Free Hemingway Tradition by Kristen Butcher Page B

fooled.The timing was a little too convenient. Besides, my grandparents live in Winnipeg, and that’s where my mom grew up. I never told her I didn’t believe her, though. Pretending was easier for both of us.
    The next thing I knew, it was time to head back to school. I couldn’t believe it. It was only August 29! In Vancouver, school never started until after Labor Day, so I was getting gypped out of almost a week’s vacation. But when I stopped to think about it, I was sort of glad. Since my mom had started her new job, I’d spent so much time alone I was starting to talk to myself. I was ready to meet some new people.
    That first day was pretty much like it had been at my old school. But because everything was new and strange and I didn’t know anybody, it felt totally different. Normally I would’ve tracked down my friends and hung out with them until the bell rang. But because I didn’t have any friends, I just leaned against the school, trying not to look out of place.
    Dakota Collegiate Institute — DCI for short — was smaller than my old school, but not by much. It sat on a corner close to a busy intersection, so kids were coming at it from every direction. There were transit stops on both sides of the street, and every few minutes a bus would dump a fresh batch of bodies onto the sidewalk. Other kids arrived on foot, skateboard and bicycle, and the rest came by car, rumbling into the gravel parking lot with their radios blasting. By the time the bell rang, the place was so jammed it looked and sounded like a massive outdoor concert. The way everyone pushed into the building, you would’ve thought they were giving money away inside. Not that I’m criticizing — I was part of the herd too.
    â€œOw!” a girl beside me grumbled. “Walk much?”
    â€œSorry,” I apologized, quickly picking up my size thirteen foot. But when I put it back down, I could tell by the lump under it that I was standing on something other than pavement again.
    â€œFor crying out loud!” the girl complained and gave me a shove. “Could you try walking on your own feet instead of mine?”
    â€œSorry,” I apologized for the second time in less than a minute. Then I tried a joke. “There seems to be a sidewalk shortage.” I grinned down at her hopefully. She was pretty short, and next to me, she looked even shorter. Even though I wouldn’t be seventeen until January, I was already six-foot-two.
    She rolled her eyes and turned back to the girl beside her.
    So much for humor. I was obviously going to have to stop stepping on toes if I hoped to make any friends.
    I’d had a tour of the school when I registered, so I found my homeroom without much trouble — not that it did me any good. All the seats were taken by the time I got there. Some guy snagged the last desk by the door just as I arrived. The only other empty chair was at the very front of the class. Great. Now I was not only the new kid; I was also a geek. The day just kept getting better and better.
    â€œLocker 131 — Jai Dhillon and Shaw Se-bring.” The teacher glanced up from the paper in front of her and peered around the room.
    I looked around too, just in time to see this little East Indian kid jump out of his seat like he’d been popped out of a toaster —flashing the biggest smile I’d ever seen outside a beauty pageant. Right away everyone else in the room grinned too.
    â€œGo, Jai-i! Go, Jai-i!” someone chanted, and the other kids started to clap.
    It was pretty clear my locker partner was either the class clown or a leader of the people. But at that moment all I cared about was that I wasn’t going to have any competition for the top shelf of our locker.
    â€œI don’t remember you from Grade 10,” Jai said, as we taped our timetables to the inside of the door. “Were you here last year?”
    I shook my head. “No. I just