I am seven years old, and this is my first day of second grade. My mom bought me a new backpack, cause I told her my old one was for babies. My pencils are sharpened, I have plenty of paper, and I'm wearing brand new jeans that are still too stiff to run in. I'm excited to be starting school again, but scared because this is a new school and I don't know anyone yet. "You'll be fine, Thomas," my mother assures me, kissing my forehead. "You're my smart boy and I'm so proud of you."
All the kids have to stay in the gym until eight thirty. I want to find my classroom, but when I try to sneak out, a teacher yells at me. I shrink back against the wall and try not to cry. Only babies cry, and I'm gonna be eight in two months.
"Whatcha cryin for, kid?" A boy sneers. He's bigger than me, and his mouth is twisted in an ugly way. "Miss your mommy?"
"No," I say defensively. "I'm not crying." He hits me in the stomach, hard. I bend over and gasp for breath. "You are so crying," he sneers, hitting me again. My lunchbox falls to the floor and breaks open, scattering my lunch everywhere. It's hard to breathe, and now I really am crying.
"Sissy boy," he cackles, kicking me in the leg. "Stupid sissy boy."
"Leave him alone, Stephen," a voice orders. I look up for the teacher, but don't see anyone who's noticed what's going on.
The voice speaks again. A girl's voice. "Stop it."
"Stay out of this, April," Stephen orders. "Go play with the other girls."
I see her now, a small, dark-haired girl who doesn't look any bigger than a kindergartener. My heart sinks.
"I said stop it," she repeated. "Or else."
"Or else what?" Stephen sneers, raising his fist to hit me again.
April grabs his arm and twists it behind his back. Stephen shrieks in pain. "Let go!" he cries. "That hurts!"
"Not until you say you're sorry," the girl insists, twisting even harder.
Stephen winces. "I'm sorry, April."
"Not to me, you idiot," she snaps, and nods in my direction. "To him."
"I'm sorry," he gasps, and then April lets him go. He runs off, holding his arm and crying.
April helps me to my feet. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I mumble.
"Stephen's a bully, but he won't pick on anyone who fights back," she tells me.
"Where did you learn how to do that?" I ask her, impressed in spite of myself.
She grins. "I have three older brothers."
I get down to gather up the remains of my lunch. April begins to help me. "Thanks," I mutter. "You know, for what you did."
She brushes aside my thanks. "I hate seeing bullies pick on anyone." She hands me my sandwich, and our hands touch. "Hey, what class are you in?"
I scan my memory. "Mrs. Jacobs. Second grade."
"Me too!" she grins. She really has a nice smile. "Want to sit together?"
I think for a minute. April's nice and all, but she's, well, a girl. Then again, the boys haven't exactly been nice to me. "Okay. Sure."
"Great." The bell rings, and the kids stream out of the gym. "I'm April."
I already know this, but I smile and nod anyhow. "I'm Thomas." I snap my lunchbox shut, and we start off towards second grade.