The New Kid and the Old Kid

Phoebe knew everything about Maple Creek Elementary. She knew that the water fountain near the gym squirted sideways if you pressed the button too fast. She knew that Mrs. Dunbar kept extra granola bars in her desk for kids who forgot their snacks. She knew that the best swing on the playground was the third one from the left because it went the highest.

So when Ms. Alvarez asked her to be the buddy for the new kid, Phoebe stood up a little straighter. "I'd be happy to," she said, in her most responsible voice.

The new kid's name was Ezra. He had a red backpack that was almost bigger than he was and shoes that looked brand new. He stood in the doorway of Room 14 like he wasn't sure the floor would hold him.

"I'm Phoebe," she said. "I've been at this school since kindergarten. That's three whole years. I know everything about this place."

Ezra nodded slowly. "Everything?"

"Everything."

On Monday, Phoebe walked Ezra to the cafeteria. She showed him where to pick up a tray, where the napkins were, and which lunch lady would give you extra tater tots if you said please.

"That's Darla," Phoebe whispered, pointing. "Always say please to Darla."

Ezra smiled a little. Then he looked around at all the tables full of kids laughing and throwing balled-up napkins and trading chips for cookies.

"Where should I sit?" he asked.

"Anywhere!" Phoebe said. "There's lots of tables."

Ezra looked at her. "But where should I sit?"

Phoebe opened her mouth. She was going to say something helpful and smart, because she always knew the right answer about Maple Creek Elementary. But she looked out at the cafeteria, and for the first time, she tried to see it the way Ezra might. A giant, noisy room full of kids who already had their people.

"You can sit with me," she said.

And so he did.

On Tuesday, Phoebe showed Ezra the library. She explained the whole system — picture books on the low shelves, chapter books on the tall ones, and the beanbag chairs in the corner that you had to get to early or they'd all be taken.

"Mrs. Chen is the librarian," Phoebe said. "She's really nice. She'll help you find anything."

Ezra ran his fingers along the spines of the books. "Do they have books in Spanish?" he asked.

Phoebe blinked. "In Spanish?"

"My abuela used to read to me in Spanish. Before I moved here. I was wondering if they had any of the same ones."

Phoebe didn't know. She had never once looked for books in Spanish. She didn't even know which shelf they'd be on.

"I'm... not sure," she said. The words felt strange in her mouth. "But we could ask Mrs. Chen."

They asked. Mrs. Chen showed them a small section near the window that Phoebe had walked past a hundred times and never noticed. Ezra found a book with a bright orange cover and held it against his chest.

"My abuela read me this one," he said quietly.

Phoebe looked at the shelf. There was a whole part of the library she'd never explored. Huh, she thought.

On Wednesday, it rained, which meant indoor recess. Phoebe showed Ezra the board games in the big plastic bin and the coloring supplies in the art corner.

"When it rains, we stay inside," she explained. "You can draw or play games or read."

Ezra stood by the window, watching the rain slide down in long, crooked lines.

"What do you do when you miss someone?" he asked.

Phoebe had been about to explain the rules of Connect Four. She stopped.

"What do you mean?"

"I miss my friends from my old school," Ezra said. He wasn't crying. He wasn't even frowning, really. He just said it, like it was a rock he'd been carrying in his pocket and finally set down on the table.

Phoebe didn't know what to say. She knew every crack in every sidewalk around this school, but she did not know how to fix the feeling Ezra was talking about. She had never moved. She had never been the new kid. She had never had to leave all her people behind and start over in a big, noisy building where everyone already knew each other.

She sat down next to him by the window.

"I don't know," she said. "I've never had to do that."

They sat together and watched the rain. After a while, Ezra said, "The rain sounds the same here as it did there."

Phoebe listened. She had never really listened to rain on a window before. It did sound nice — like tiny fingers tapping, asking to come in.

"Yeah," she said. "It does."

On Thursday, at recess, Ezra asked another question Phoebe couldn't answer.

They were on the playground, and Phoebe was pointing out all the important things: the four-square court, the tire swing, the spot by the fence where you could sometimes find roly-polies.

"What if nobody wants to be my friend?" Ezra asked. "Not because of you — you're nice. But what if that's it? What if it's just the buddy system and then it's over?"

Phoebe felt something twist in her stomach. Not because she was annoyed. Because she realized that being somebody's buddy wasn't just about knowing where the napkins were.

"Do you want to meet my friends?" she asked.

"What if they don't like me?"

"Well," Phoebe said, thinking hard, "my friend Maya likes bugs. Do you like bugs?"

Ezra thought about it. "I like beetles."

"That'll work," Phoebe said. "Come on."

She brought Ezra over to where Maya and Sam were crouched near the fence, poking at the dirt with sticks. "This is Ezra," Phoebe said. "He likes beetles."

Maya looked up. "Have you ever seen a stag beetle? They have giant pincers."

Ezra's eyes went wide. "My cousin found one once! It was THIS big!" He held his fingers apart — probably a little too far apart — but Maya gasped anyway.

Sam handed Ezra a stick. "Help us dig. We're looking for worms, but beetles count too."

Phoebe watched the three of them digging together, and she felt something warm spread through her chest — warmer than knowing every secret about Maple Creek Elementary had ever made her feel.

On Friday, Ms. Alvarez asked Phoebe how the buddy week had gone.

"Did you show Ezra everything he needs to know?" she asked.

Phoebe thought about the cafeteria and the library and the rain on the window. She thought about the shelf of Spanish books she'd walked past a hundred times. She thought about how she'd never really listened to rain before, and how she'd never wondered what it felt like to look at a room full of strangers and hope that some of them might become your people.

"I showed him a lot of stuff," Phoebe said. "But he kind of showed me some stuff too."

Ms. Alvarez smiled. "That's usually how it works."

At lunch that day, Ezra sat with Phoebe and Maya and Sam. He said please to Darla and got extra tater tots. Maya told him about the roly-poly she'd found that morning, and Sam argued that worms were better than beetles, and Ezra laughed — really laughed — for the first time all week.

Phoebe still knew everything about Maple Creek Elementary. Where the sidewalks cracked. Which swing went highest. How to get extra tater tots.

But now she also knew something she hadn't known before: sometimes the most important thing to know is what you don't know. And sometimes the best thing you can give someone isn't an answer.

It's a stick, and a spot by the fence, and the words come sit with me.