Aksel
Fourth Grade
Iwalk into the classroom and hand the note to the teacher. Ms. Stensil is really big, like she takes up more space than other teachers. Her long gray hair hangs straight down her back, and she doesn’t smile at all. She looks at me for a second like she’s trying to decide something, then grabs the note and reads it.
“No assigned seats. Sit wherever,” she says. Her voice soundsscratchy, like gravel crunching under shoes.
I look around the room. There aren’t many kids here yet, but the ones that are sit right up front. They look like the kind of kids who always raise their hands and do their homework early. I don’t want to sit there. I look at the window instead. Outside is a huge courtyard with trees and grass and sunshine. I like the sun. I decide to sit by the window so I can look out if I get bored.
I get bored a lot.
My parents say my brain goes too fast. They’ve tried to slow it down with games and puzzles and even medicine once, but the medicine made everything feel fuzzy and wrong, like I wasn’t really there. They stopped it pretty quickly. I think they’d rather have me distracted than gone.
The warning bell rings, and suddenly the room fills up with noise and kids and backpacks. That’s when I see him.
There’s a boy who doesn’t look like anyone else. He has brown skin and black hair and a face I can’t stop looking at. His nose is kind of big, but not in a bad way. In a good way. It fits his face. He looks beautiful, like a picture in a book. My fingers start to feel tingly, like they want to hold a pencil and draw him right now before I forget.
I don’t know how long I’m staring, but suddenly he’s right in front of me.
“You’re in my spot,” he says. His voice sounds mad. “Theteachersaidwecansitanywhere,”Isay, because that’s what she said.
“It’sstillmyspot,”heargues.“Isithereeveryday.
You can’t just take it.”
I don’t know what to do. The bell rings again, loud and sharp, and Ms. Stensil shuts the door.
“Mr. Aka,” she snaps, “sit down. Now.”
“But he took my seat,” the boy says, and he stomps his foot a little. It’s kind of cute, even though he’s mad.
“Doyouwanttogototheprincipal’soffice?”she asks.
Hefreezes.Hisfacegoespale,andheshakeshis head really fast before hurrying to a desk in the back. I watch him sit down with his shoulders hunched. I don’t think he’s bad. I think he’s scared.
The rest of the day happens, but I don’t remember much of it. My brain keeps going back to that boy. I wonder if he hates me now. I wonder what his name is. I wonder if he ever talks to anyone. I wonder if boys are allowed to like other boys.
I think I like him.
When school is over, I wait for my mom and climb into the back of her car, buckling into my seat.
“How was school, Kær?” she asks. That meansdear.
I like the way it sounds.
“It was okay,” I say.
“Did you learn anything new?”
“Not really.”
She laughs a little. “Meet anyone interesting?”
“Therewasaboy,”Isay.“He’sreallypretty.Isthat okay?"
“Of course it is,” she says right away. “What was he “Ithinkhemightbemadatme.Isatinhisseaton accident.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” she says.
