Bumble walked beside his mother on the cool sidewalk. Sunlight bounced off the parked cars and the big school clock ticked past nine. He squeezed her hand tight.
At the school door, Bumble tugged his mother's hand. Down, down he went, sliding behind her leg. The hallway smelled like crayons and lemon cleaner.
He pressed his back flat against her ankle. Eyes squeezed shut. His fingers spread wide at the door.
Through his spread fingers, the door cracked open. A wavy line of light slipped through. Bumble blinked.
One eye popped open. Kids grinned cross-legged on the rug. A teacher knelt by the window, fingers painted yellow and blue.
Screech! A chair leg dragged. A kid howled with laughter. Bumble grabbed his mother's hand and dove back behind her leg. Then—the teacher spotted him.
The teacher crawled forward on her knees. Yellow and blue smears trailed behind her across the tile. Closer. Closer. She stopped right at the doorway.
The room went quiet. She dangled a paper tag on a string—tick, tick, tick against her paint-stained fingers. "Will you hang your name up?"
His shoes shuffled forward one inch. He let go of his mother's hand and reached for the string. The tag bumped his nose. "Hnnk!"
He walked to the art wall and stuck BUMBLE in its square. A kid next to the wall clapped. "Hi!" Morning sun sliced through the window and turned his letters orange.