paper the bored-looking woman in the front office had handed to him along with his schedule. The man checked it briefly and handed it back to him.

"Welcome to AP Language and Composition, David," he said warmly. "Now…David. Is that for David and Goliath?"

David smiled awkwardly. "Uh…no. It's for my great-uncle David. He's an accountant."

To his surprise, the teacher laughed. "Well, I'm Mr. Denton as you well know by your schedule."

He turned to face the bored classroom that, to David's surprise, was mostly filled with boys.

"Class," he spoke loudly. "This is David Jacobs. He's new. Don't give him a hard time, alright?"

Some boys offered bored-sounding greetings and others waved but the majority of the small class didn't even pay attention.

"David, if you would take a seat next to Michael," he pointed to the third row to an empty desk next to a tall boy with brown hair.

David nodded and went to where he was directed.

"Hi," the boy said.

"Hi…Michael is it?" David tried to smile but his cheeks felt permanently dimpled from keeping one plastered on his face.

"Yeah. But just call me Skittery," he informed. "Everyone else does."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Please, if our nicknames made sense, we wouldn't have them. Only a select few do."

David wanted to press him—like about the nicknames and who the aforementioned 'our' was—but Mr. Denton was continuing his reading of reports.

"Now," he squinted at the page. "Mr. Sullivan…I believe I said that these papers had to be typed."

"Kelly," a boy in the back of the class corrected. "It's Mr. Kelly now. And my printer's broken."

"Francis—"

"Jack."

"Jack," was it David or did Mr. Denton just roll his eyes? "Your printer had been broken for three weeks. Maybe you should use the ones in the library."

The boy shrugged. "Whatever. I don't have time."

Mr. Denton shook his head and shuffled through the papers. David wondered how a boy so…unprepared was able to get into an AP class. He craned his neck to see him and nearly sucked in a deep breath of air. The boy was…David shook his head. From a strictly heterosexual viewpoint, the boy was definitely attractive. He had dark, dark blonde hair that was brown unless the light hit it and a face exquisitely sculpted as if angels carved out his cheekbones while in his mother's uterus. He wore a strange, red bandana around his neck and a yellow t-shirt with Twinkie the Kid on it under a denim jacket. Tacky but, on him, it worked. David figured that a banana suit would probably work on him too. He nearly physically shook his head. He shouldn't be having these feelings about a boy, even one as definitely bangable as that one. Bangable? What was he thinking?

"David?" the boy, Skittery, asked. "Class is over."

David whipped his head away from Boy in the Back and turned to face his seatmate.

"You want me to show you around or something?" Skittery offered. "We have five minutes in between classes. I can show you the pecking order."

"Sure," David replied, grateful for any assistance. "Just…who's that boy in the back?"

Skittery picked up a brown corduroy backpack and slung it over one shoulder. "That's Francis…well…Jack now. He changed his name at the end of sophomore year for some reason. I think it had something to do with his dad or something. Come on."

David picked up his own backpack and tried to keep in step with Skittery's loping gait.

"I liked your report," he said, trying to start up a conversation. "Uh…what I heard anyway. I hated that book. I swear, if he didn't ramble so much, it'd be, like, five pages long."

Skittery laughed. "Yeah…but it rhymes with The King and I."

David paused. "What?"

"Oh…uh…from 'We Didn't Start the Fire'," he explained, blushing slightly. "Brando, The King and I, and The Catcher in the Rye."

"Never heard it," David admitted. "Who sings it?"

Skittery blanched. "Never heard it? Never heard it? Man, I have to teach you, man. Billy Joel sings it. I worship Billy Joel."

"Really? The 'Uptown Girl' guy?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I love him. And Aqua."

He pointed to the pink t-shirt he wore that bore the bubbly blue letters that David assumed were the band's logo.

"Aqua as in 'Barbie Girl'?"

"Yeah, but that's their worse song. They have, like, so many other great ones," he stopped. "Sorry…we're not here to talk about me. I'm supposed to show you around."

"It's alright," David assured him. "It's interesting."

"Yeah, but…" his voice trailed off. "Never mind. You can learn about me later. Okay…rundown on HH."

"HH? I thought is was PS some-random-number."

"It is. But we call it HH," Skittery replied cryptically. "You won't like the answer so don't ask me why."

He sang the last part and then stopped himself.

"Sorry…Billy Joel again."

Skittery paused in the hallway and started pointing.

"Okay, see those two guys by the drinking fountain?" he pointed with two fingers in a "Disney point" that David had seen in the parks in his youth.

He spotted two boys leaned against the fountain and laughing at something or, rather, someone. A little chubby freshmen was walking by and one of them stuck his leg out. The kid went flying and the two boys went into hysterics.

"They're the DeLancey brothers," Skittery explained.

"They're brothers?" the two looked nothing alike.

