Chapter One
Every morning, while most kids zigzagged across town in yellow buses, Ash McNulty got to school on her own two feet. She could leave home just minutes before the bell and still arrive early, since she lived six houses away from the front entrance.
Today, though, Ash almost wished she weren’t a walker. It was spring in other places, but winter was still holding on in her small town in Maine. From the fogged-up kitchen window, Ash saw an angry gray sky and a shower of frozen rain, more like slush really, pouring down on what was left of the snow in her family’s front yard. April wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Ash zipped her coat and put on her hood, pulling the drawstring so tight that only her eyes and nose were showing. Her younger sister, Gracie, clutched the only umbrella they could find between them.
“Ready?” Gracie said. Their parents had already left for a staff meeting at work, but the girls were old enough to get to school on their own now. Ash nodded, pulled open the door, and locked it as fast as she could.
Her hood was soaked and slipping over her eyes in two seconds flat, and by the time Ash wrenched it off, Gracie was halfway to school, using the umbrella like a shield to push her way through the sleet. Gracie waited at the school’s front door as Ash peeled her coat open. Then she handed Ash the umbrella, leading the way inside and announcing, “You can have it for the walk home.”
“Thanks,” Ash replied. “But you should keep it—I’m staying after for Quiz Bowl practice, remember?”
Just saying the words was enough to make her nervous. The Quigley School Quiz Bowl was only three days away!
The Quiz Bowl was technically a fundraiser, but everyone knew it was way more than that. It was like a party and a contest all rolled into one. Teachers, parents, little brothers and sisters, even kids who’d finished Quigley years ago—everyone in town came out on a Friday night to feast at the cookie buffet and cheer on the brave kids who volunteered to answer trivia questions on stage. It was almost a given that a fifth grader would win—after all, the fifth graders were the oldest kids in school. Last year, though, there was a surprise upset, and a supersmart fourth grader—Ash herself!—had taken the top spot.
Now, of course, she had to do it all over again. She had to.
“Oh yeah,” Gracie said, like the Quiz Bowl was just some distant memory. “Well, good luck with that. See you later!” She shrugged and headed away, twirling the umbrella.
Shaking her hair out, Ash headed down a quiet hallway in the direction of her classroom. She might be wet and freezing, but the steady hum of the copy machine and the smell of coffee from the teachers’ room warmed her up. The school secretary, Ms. Caruso, waved from behind her window, and Ash sighed. If only the whole day would feel so calm and cozy.
Ms. Cooper, Ash’s teacher, was stapling papers in her classroom upstairs. “What happened?” she asked. “You’re drenched!” Ash hung up her dripping coat and stood next to the radiator until she got too hot. Then Ms. Cooper handed her the papers, and Ash got to work.
Since Ash was a walker and an early bird, she often helped Ms. Cooper get ready for the morning. This used to be her favorite part of the day, but now it was the part when the butterflies started swirling in her stomach. One of these days, her secret would be out. Would it be today? She tried not to think about it as she filled every student’s mailbox.
Now Ash could hear her classmates in the hallway, barreling toward room 204 like a mob. When the door swung open, twenty people entered all at once, shedding winter gear. Soon the dirty snow would finally dissolve into muck, but right now that still seemed a long way off. As the other fifth graders removed their boots and put on their inside shoes, the classroom filled with the sound of zippers and the squelch of wet socks.
There was a lot on her mind, but some habits were automatic. Ash rushed to her desk to protect it before it was too late.
“Hey, Ash,” Caden said as he dumped his backpack on the desk next to hers. A cloud of sand rose out of it and settled all over her stuff. He had a light orange ring around his lips, like he should have used a napkin after breakfast.
“Hi, Caden,” Ash said tightly. She moved her pencil case into her desk so it wouldn’t get crushed.
“Twinsies!” Ellie announced. She was still in the doorway, but her greeting was for Ash.
