Milo's fingers dug into his mom's palm as they walked down the sidewalk lined with painted mailboxes and bright flower beds. The school building loomed ahead with its swinging doors and a wall of windows reflecting the morning sky.
Milo's grip tightened when he saw the big sign that read Welcome, First Graders! He stayed close behind his mom, his small sneakers scuffing the pavement with every step.
Inside, the classroom was full of faces and noise. The teacher with glasses on a chain smiled down at the line of children and knelt to Milo's level. She held out two fingers.
"Pick one, Milo," she said softly. Milo pointed to the desk by the window, and the teacher nodded toward it. He took a deep breath and walked forward.
Milo walked to the desk alone, each step echoing on the tiled floor. The classroom hummed with colors—posters on the walls, a fish tank bubbling in the corner.
He set his backpack down and ran his hand along the smooth wooden edge. The sound of chairs scraping filled the room. It was so big and loud and new.
A girl with a red ribbon in her hair slid a box of crayons across the desk toward him. Milo stared at the crayons, then at his blank paper, then at the girl.
The girl tapped the box with her pencil. "You can borrow," she said. Milo's fingers hovered over the lid. He wasn't sure what to do.
Milo picked up a blue crayon. He pressed it to the paper and drew a house with a red door and a big tree. The lines were shaky but steady.
The girl pointed to his paper and grinned. "That's my house!" Milo looked up and laughed, a bright sound. His shoulders dropped, and for the first time, he smiled.
The teacher walked by and gave Milo a thumbs-up. He nodded back, picking up the red crayon. The girl slid her own paper over and pointed to a spot.
Milo started drawing again, this time with the red crayon. The classroom didn't seem so loud anymore. It felt a little bit like his.
