She’d never realized how different she was until the first day of school.

 

At home, her precocious questions were met with looks of pride exchanged between her adopted parents before being carefully answered. Occasionally, she would get frustrated over the bite-sized bits of information they doled out, dumbed down to be age-appropriate. She wanted to know more – she wanted to know everything, all at once. She’d learned to go easy on them, however, attuned to the barely perceptible shift in attitude when they’d grown tired of explaining.

 

Similarly, she’d realized her parents would rather treat it as a game when she told them what their golden retriever puppy, Gypsy, was thinking. Mom would chuckle when she insisted Gypsy was not fond of chicken-flavored dog food... in fact, she rather liked carrots. Dad would laugh out loud when she asked him to please not wear his aftershave because it hurt Gypsy’s nose.

 

“Oh, what an imagination she has!” They would marvel. “She’ll probably grow up to be a writer.”

 

It didn’t bother her overly much that they thought she was making it up. Gypsy appreciated her efforts – she’d told her so.

 

But on that first day of school, when she’d stood up to ask the teacher to explain why it got dark earlier in the wintertime, she’d been scolded, and told to take her seat.

 

“We will get to that eventually, Chandra,” Mrs. Pierce said with a frown. “Please do not disrupt the class again.”

 

But she couldn’t help herself fifteen minutes later, when the class hamster scrabbled at the sides of his glass aquarium, screaming out that he was starving.

 

“We need to feed Skippy, now!” she stood up and announced, pity for the poor creature compelling her to brave Mrs. Pierce’s wrath. “He’s so hungry his tummy hurts! Can’t you hear him crying?”

 

Her plea was met with incredulous looks from her classmates, as well as a few snickers. Chandra heard whispered snippets from the kids seated nearby, calling her crazy, and her cheeks flamed.

 

Mrs. Pierce strode over to her desk at once, anger emanating from every fiber of her stocky figure. “We feed the hamster on a schedule, as I explained earlier.”

 

Her tone was icy as she grasped Chandra’s arm, pulling her up from her chair.

 

“You will go stand in the cloakroom for the remainder of this lesson, since you seem intent on breaking the rules.”

 

Mortified, Chandra hung her head meekly and obeyed, though tears threatened.

 

Skippy watched her intently from his cage, on high alert. With her thoughts, she told him:

 

I’m sorry. I tried to help but she wouldn’t listen.

 

Dejected, the hamster laid down on his cedar chips, despair settling over his furry body.

 

His hopelessness was her undoing. Tears rolled silently down Chandra’s cheeks.

 

That afternoon, Mrs. Pierce sent her home with a note for her parents, describing her “unruly” behavior. Mom and Dad sat on the edge of her bed and lectured her quietly.

 

“You need to try to follow the rules,” Mom said. “No talking out of turn.”

 

“Just follow the other children’s lead,” Dad suggested. “Try to fit in.”

 

Chandra nodded, but a sadness washed over her. One day at school had been enough to convince her she’d never fit in.

 

Weeks went by, and Chandra was shunned by her classmates. No one wanted to sit next to her at lunch, and she was never invited to play four-square or hopscotch with the other girls at recess.

 

She comforted herself by carrying on conversations in her head with Skippy, and the newest class pet, a lizard named Leo. She found their opinions on the meaning of life to be quite interesting.

 

It was Leo who alerted her on that fateful Wednesday that change was afoot.

 

“There’s someone coming,” he said, his reptilian eye unblinkingly focused on hers. “Someone like you.”

 

Five minutes later, the classroom door opened, and the principal led a fair-haired boy to the front of the room. After conferring briefly with Mrs. Pierce, Principal Quinn departed, leaving her to introduce the new student.

 

“Class, let’s give a warm welcome to our newest student, Micah,” she announced.

 

Looking around the room, her eyes fell on Chandra, surrounded by empty desks. Her lips pursed, and her eyes narrowed.

 

“Micah, please take a seat at the back.”

 

Shyly, the new boy made his way through the rows and slid into a chair next to Chandra. When she glanced at his face, she was startled by his pale green eyes, so like her own. Looking away quickly, she tried to focus on the lesson at hand, but suddenly a new voice popped into her head.

 

I’m here for you. It took me forever to find you.

 

Chandra flinched, startled, and swiveled her head.

 

Micah’s eyes fixed on hers, drawing her in. Her vision flickered, like a TV changing channels.

 

Suddenly, her sight was filled with a strange landscape, conjuring up puzzling feelings of homesickness. Kiwi-colored sand, welcoming and cool… towering craggy mountains sparkling like glitter in a vivid shade of indigo.

 

In an instant, the illusion was gone, and Chandra blinked rapidly, yearning for it to come back. Her wide eyes stared into Micah’s, sending an urgent message.

 

Where??? What is that place?

 

Home, he replied. When it’s time, I’ll take you there.

 

Chandra grinned, elation building inside her. Home, she repeated. Yes, I think I remember.

 

Micah was staring straight ahead now, his attention ostensibly focused on Mrs. Pierce.

 

But for now, we must learn, in the manner of Earth’s children.

 

Dutifully, Chandra turned her attention to the lesson, though her mind whirled with dozens of questions. Something had shifted inside her. Her very soul felt soothed by Micah’s presence.

 

She was no longer alone.

 

Across the room, Skippy grinned with glee, and Leo gave a long, solemn blink of approval.