They were the furthest thing from twinsies. Ellie had long, shiny black hair, while Ash’s was not even a recognizable color—a little red, a little brown—and not quite in a ponytail. The doctor said that Ellie was on track to be six feet tall, and Ash was still waiting for a growth spurt. But Ash called back “Twinsies!” because she and Ellie had the same lime-green parka. Ellie hung hers up next to Ash’s and eyed her desk, on the other side of Caden’s. Ellie was Ash’s ally in an ongoing battle. When Ash was out of the classroom, Ellie made sure Caden’s mess didn’t spread.
Before Morning Meeting, the other kids scrambled to check their mailboxes and sharpen their pencils and sign in for school lunch. Ash was ahead of everyone else, though, so she just waited. This happened to her a lot. She opened to chapter eight of a book she kept on hand for just this reason. She was with Lucy Pevensie, looking for Edmund in Narnia, when Ms. Cooper triple-clapped to get her class’s attention.
“Welcome, friends,” she said, “to a cheerful Tuesday morning.” To Ms. Cooper, every morning was cheerful.
She began the day with some important business: Permission slips were due soon for the fifth-grade trip to Funtown. Ash still remembered when she was back in kindergarten, counting how long it would be before she was old enough for this field trip to the amusement park. Finally it was going be her turn! The class did a few stretches and listened to more announcements.
“Now that we’ve exercised our bodies,” Ms. Cooper said, “let’s begin to exercise our minds!” First up was the Word of the Day—a vocabulary challenge. “Does anyone know what this one means?” Ms. Cooper asked.
It was a short word—g-a-r-b—but Ash didn’t know it.
I should know it, Ash thought. People would expect her to know it.
Her mind raced. Did it have to do with trash? Like garbage?
Or maybe it was like grab—switch two letters, and the two words were the same.
Or what if it was something to eat? Now Ash was wildly guessing.
Caden leaned over until his elbow was almost in her belly button. “Well?” he whispered. Caden thought she was a walking dictionary. He was sure that, if anyone knew what garb was, it was Ash.
That was because Ash was sort of in Ms. Cooper’s class, but also sort of in another one. She’d hear all about Ms. Cooper’s plans for the day, but she wouldn’t actually take part in them since the minute that language arts time started, Ash would leave this classroom and go downstairs. She was in Mr. Lopez’s class for language arts and math, ninety minutes for each subject. By the time you added in lunch and recess, plus specials like gym and art, Ash was out of Ms. Cooper’s room more than she was in it. Her most-of-the-time teacher was actually Mr. Lopez.
Ash’s other class was called Talent Development. People called it GT, though, for gifted and talented, and you carried the label from the minute you got a high score on one test in second grade. The top 2 percent of the school went to Mr. Lopez, and Ash had been going for so long that GT was like a part of her name by now.
G-a-r-b. For some reason, the word reminded Ash of Halloween. She raised her hand and waited to be called on. No one else was even trying.
“Ash?” said Ms. Cooper.
“Is it like … a costume?” she guessed.
The teacher’s smile was a ray of sunshine. “Yes, it can be,” she replied. “Garb is any kind of special clothing. Like a uniform, or a ball gown. Even a wizard’s robes.”
Hands shot up as people offered other examples. Motorcycle jackets. Bowling shoes. Tutus.
Caden jabbed Ash in the ribs. “You’re twelve for twelve,” he announced. She shrugged modestly, but she had been keeping careful track of her record, too. A run like this was what she’d need in the Quiz Bowl. Ellie gave her a thumbs-up and an eye roll at the same time. Thumbs-up for the right answer, eye roll for Caden.
Then Ms. Cooper’s phone started jumping around on her desk. The ringer was off, but it was vibrating like crazy. She glanced down, and she must have seen that the call was from someone inside the school, because she held her finger up. That was her sign for the class to keep quiet and wait. Ash was about to return to Narnia when she heard her name.
“Ash McNulty?” said Ms. Cooper into the silence. “Of course. I’ll send her right down.” She ended the call and told Ash, “They want to see you in the office, sweetie.”
Oh no, Ash thought. This is it.
She stood up stiffly, as if she had just stepped out of a freezer.
“Ooooh, you’re in trouble!” someone called out, and everyone else laughed. Ash was the last kid anyone expected to get in trouble.
