necessarily play with us at recess or hang out after school. I wasn't on top of the ladder nor at the bottom. I was just another student.
So when I arrived for my first day of sixth grade, I was not prepared for the environment that awaited me. The biggest surprise was the addition of another hundred or so students from the other two elementary schools of our area. That was a change I hadn't expected. The combining of two separate classes, each with their own cliques and cultures, was like mixing oil and water. Kids who had once been on top in terms of popularity suddenly found themselves on the bottom. At the same time, those who had been on the bottom suddenly found friends from the newcomers. It was a random shuffling of the deck; just about everyone found themselves in new positions of schoolyard fame. And me?
Yep. The bottom.
It was storming outside when Doc and I arrived. It was not uncommon for that time of year; the summer heat was still in full effect. A string of yellow buses rolled past the door one at a time, each stopping long enough for its payload of children to march through the rain to the front door. Above the school, four or five cranes were in the process of building a docking platform for the eventual conversion to an aerobus fleet as opposed to traditional ground vehicles. That wouldn't be completed until my second year of high school. Until then, the traditional loaf-of-bread shaped buses would remain the standard. I scanned the identification numbers printed on the sides of each in an effort to locate Herbie. His bus—rather, my bus—was always number one-fifteen.
Doc and I walked across the muddy soccer field. The rain was soaking us to the bone; I'd forgotten the weather had been like this for my first day of middle school. It was actually kind of foreboding, now that I think about it. I've never minded walking in the rain. I actually enjoy it at times. But I felt bad for Doc. I couldn't see him, but he must've been drenched. "Was this your first day of middle school?" he asked me.
"Yes," I replied. "And I had no idea what I was walking into. I actually thought it was going to be fun. We had different teachers for each class, so there was more of a chance of getting some nice ones. We had a bigger cafeteria with more food choices—not that I ever had the money, but I let myself dream. The gym was bigger and we even had an auditorium for school assemblies as opposed to the folding chairs they used to set up in the elementary gym."
"Optimism? From you?"
I pursed my lips. "It was a long time ago. I learned my lesson."
Bus one-fifteen was now visible about two or three places back in line. Rather than stand in the rain, I suggested heading to my first classroom to wait for Herbie. Though we weren't visible to anyone around us, we were soaking wet. I was worried that we were going to leave a trail of water in the halls, but our tracks just blended in with the footprints and drips left by other students. The hallways were wider than in elementary school, giving us plenty of room to walk without bumping into any of the kids. We made it to Miss Boyd's classroom without incident.
There were a couple of students there already, but I couldn't remember their names. Doc and I leaned against the rear counter, sopping wet. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, the room gradually filled with students. There were lots of kids I didn't recognize, but I saw Jim Browning, Alberto Vasquez, Shelly McConnell, and Biff Carney.
However, for Herbie, they were all unfamiliar faces. In fact when he finally arrived, he took a confused look around before heading to the teacher's desk to confirm that he was indeed in the right class.
Once the students were seated and the bell had rung, Miss Boyd stood and introduced herself. Then, in my least favorite ritual of any new class, she went around and had everyone introduce themselves and name one exciting thing they did over the summer. It was the first official opportunity to get laughed at each year. Some kids had exciting vacations taking cruises with the family or going to space camp. But then there were others that couldn't afford to do anything exciting.
That was my category.
In previous years, I'd always told the truth about my summers. But here, in middle school, in front of all new classmates, I decided to make up a story instead. When Herbie stood to tell the class about his summer, he said, "I went to Disney World!"
"Oh, and what was your favorite part of Disney World?" Miss Boyd just had to ask him.
I could see Herbie struggling to come up with an answer. Having never been there, he could only guess based on what he'd seen in pictures and on the holovision. "I like the train," he eventually said.
Miss Boyd's face lit up. "Oh, I love trains!"
Herbie faked a smile and sat down. None of the students laughed at him.
"Disney World?" Doc whispered to me.
"I lied, of course. No child wants to stand in front of his classmates and say, 'I didn't do anything.' The teacher inevitably asks why. The last thing I wanted to do was admit that we couldn't afford anything."