"Yeah. The little one is Oscar. He's in our grade. He's pretty smart but has a dreadful habit of not thinking before he speaks—to anyone. He's also pretty much an ass all of the time. The older one is Morris. He's…well…Morris isn't particularly smart much in the same way that the Atlantic Ocean isn't particularly dry. He's a senior. Just look out for them. They can get nasty and have a thing against new kids," he gave David a look. "Go figure."

They started walking and David looked back at his schedule. He had Biology next. He'd have to ask Skittery where it was.

"Okay," Skittery stopped again. "There's my friends. Bumlets, Pie Eater and Dutchy."

He waved to them and the boys waved back.

"Hey, Skittery!" the dark-haired one called, smiling this blinder of a smile that would make Donnie Osmond jealous.

"Nicknames again?" David raised his brows.

"Yeah. I won't even bother to say anyone's real name. It's not worth it."

"Gotcha," David nodded his head.

"You can sit with us at lunch," Skittery offered. "I mean, if you want."

"Sure."

"Cool. Okay, moving on. Here we have the library. Unless you absolutely need a book, don't go in there. Spot, Race and Jack reign in there. They're kind of the uncontested rulers of year eleven."

He pointed out that gorgeous—no, not gorgeous, just good-looking from a straight point of view—boy along with two others: a short boy who was painfully Italian and a boy with enormous, gray-blue eyes.

"What's Jack's nickname?" David asked, trying hard not to stare at him.

"Cowboy," Skittery replied.

He remembered the graffiti. So it was someone's nickname.

David waited for Skittery to resume the tour but he was staring at his watch.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Bell's about to ring. I have to book it to make it to Spanish class."

"Wait," David was frantic. He didn't want to be alone in the halls. "Where's the bio room?"

"Down the hall!" Skittery was already leaving. "See you at lunch! I'll come find you!"

David waved and hurried down the hall. Once he found the proper room, he ducked into class. Since it was second period already and so close to the bell, the teacher didn't check his schedule. He was too busy berating that one boy Oscar for bringing his Discman into class and—evidently—for flipping him off when he tried to confiscate it. The only available seat was next between a brunette boy who was busy scribbling down the answers from last night's homework and that boy from the library, Spot.

"Hi," David mumbled.

"You're new," Spot observed. "Spot Conlon. I shuttle here from Brooklyn."

"He mentions Brooklyn in nearly every sentence," the boy on David's other side rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, Jake," Spot reached behind David and smacked the other boy in the back of the head.

"Yes, your highness."

"Boys," the teacher threatened.

"Sorry Mr. Seiks," Spot fake-pouted. "Hey, Davey. You got a cell phone?"

"Uh…yeah," David had no idea what he was getting at.

"Number?" he pulled out one of those fancy razor phones in red and waved it a little.

David gave him his number and almost immediately, his cell phone vibrated.

914-555-2894: Hey. Add me.

David did and immediately, the number changed to a name.

Spot: There. This is how we talk in class

David: Why are you talking to me? I'm new

Spot: Feeds my ego to talk to newbies. And you'll be glad for this

David: Why?

Spot: I'm tapped into this entire school. Plus, you're from Chester which is cool

David: How do you know?

Spot: Told you I was tapped in

David: How come you don't use chatspeak?

Spot: Why don't you?

David: It looks stupid

Spot: Then there you go

David: Oh

Spot: Ok. BTW someone likes you already

David: Are you serious?

Spot: Like a brain tumor

David: Is this a prank on the new kid?

Spot:…no

David: Who is it?

Spot: You don't know them

David: Of course I don't. I know you and this kid Skittery who I'm eating lunch with

Spot: Cool. Good choice. Skitty's cool. Weird tast in music though

David: I've noticed. Tast?

Spot: Typed too fast. Taste

David: I know what you meant

Spot: I think I like you

Spot closed his phone which gave David the signal to do the same. They then went back to pretending to pay attention to the teacher ramble on and on about the wonders of the insect world for the next twenty minutes until class ended.

"Hey, Davey," Spot started walking next to him. "Come hang in the library with us. All juniors have third period free. Some thing those above us cooked up to lower delinquency or restlessness or something. Freshmen get first, sophomores get second, juniors get third and seniors get fourth.

"Uh…sure."

David was immensely surprised. Not only was he getting along fine in his first day of school but he was already hanging out with the supposed most popular boys in his grade.

"Cool."

"Hey Spot…"

"Yeah?"

"I have a question," David toyed with the strap on his backpack. "Why do they call the school HH?"

"It's initials," Spot explained as they headed into the dusty, moth-smelling, silverfish infested library.

"Okay…what does it stand for?"

Spot turned and gave this weird, half-smile smirk. "David, there's something you should know about this school and why so few girls are in it."

"Spot," David tried to remain friendly but curiosity was pushing impatience into his words. "What does HH stand for?"

He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, still smirking. "Homo High."