When Ms. Cooper gave her the hall pass, Ash acted like everything was normal, but she was about to crack. Her parents were going to be in the office, she just knew it. That’s what happened when things were serious—they brought in your parents without telling you. An ambush. Soon everyone would know she was a fake. A girl with a disappointing report card stuffed in the back of her closet. A GT kid who was quietly falling behind.
Her eyes welled up as she walked robotically down the hall and toward the stairs. Ash went this way so often that she could do it blindfolded. Mr. Lopez’s classroom was on the first floor, right next to the office. What if I run into him? Ash thought, panicked. Then she realized he would probably be in the meeting, too.
Ash made a quick stop in the bathroom and ran some ice-cold water onto a paper towel. She scrunched it up and pressed the ball to her eyes, shocking her tears before they started to flow, then scurried out of the bathroom and into the stairwell. No one was there, thankfully. Every teacher and every student was in Morning Meeting—that was the routine at Marion Quigley Elementary.
But no—there was a parent on the loose. Here was Mrs. Silver, marching upstairs importantly with a towering stack of folders. She was the president of the parents’ group, a volunteer extraordinaire. Ash’s mom was not her biggest fan. “She’s a busybody, Ash,” her mom said. “Always listening. Don’t say anything to Elena Silver unless you want it repeated all over town.” She would wonder where Ash was going, for sure.
From her enthusiastic greeting, you might think she was Ash’s best friend. “Well, hello there,” Mrs. Silver said so loudly that her voice rattled the artwork on the walls. “You’re getting so grown up. Off to junior high in the fall, right?” She paused as Ash nodded, then moved to the kicker. “Or are you taking classes at the high school yet?”
It was kind of a sore subject that her son, Sammy Silver, was not in the Talent Development class. Every year, his mom had him privately retested just to see if he could score high enough to qualify, but apparently he never made it. As far as Ash could tell, Sammy Silver’s favorite subject was recess.
One day last year, Ash had overheard Mrs. Silver on the playground, speaking to someone’s dad in a fierce tone. It took Ash a second to realize she was talking about the GT program.
“It’s practically like a private school,” Mrs. Silver said bitterly. “The best teacher, for such a tiny group of students. Who wouldn’t succeed in a class like that?” She took off her sunglasses to glare at the dad. “Those kids get picked out when they’re seven years old, and they get handed a golden ticket. Of course they become stars. We reap what we sow.” Sammy’s mom shook her head, as if her son would never sprout. Always the silver, never the gold.
Mrs. Silver had chaperoned every field trip Ash could remember since preschool. She had clipped a million coupons for Quigley and even DJed the school dance. In spite of what her mom said, Ash thought she was nice. But she wished Mrs. Silver would stop pretending Ash could skip four grades.
Ash shook her head. “No high school for me, Mrs. Silver,” she said. “Not yet.” She wondered how she would escape. Being trapped in the stairwell was almost as bad as going to the office.
Luckily, her good reputation saved her. “Delivering the attendance sheet?” Mrs. Silver guessed. “I won’t keep you. Ms. Cooper is counting on your help!” She stepped out of the way and let Ash pass.
Attendance was automated these days, so no one had delivered an attendance sheet to the office since last century, but Mrs. Silver didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know that Ash had been called to the principal, or why. Ash waved miserably and headed for her doom.
Somehow she arrived at the office. She slipped past a line of tardy kids at the secretary’s desk and walked beyond it, to where everyone would be waiting. The door to the principal’s office was wide open, but she didn’t see Mr. Lopez or her parents. For a moment she wondered if they were hiding, like at a surprise party, ready to spring out as soon as she walked in. But the only surprise happened when the principal, Mrs. Shepard, arrived with a girl who’d been swallowed by a big gray sweatshirt.
Mrs. Shepard smiled warmly and introduced Ash to the girl. “Please welcome Tilly, our newest fifth grader. Just last week, she moved all the way from Florida. I’m assigning you to be her guide, Ash. I know you’ll do a great job of showing her the ropes at Quigley.” She went on to explain that Ash was someone really special, a leader and a role model, and that Ash would show Tilly everything she needed to succeed.
