CHAPTER ONE
When the mustard-yellow bus appeared at the top of the hill, eleven-year-old Millie Nakakura felt her heart triple—no, quadruple—in beats per minute. It was like watching the sun rise on the horizon, signaling a new day.
And today, everything seemed new.
She had a new haircut—bangs and a bob, which had only sort of turned out like the photo Millie had shown her mom. She had a new pair of red Converse, and a new backpack decorated in smiling pieces of sushi and rice balls. She had a new binder covered in all her favorite Pokémon, which she was certain would be a great conversation starter. (How could anyone not think Alolan Vulpix was the absolute cutest?) She even had a new pad guard for her flute, which some might argue was exciting to absolutely nobody, but those people had never met Millie’s dad.
And most important of all, Millie was starting sixth grade at a new school. Her first school, really, because being homeschooled always felt more like “home” than “school.”
Millie looked toward her parents at the front of the car. Her mom checked her hair in the mirror, again and again. Her dad drummed his fingers against the steering wheel almost exactly in time to Millie’s racing heart.
Maybe nerves were similar to sneezes, and you could pass them off to other people.
Not that her parents had any reason to be nervous. None of this was new to them. They’d already experienced classes and teachers and best friends.
A smile grew in the corner of Millie’s mouth.
Friends.
It sounded like all the hope in the world bottled up in one tiny word.
Millie could feel her face giving away everything she was thinking. She was worse than an open book—there might as well be a flashing neon sign above her head, because anybody in the world could take one look at her and know exactly what she was feeling.
She hadn’t been this excited since Generation Love released their second album last year. The fact that a new school could compete with the world’s greatest J-Pop group was kind of a big deal.
Millie clutched her flute case in her lap. The silver YAMAHA logo caught her eye, reminding her of all the arguments it had taken to finally convince her parents to let her attend a real school. She’d threatened to quit flute, though she wasn’t sure the choice to quit was really hers at all. But it made her parents discuss their options. Or rather, the only option: Brightside Academy, a K-to-twelve magnet school for performing and visual arts.
It was a compromise—Millie had to keep doing the one thing she hated in order to have the one thing she wanted more than anything. But maybe flute wouldn’t be so bad at Brightside Academy. Band seemed like as good a place as any to make friends.
And the chance to go to school and make friends was all she’d ever wanted.
Most wishes were fleeting and forgotten, like shooting stars and fountain pennies. But some wishes stuck. Permanently.
And every now and then—when the planets aligned, and there was a full moon, and some otherworldly presence was feeling generous—some wishes could come true.
Even the big ones.
The school bus slowed to a stop next to the curb, and a flickering red stop sign appeared.
Millie took a breath and reached for the door handle, freezing in terror when her parents did the same.
“You don’t have to go with me,” she said hurriedly, eyes scanning the herd of students on the nearby pavement. Emphasis on students—not parents.
Her mom, Jane, turned around, confusion swarming her hazel eyes. “We just want to say hello to the bus driver. I think it’s important to know who’s driving our eleven-year-old daughter to school every morning.”
“But parents don’t do that,” Millie blurted out. She could see the way her mom was moving closer to the door, like she had already made up her mind.
Millie begged every star, penny, and four-leaf clover in the world not to let her parents get out of the car. Because this was her new beginning—she wanted it to be perfect.
Perfect did not involve her parents walking her to the school bus like she was a toddler who couldn’t go anywhere without having her hand held. They’d already insisted on driving her to the bus stop so she didn’t have to walk nearly a mile on her own. Wasn’t that enough?
Millie’s mom frowned. “How do you know parents don’t do that?”
Millie was prepared. She had to be when it came to her parents. “I googled it.” It wasn’t a lie. Millie googled everything. Not knowing things made her anxious, and if there was ever a sliver of hope she could win an argument against her parents, she needed to be a walking Wikipedia page.
Her dad, Scott, turned to the side and shrugged matter-of-factly. “Well, if she says she googled it…”
Jane looked back at him with a raised brow. They were having a silent debate.
Millie’s desperation grew as the crowd outside the window began to shrink. “Please? I don’t want to be late.”
Finally, a sigh. Her mother’s fingers drifted away from the handle.
“Okay, fine,” Jane said. “But call us if there are any problems at all.”
Scott looked over his shoulder. “No cell phones in class.”
Jane eyed him testily. “Unless there’s an emergency.”
“If there’s an emergency, the school will call us. Besides, you said problems—she’s starting school, not a job on an oil rig.” He turned around. “Don’t call us unless you have to, and do not answer your mother if she texts you during school hours.”
Unless it’s an emergency, Jane mouthed with a small smile.
Millie nodded too many times. “Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.” She threw herself from the car and bolted for the dwindling line at the parked school bus.
She tried to pretend that her parents weren’t watching her every move, even though she knew they would be, somewhere in the background.
But at least they were finally in the background, and not front and center, for once. It would take her a while to get used to such a concept.
Millie’s heart thumped harder with every step she took up the stairs, down the aisle, and into one of the navy blue seats. And it raced the hardest when her eyes landed on all the new faces around her.
Classmates. Peers. Friends.
At that moment, the possibilities felt infinite.
Maybe tomorrow one of them would even be sitting next to her. They could talk about teachers, and homework, and how hard it was to remember their locker combinations.
Millie bit down on her lip and tried not to think about throwing up. Because even though she was excited, she was nervous, too.
Because what if nobody liked her?
She clasped her hands, shoved them in her lap, and forced her eyes out the window, hoping the view of the familiar Oregon suburbs would calm her down.
Copyright © 2021 by Akemi Dawn Bowman. All rights reserved.
