Thump, thump, squeak, squeak. The noise poured out of the towering doors. A line of little backpacks climbed the steps without looking back.
Sparrow planted one foot on a crunchy golden leaf and gripped both backpack straps until her knuckles went white. She thought: 'Just walk up. That's all.'
Swish, swish. The swinging doors swung wide and the echoing hallway swallowed her whole. She followed the sharp smell of floor-wax and lunchboxes deeper in.
A girl with two braids held out half a peanut-butter sandwich. 'Want some?' The crinkly wrapper went skrrrr in the sudden quiet corner of the hall.
The teacher crouched low, a goldfish sticker flapping on her shirt. She beamed. 'Oh! You're the new Sparrow!'
A tiny boy in the back row raised his hand. 'Do sparrow people fly?' Every kid stomped and laughed. The big room tilted like a wobbly boat.
'Come say hi, Sparrow!' The teacher clapped her hands. Sparrow's scuffed shoe squeaked on the linoleum. The braid-girl squeezed her free hand tight.
Sparrow shifted her weight from one foot to the other. 'Hi. I'm Sparrow.' One quiet breath. Then the whole room cheered.
At three o'clock, Sparrow stood in the front doorway and waved. No tears. Just a crowd of grinning faces and the braid-girl pointing.
She tucks her scuffed shoe into her backpack pocket and walks down the tree-lined path. 'One star, two stars, three stars—' The golden leaves rustle in time. She's already there, at tomorrow's first bell.
