The bus hisses to a stop in front of the school. Cleo grips the pole. Her silver fidget spinner buzzes in her hand.
New school, the bus driver calls. The bus lurches forward. The girl keeps her eyes on the road ahead.
The classroom hums with too many voices. The clock ticks louder than anything. She presses the spinner between her palms, breathes in and out, and walks to the empty desk by the window.
Recess is loud and full of running feet. She stands at the edge of the playground. The slide squeaks.
She counts to ten. Then seven. Then three. She takes one step forward.
She counts again. One step. Two steps. The slide squeaks under her sneakers.
Lunchtime. The cafeteria is full of clattering trays and loud voices. She finds a spot at a long table.
She opens her lunchbox. A T-Rex sticker peeks out from under her napkin. That's a good T-Rex, says a voice.
Her shoulders drop. He's my favorite. The girl sits down beside her.
I have a dinosaur lunchbox too, the girl says. The spinner goes quiet between Cleo's fingers.