Is it common to feel like an outsider even when you are surrounded by people you call friends? That is the problem I, Layla Matthews, have lived with for as long as I can remember. I have struggled to truly connect with people. Mom tried introducing me to her coworkers’ children, arranging playdates with smiles and polite conversations, but I was never curious enough to keep them going. Books, on the other hand, never bored me like conversation did.

The classroom is still waking up around me, chairs scraping against the floor and voices overlapping as students start filling the classroom of Heritage Middle School. I flip through the pages of my new book, The Sixth Man by David Baldacci, before slipping it under my desk just as familiar footsteps surround me.

Cleon is the first to appear, dropping his bag on my desk with a thud before collapsing into the chair in front of me. Vanora leans against the side of my desk, arms crossed, while Elio spins a chair around and sits on it backward. Tisha arrives last and slides into the seat beside me. 

“What are you reading, our local bookworm?” Cleon asks, grinning as he props his chin on his palm.

“Must be another romance,” Elio adds, wiggling his eyebrows, “You know how girls get when the guy is super tall and has a deep voice.” I snort at his point which is…frankly accurate but he is wrong, since the book is anything but romance.

“Just admit you’re jealous,” Vanora shoots back, rolling her eyes, “You’re all failing terribly at this thing called charisma.”

That earns a few laughs, including mine. Tisha nudges my shoulder lightly and turns to glare at the boys, “Let Layla read whatever she wants,” she says firmly, “And you guys stay out of her interests.” The boys exchange looks but wisely keep their comments to themselves. 

Elio suddenly straightens in his seat and twists around to look toward the back door of the classroom, “Hey there, Chocolate boy!” he shouts.

Cleon’s eyebrows knit together, and the rest of us, including me, turn toward the door. Standing there is the transfer student who joined our class six months ago, right at the beginning of sixth grade. Vanora clicks her tongue and jabs Elio hard in the side.

“Why do you call him that? He is obviously uncomfortable.”

As if on cue, the boy offers a polite smile and walks past the students toward his seat at the back of the room. He moves like he is trying not to draw attention, even though that is impossible with his height.

His eyes meet mine for a brief second. Something flickers across his face, surprise maybe, before he quickly ducks his head and pulls a notebook from his bag. I realize I am still looking at him long after he has sat down.

“Geez, Layla,” Elio says with a grin, “You are going to scare the new student with that stare.”

Vanora elbows him again without hesitation, “Would it hurt you to not be sarcastic for once?”

“And would it hurt you to not hurt me once?” He shoots back, rubbing his side.

“You deserve it,” Vanora replies instantly.

The two of them continue bickering, and the three of us decide to tune them out. Cleon drags his chair closer, the legs screeching against the floor, and leans in to whisper.

“Why did he have to transfer to our class? Just look at him. He is a goddamn tower.”

“I didn’t know your ego was that fragile, Cleon,” Tisha says, not even looking at him, pulling out her books and being the systematic student that she is before the teacher announces her arrival. 

Cleon shoots her a glare and mutters something under his breath, “He could have gone to six B. That junky Bryce could use a reality check with how boastful he is.”

“That sounds awfully like you,” Tisha replies.

“Hey! I am not boastful. At least not to that level,” Cleon protests, throwing his hands up, “I just liked being the tallest in the class. Not anymore.”

He glances toward the back before continuing, lowering his voice, “I can’t be first in studying either. That spot is already booked by,” he points at me, “Layla. And if I wanted to even come close to her, I would need the help of a genie.”

“That genie would get tired of you very quickly with how indecisive you are,” Tisha says without missing a beat.

“If you don't have anything better to say, don't talk,” Cleon snaps.

I blink and look at all four of them, “What was his name again?” I ask. They all freeze and stare at me like I just said something scandalous.

“Chocolate boy?” Elio offers. Vanora elbows him again

“Mikhael. Mikhael Robert Lee. That is how he introduced himself,” Tisha answers, a hint of a smile curling at the corner of her lips, “Why the sudden interest in him?”

“I just observed…” I hesitate for half a second before continuing, “He always has a new scar on his face.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, Cleon, Elio, and Vanora all turn their heads in unison, staring toward the back of the classroom like a herd of curious giraffes. Tisha lets out a sigh beside me.

“Clumsy,” Cleon declares confidently.

“Probably clumsy,” Vanora agrees, nodding.

“Definitely clumsy,” Elio adds, far too pleased with himself.

“It is probably nothing, Layla,” Tisha says, her voice steady as she looks at me instead of him.

“Yeah,” I murmur, lowering my gaze to my desk, “I am just thinking too much.”

The door at the front of the classroom swings open, cutting off the conversation. Our English teacher walks in, heels clicking against the floor, and the room settles. Chairs scrape as everyone returns to their seats, voices fading into murmurs.

My thoughts drift back to a conversation Mom had once, about different kinds of parents she has seen in her work. The kind who nurture. The kind who control..and the kind who hurt without realizing it or even intentionally causing it… 

“Layla,” the teacher calls suddenly, “Please read the paragraph from page forty nine.”

My heart jumps, and I freeze for a second before standing up. Tisha quickly nudges her book toward me, already open to the right page. I lean closer and whisper a quick, “Thank you,” before straightening. The classroom goes quiet as I begin to read.