Back to Normal?

It’s the first day of fifth grade, and I’m walking to school. The sidewalk is jam-packed. Cars honk, buses zoom, bikes zip by. I pass my favorite doughnut shop—still closed. Across the street is the taco place where we had my ninth-birthday dinner. It’s closed too.

But today, I barely hear the city noises. I don’t stare at the empty stores and used-to-be-restaurants. I’m thinking about my best friend, Devon.

What an annoying kid!

Like the way he eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He stuffs it into his mouth, gets globs of peanut butter stuck in his braces . . . trust me, it’s a disaster.

And he’s always losing stuff—his soccer jersey, his bus pass, his earbuds. Good thing Devon’s head is screwed onto his neck. Otherwise he’d be running around shouting at me, “Elijah! Have you seen my head?”

I hear something, and I realize the noise is coming from my own mouth. I’m laughing about Devon. Out loud! What’s wrong with me? I whip my head around to see if anyone is staring. But of course they’re not. I keep forgetting I’m here, back home in my honking, beeping, zooming neighborhood. It’s way too noisy for anyone to hear a kid laughing on the sidewalk.

Not like in Grandpa’s quiet little town in Wisconsin, where Mom and I spent the last 16 months. We moved there in May of 2020, after Covid hit here. Hit hard.

School went all remote. Mom did her bank job from our kitchen table. I was afraid to step outside, like the air was filled with invisible monsters. Finally Grandpa came, drove 15 hours from Wisconsin to come get us. Mom and I figured we’d stay with Grandpa for a month or two, just until things here got back to normal. Six months went by. A year.

We finally came home last week, in time for me to start fifth grade in person.

But are things really normal here?

I peer behind me, half-believing that Devon is with me, that he just stopped to tie his sneaker.

But no. Devon’s not there. He moved to Texas. Like my favorite doughnut shop and the taco place—and so much else that Covid took away—my best friend Devon is gone.

I’ve barely managed to swallow the lump in my throat when a voice calls out.

“Elijah!”

It takes me a minute to realize that the girl standing next to me is Gia Malone.

My stomach twists, and I hear Devon’s voice in my mind.

Gia Malone is talking to you!

Quiet, I almost say.

If there were a king or queen of our grade, Gia would be wearing the crown. Her dad used to play professional baseball. But that’s not why everyone wants to be Gia’s friend. It’s just . . . she’s always smiling.

 “I hear you’ve got Mr. Temple too,” Gia says with that big grin. “He’s the best. Room 24, right?”

I nod, wondering how she heard I had Mr. Temple. I haven’t talked to anyone since I’ve been back.

“Where’s your twin?” she asks, looking around.

She means Devon. Not that Devon and I look anything alike. He’s tall, I’m short. My pale skin has freckles; his skin is smooth and brown. I’m a quiet, in-the-background type. Devon’s a nonstop talker.

If he were here, he’d be asking you about your summer, or if you know his favorite song. Never heard it? Don’t worry. Devon would sing it for you. Da-da-da, da, da, DA, until you said, “Oh yeah!”

Devon and I are so different. But that never mattered. We met during Pee Wee basketball in kindergarten and became instant best friends. Kids called us the twins because we were always together.

Until Covid.

“Devon’s still in Texas,” I tell Gia.

Devon’s dad was a chef at a fancy restaurant—which shut down. So the family went back to Texas, where his parents grew up.

“When’s he coming back?” Gia asks, her smile drooping a little.

He was supposed to be back by now. He said he would be every time we talked or FaceTimed. Which was about 10 times a day.

Finally, last week, Mom heard the truth from Devon’s mom.

“They’re staying in Texas,” I say. “They like being so close to family. Devon’s dad is opening a new restaurant.”

I make my voice steady and bright, like it’s fine with me that my best friend is thousands of miles away. I don’t tell Gia I’m not talking to Devon anymore, that I’ve ignored his millions of texts and calls and DMs.

Why didn’t Devon tell me he wasn’t coming back?

Gia eyes me. She looks so different—that’s why I didn’t recognize her at first. She’s taller, and her hair’s longer and curlier. All last year I saw her on Zoom. But seeing someone in a little box on the screen is different from seeing them right in front of you.

I bet I look different too.

More and more kids are rushing along the sidewalk, heading toward the school. Someone calls Gia’s name.

“See you, Elijah!” Gia says as she turns and hurries away.

She wants to be friends, Devon’s voice whispers in my mind.

What does it matter to you? I whisper back to invisible Devon. You’re gone.

Didn’t I tell you how annoying Devon is? I’m better off without him, right?

I need to stop thinking about him too.

I hang back on the sidewalk until most of the kids have gone inside the school. Then I put on my mask and head up the steep stone stairs, staring up at the WELCOME BACK banner.

I push through the heavy door and it hits me—that smell of school. That mysterious mix of floor cleaner and sweaty kids, Sharpies and French toast sticks, teachers’ coffee and bananas in lunch boxes. It’s not bad. It’s just like nothing else in the world.

And something happens to me when I breathe it in. My head fills up with swirling memories—Devon and me racing around the playground, shooting hoops, sitting on the floor in the library listening to Mrs. Lincoln reading Harry Potter. Doing our secret handshake on the blacktop—thumbs hooked, hands clasped, high fives up to the sky.

How can I start school without Devon?

I feel dizzy. Oh no. What if I puke?

I stagger through the hallway and pull open the first door I find.

Quickly, I enter a small, dark room. I shut the door hard and stand there in the pitch dark, my eyes squeezed shut. Minutes tick by. The bell rings. The hall outside is quiet.

Finally, I’m not dizzy. I open my eyes.

Where am I?

I fumble around the wall and flick the light switch.

I look around . . .

Oh no. No, no, no.

I’d rather be in a haunted dungeon than be here . . . in the teachers’ bathroom!

I turn the knob and pull the door. It won’t budge. I yank harder. Nothing.

It’s the first day of fifth grade. I’m stuck in the teachers’ bathroom.

This is definitely not normal.

The morning announcements come and go. I imagine Mr. Temple taking attendance, calling my name.

Elijah Philips? Where is he?

My heart starts to pound. What will happen to me in here? I could starve. They’ll find my skeleton. What a way to go, locked in the teachers’ bathroom!

I hear a sound somewhere close—laughing. But it’s not coming from my mouth. It’s in my head.

It’s Devon’s laugh. Did I tell you how annoying his laugh is? The kid sounds like a sick donkey.

Shhhh, I whisper—out loud.

But this is funny.

No, it’s not.

Yep, it is.

He laughs harder. I picture him doubled over, tears pouring from his laughing face.

I hear another noise.

I’m laughing too. The sound fills the teachers’ bathroom.

Try the door again, Devon says. Push, genius.

I turn the knob. I push. The door opens.

Did I tell you that Devon is really smart?

I step out and almost smash into someone. A tall lady in a flowered dress.

It’s Mrs. Lincoln, our librarian.

“Elijah!” she says, way too loud. Not mad loud. Happy loud. “You’re home!”

She puts her hand on my shoulder. Somehow, I see her huge smile behind her mask.

“Get to class,” she says. “I’m sure everyone’s waiting. And you’d better come see me! I want to hear all about Wisconsin. Wait until you see all the new books I have for you!”

We fist-bump and I head down the hall, walking faster and faster.

I run up the flight of stairs and spot room 24. The door is open. I see Gia and other kids. Smiling eyes. Waves.

I hear Devon in my mind again as I step into the room.

Say hi to everyone, Devon says.

I will.

Promise to call me later.

All right.

I miss you.