Moshi unzipped the SARASAS backpack and froze. The lunchbox lid flipped open — no sandwich. Just a sticky note: Thanks! Three classmates sat nearby, each with half an apple or a bitten granola bar. Moshi looked at the empty box, then at the clock. Packing the bag again felt easier than asking where the sandwich went.
Moshi carried the backpack down the hall and tapped the principal's doorframe three times. Inside, a woman stamped a paper and slid it across the desk. It smelled like ink and warm glue. Moshi folded the schedule carefully, the new TECHAWIT SCHOOL stamp bold and blue, and walked out with a small knot of worry still tied in their shoulders.
Techawit's hallways were wider and painted gold. Every student seemed to know exactly which locker was theirs. Moshi stood holding the new schedule, watching lockers open and close in a steady rhythm. No one looked lost. Moshi tucked the schedule into the backpack and followed the crowd toward the playground.
Moshi stood at the edge of the playground clutching a juice box. A group of children in bright orange shirts marched past, chanting something about a Halloween parade. Someone tossed a paper baton toward Moshi's shoes. It landed with a soft thwack right at the toe. Joining felt like the only option.
Moshi picked up the baton and fell into step behind the marching line. They reached the gym, where colorful streamers hung from the ceiling and someone was handing out plastic pumpkins filled with crayons. Moshi took one, the plastic cool against their palm, and found a spot near the wall.
Moshi set the baton down and unscrewed the pumpkin lid. Crayons rattled softly. Picking up an orange one, Moshi began drawing a grin on the pumpkin's smooth surface — wobbly teeth, one eye bigger than the other. The gym buzzed with laughter and the scratch of crayon on plastic.
Moshi held up the pumpkin, admiring the crooked smile. A boy with painted whiskers on his cheeks appeared beside them, holding out a green candy apple. Trade? he asked, eyes bright. Moshi looked at the candy, then at the pumpkin, and nodded quickly.
Moshi climbed onto a small step stool and hung the paper pumpkin on a classroom doorknob. The candy apple was saved for later. Below, the hallway emptied into the playground where the parade was still marching. Tomorrow would be a different day at a different school.
Turning the corner, Moshi spotted another door — this one marked CHRISTMAS in silver letters. A long rope of construction-paper stars hung across the frame, but the middle section was still empty. A teacher appeared with a roll of glitter tape and pointed to the gap. Moshi took the roll and stepped forward.
Moshi pressed the glitter tape along the seam where the stars met the empty space, connecting one star to the next. The tape caught every bit of light and sent it shooting back in tiny sparkles. The garland was nearly complete now, stretching from one side of the door to the other in a shimmering arc.
Stepping back, Moshi watched the whole hallway glow — gold walls, silver stars, the OCTOBER sun pouring through the windows. It felt like standing between two festivals, both at once. Halloween and Christmas sharing the same corridor, the same light, the same breathless quiet before the noise began.
Moshi leaned against the gold wall and took a slow breath. The parade had moved on. The Christmas decoration was finished. Somewhere down the hall, a bell rang for the next period. New schedule, new hallway, new pumpkin on the door. It was enough.