Two figures moved quietly under the moonlight.
Silently they carried box after cardboard box of household items from the back of the U-Hall truck up the four steps of the wraparound porch and into the open door of the old Queen Anne house. Had anyone seen them, they’d have thought this a very strange time of day to be moving into a new home, with no assistance and hardly any light—not even streetlights. But no one saw them. The house was a lonely soul surrounded by dense oak trees set well back from an even lonelier road.
Which was exactly the way the new owners liked it.
***
“That’s your registration complete, Mr. Winters!” said the cheery registration clerk as she tapped in the last of Caleb’s details into her computer. “Welcome to Abraham Junior High!”
“Thanks,” said Caleb quietly. He’d joined the school right in the middle of the semester, and felt like he’d walked on stage during a play without any lines. He could hear the hustle and bustle of students in the corridor outside the office. There were even more kids here than there were in his previous school in Arizona. For any other newcomer that would mean a fresh crop of friends. But not for Caleb. Friendship was not an option.
As he turned to go find his homeroom, the registrar said: “Just one moment, Caleb. We usually see a student’s parents on registration day. I know it’s just you and your mother, but couldn’t she come to the school today?”
“No,” said Caleb simply. “She’s sick, you see. I take care of her. So, no, she can’t come.”
The registrar nodded sympathetically. “All right then. I hope you like it here, Caleb. Did you get the bus to school this morning? Number 8 goes out that way.”
“No, I must have missed it.”
“Did you come in someone else’s car?”
“No—I walked.”
“Walked?” the registrar said incredulously. She knew that Caleb lived far out on a long stretch of country road, and couldn’t imagine this little twelve-year-old making the journey on foot. “That’s several miles, isn’t it?”
Caleb nodded.
“Well, just make sure you take the bus home tonight. Number 8.”
Reassuring her with a smile, Caleb turned to go. A bus trip home would certainly be welcome. But it wasn’t going to happen.
The day was long, confusing, and stressful. Some of his new classmates were very friendly while others kept their distance from the pale newcomer. Several boys—and girls—made the effort to introduce themselves and ask Caleb about himself, his family, and about the heat and dust of New Mexico. Caleb answered them in short, noncommittal sentences, giving them only the barest of bare bones information. Hopefully, the other students would peg him as shy or weird, and just accept him that way. But that was perfect for Caleb.
The day’s classes passed like dominos falling in slow motion. Caleb sat in the back, paid attention, and said nary a word. The only class where he perked up was music class—because music class meant he could sing. And when Caleb Winters sang, his heart sang along with him. It was the one thing that made him feel good, that made him feel alive.
“You have quite a pair of lungs on you, Caleb,” lauded Ms Giardino, the music teacher, after hearing her newest pupil’s a rendition of Annie’s Song that had roused the rest of the music class to burst into spontaneous applause at the song’s end.
“Thank you,” replied a very satisfied Caleb.
“So, what do you hope to do when you get older?”