Ash probably looked embarrassed, but mainly she was relieved.
It was not an intervention. It was not a conference.
Her parents were still at work, and Mr. Lopez was getting ready for language arts, which would be starting any minute. She hadn’t been found out. In fact, she’d been chosen. She was the handpicked tour guide for this scrawny girl. She was still golden for now.
Chapter Two
Tilly watched Ash curiously as they walked down the hall. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Your eyes are all red.”
“Allergies,” Ash said.
“This time of year?” Tilly asked. She didn’t miss a beat.
Someone must have filled her in on the patterns of Maine’s four seasons, because Ash was pretty sure there was only one season in Florida.
“Or maybe I’m getting sick,” Ash said quickly. “Anyway, welcome to Quigley.”
She was keenly aware that Mrs. Shepard was just steps ahead of them. Some kids were in the hallway, now that Morning Meeting was over. When Mrs. Shepard stepped toward them, they scattered like confetti. She was a big person, like a basketball player, in a bright red blazer and a heavy silver necklace. People liked Mrs. Shepard, but no one ever got too close.
She stopped a third grader to ask about his dad, who was in the hospital. Then a teacher grabbed her arm and started talking. Meanwhile, Ash and Tilly just kind of stood there. What am I supposed to do now? Ash wondered. What would a fifth-grade leader do, if she still was one? Would she go into tour-guide mode? Ash cared more about making a good impression on Mrs. Shepard than about making a good impression on Tilly. She’d start to show the new girl around, Ash decided, and Mrs. Shepard could catch up when she was ready.
She motioned for Tilly to follow her. “So…,” Ash said. “The younger kids have this whole floor to themselves. Third, fourth, and fifth graders are upstairs.” They passed a long line of classrooms on their way to the art and music rooms. Ash showed her the gym—echoing and empty at this time of day, its floors shining like a mirror—and the cafeteria, which was still serving breakfast to go. Ash showed her the spacious bathrooms and the volunteer room, where Mrs. Silver was making copies. There was a bright nook, halfway down the hall, where groups of kids could gather to work together. There were smaller rooms between the classrooms, for the same purpose. “That way if you need extra help,” Ash explained, “there’s someplace for you to work one-on-one with an adult.” For all she knew, Tilly needed extra help all the time.
It was funny to see Quigley through Tilly’s eyes. It was a regular public school, but it was built only a few years ago, so it was still really nice—it even had that new-school smell of fresh paint and raw wood. Ash’s parents complained about the parking for school events, and some kids felt lost in such a big building, but Ash didn’t think Tilly was noticing any of these problems. Her eyes widened as the tour continued. A strand of yellow hair peeked out from under her hood, but most of her face was still hidden in the sweatshirt. Ash couldn’t even see her fingers.
They walked into the art room, where watercolors had been left on a shelf to dry. Ash introduced Tilly to Mr. Bones, the skeleton that stood by the door, wearing a beret and holding a painter’s palette. At last, Tilly spoke. “This art room is huge,” she said. “Nothing like my old school.” Ash didn’t ask about her old school, because she was too eager to show that Quigley had a kiln for baking pottery. Tilly actually smiled. Her front teeth overlapped a little, and Ash wondered if that meant she needed braces. Kids in their grade were starting to get them now.
The music room was right next door, a tangle of black music stands. “Fifth graders can play an instrument,” Ash told her. “We have band twice a week, and there’s a concert in June.” She remembered this because it was always on her birthday.
Tilly started to emerge from her sweatshirt, like a turtle coming out of its shell. Her neck stretched, and she swept the hood off to reveal a blond mop. “You think I can join in the middle of the year?” she asked. “I’d love to play the clarinet.”
Ash didn’t know. They’d been working on their songs since September. Would Tilly be able to catch up? Being a new kid meant being out of step with the rhythm of the school, like when the drums came in at the wrong time on a song. It was going to take some time and practice before she got in sync with everyone else.
Copyright © 2022 by Kate Egan