The kid next to Herbie, a freckled kid named Henry Gobbens, started whispering something to him. I crept closer to listen in, trying hard not to let my wet shoes squeak against the floor.
"It was amazing," Henry was saying. "I'm going back next summer for three weeks!"
Herbie nodded, clearly not knowing what to say. "What's your name?" he finally whispered.
"Henry. What's yours?"
"Herbert."
The girl in front of Henry stood. "My name is Crystal, and this summer I volunteered with my father to help clean up our highways by picking up garbage."
Henry looked at Herbert and started giggling. Herbert joined in. Both of them should have been scolded for it, but never were. Miss Boyd continued on as though she hadn't heard it. Crystal's face turned bright red, but she stood her ground without looking back at the boys.
I don't know why I laughed. Maybe I thought it was stupid of her to clean up other people's messes. Maybe I thought it was silly to volunteer rather than enjoy a vacation. Maybe I didn't understand why anyone would work for free. Whatever the reason, I know it was wrong. I'm pretty sure I knew then, too.
For the next few hours, we followed Herbie through his first day of middle school. Each class was filled with faces he didn't recognize. He was asked to introduce himself twice more, once describing his favorite food and another describing what he wanted to do when he grew up. And while I was not surprised to hear him list tacos as his favorite food, I was surprised to hear him say he wanted to be an author when he grew up. I remember I wanted to be a police officer, a firefighter, a pilot, and even an athlete during the course of my childhood. But I don't remember ever wanting to be an author.
Henry was also in Herbie's fifth class of the day. I seem to remember attaching to him because he was the only person who really spoke to me, and Nick and Aaron where nowhere to be found. I didn't make friends easily, so I was willing to accept Henry.
When we followed Herbie into the cafeteria, that familiar anxiety came over me. In school, one of my biggest fears was always that I'd have no one to sit with at lunch. Just like in grade school, I'd worry that there wouldn't be any space for me, or if there was, it would only be with people who would make fun of me. That anxiety still follows me whenever I go into our break room at work or any public restaurant.
So when Herbie found Nick and Aaron sitting with a group of kids near the front of the cafeteria, I should've been relieved. But I knew what was about to happen.
Aaron was holding what looked like a deck of playing cards in his hand. Nick was staring intently beside him. Surrounding them both was a group of faces that Herbie didn't recognize. "Hey, guys!" he called to his friends.
Nick looked up, but there was no smile on his face. "Hey, Herbert," he said. His attention went right back to Aaron, who hadn't even looked up.
"Aaron, how's it going?" Herbie called. Others in the crowd were starting to stare at him with questioning looks.
Aaron didn't even respond. He dealt a single card to each of the six kids surrounding hi
m. "Highest card wins my apple," he said.
I could see Herbie's smile beginning to falter. "Can I play?"
"I don't know, Herbert," Nick told me, taking his card from the table. "It's Aaron's game."
"Too crowded," Aaron said, still not looking up. "Sorry, Herb. Maybe some other time."
These boys were supposed to be my friends. "Come on, guys! Don't you have room for your best friend?"
Now Aaron's eyes rose. "Best friend? Where were you all summer, anyway? Disney World?"
Herbie's eyes went wide. "What? I didn't go to Disney World!"
Aaron shook his head and fiddled with the deck of cards. "Not what I heard. C'mon man, what kind of guy goes to Disney World and doesn't tell his best friends? My mom would've paid for a ticket for me to go with you!"
Nick frowned at Herbie. "And I would've done whatever extra chores I had to in order to get my mom to pay."
"It could've been awesome!" Aaron muttered. "But you didn't even tell us. Some friend you are!"
Herbie slammed his little fist on the table. "I didn't go to Disney World! I didn't go anywhere!"
"Not what I heard," Aaron said again. "Beat it, Herbie. We got more important things going on here."
I don't really know what I was thinking at this point. I know I was mad. I know I was hurt. And I was not going to just let it go.
The boys watched in shock as Herbie grabbed Aaron's apple—the