He crouched by the lockers.
Feet swarmed by. Sneakers, sandals, loafers, tennis-shoes. The hallways rang with voices and a smell wafted from the floor. A mix of sweat, old puke, and industrial cleaner. The smell of school.
It was odd. To be invisible.
Not literally, but still. A new kid in a city with more kids in this one building than in the whole town he’d come from.
“Hey, you,” a foot in a shiny Mary Jane nudged the edge of his bag.
He looked up.
“Cool. Come with. I’m Clara. Welcoming committee. Show you around.”
(Photo credit: J Hardy Carroll)