The New Daycare

Bodhi stood in the doorway and didn't go in.

Everything was wrong.

The cubbies were on the left side. At his old daycare, the cubbies were on the right side. These cubbies were blue. His old cubbies were yellow.

And the smell. It smelled like lemon soap and somebody else's lunch. It didn't smell like his place. It didn't smell like anything he knew.

Mama had kissed him that morning. She kissed him once, then twice, then three times, then one more for his pocket. He had put that kiss in his jacket pocket and zipped it shut.

Now he held his hand over that pocket and stood in the doorway.

"You can come in," said a teacher with a big, poofy bun on top of her head. "I'm Miss Rena."

Bodhi took one step. Just one.

The floor was shiny. Too shiny. His old floor had a scuff mark shaped like a moon near the block corner. He had loved that scuff mark.

Miss Rena showed him his cubby. It had his name on it — BODHI — but the letters were printed on a yellow star. At his old daycare, his name was on a green dinosaur.

He put his backpack in the cubby. It looked small and lonely in there, all by itself.

At snack time, Bodhi sat at a round table. A girl across from him was eating orange slices and humming.

"I'm Priya," she said with her mouth full. A little bit of orange fell out.

Bodhi almost smiled. Almost.

"You're new," said Priya. "I was new once. I cried in the bathroom."

"I'm not crying," said Bodhi.

"I know," said Priya. "You're just quiet. That's different."

She pushed an orange slice toward him. It slid across the table, slow and wobbly.

He ate it. It was good.

After snack, everyone went outside. The playground had a big wooden climber with a twisty slide. Bodhi's old playground had a straight slide, the fast kind that made your tummy jump.

He sat on a tire near the fence and unzipped his jacket pocket. He put his hand inside and held the kiss from Mama. It was still there. He could feel it — warm and small, like a tiny sun.

Priya ran over. "Come see the mud spot!" she said.

"What mud spot?"

"The BEST mud spot."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the corner of the playground where the grass didn't grow. There was a puddle of thick, squishy mud the color of chocolate.

Priya stomped right in. SPLORCH.

Mud flew up and landed on Bodhi's shoe. One fat brown dot, right on his white shoe.

He looked down at it.

Priya looked down at it.

"Oops," she said.

And then Bodhi laughed. A real laugh. It came up from his belly and surprised even him.

He stomped his other foot in. SPLORCH.

Mud splattered Priya's knees. She shrieked and stomped again. He stomped again. They stomped together — SPLORCH SPLORCH SPLORCH — until their shoes were completely, beautifully brown.

When Mama came to pick him up, Bodhi was standing by his cubby. His backpack wasn't lonely anymore — it was stuffed next to a drawing Priya had made him. A wobbly circle with two stick legs. "That's you," she had told him.

Mama looked at his shoes. "Oh, Bodhi."

"There's a mud spot," he said. "The BEST mud spot."

He took her hand. And with his other hand, he unzipped his pocket and let Mama's kiss float back to her.

He didn't need to carry it anymore.

His shoes knew the way now.