Layla walked up the painted steps. The school doors flashed red and yellow. A tinny bell rang from inside. She took one step, then stopped. Her shoes scuffed the warm concrete.
She pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the classroom door. Through the narrow window she saw posters, a reading rug shaped like a continent, and a girl with blue braids folding a star from gold paper.
Layla pulled back and gripped her backpack straps tighter. She didn't know if she could go in. The bell rang again, louder this time.
The classroom door swung open. An adult woman with curly gray hair stood there, paint on her jeans, her smile soft and slow like morning light. "You must be Layla!" she said, holding out a hand.
Layla stepped inside. The hallway filled with the sound of chalk on boards and pages turning. She didn't think — her feet just moved forward.
A gold star sat on a desk by the window, spinning in the light like a tiny sun. Layla's backpack slipped from her shoulder. From the unzipped pocket, a crumpled paper star tumbled onto the rug.
The girl with blue braids looked up from her desk. She saw the paper star on the rug, then looked at Layla. Layla picked up the gold star and held out the crumpled one.
"I made that one," Layla said. The blue-braided girl laughed — a bright sound like shaking maracas — and took the star. She held it next to the gold one. They sat together at the small table, shoulders almost touching.
The teacher with curly gray hair brought over two fresh sheets of paper and set them on the table. The blue-braided girl unfolded hers and began to crease the corners. Layla watched, and then she took her own sheet and started to fold.
The classroom filled with the soft sound of paper folding. Two stars grew on the table — one gold, one white — and Layla's fingers finally stopped shaking.
