In Your Dreams - By Amy Martin Page 0,2

his nose shatters the Brad Pitt image as it’s bigger and flatter than your average movie star nose. I’m guessing he must have broken it at some point because it reminds me of my dad’s nose, which caught an elbow during a pick-up game the summer before he started college.

Brad gestures at the main office and the trio head inside as the warning bell sounds, provoking groans all around from our little group. The seniors among us shuffle out of the lobby toward their first-floor lockers, while Cassie, Ashley, and I walk upstairs to the junior hallway, where I nestle into my favorite seat in the back corner of Mrs. Harvey’s Advanced English class. People looking at me without my knowledge is sort of a pet peeve, so I’m a back-of-the-room kind of girl whenever possible.

“Okay, everybody. Settle down.” Mrs. Harvey shushes us after the bell. “Over the break, you were supposed to read the first three chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird. So for today…”

Someone knocks on the classroom door, and when Mrs. Harvey crosses from her desk to answer, the low murmur of unsupervised students immediately starts to bubble up but comes to a dead stop as the mystery siblings enter the room.

“Class, we have some new students joining us,” Mrs. Harvey announces, as if we’re too dumb to figure that one out on our own. “This is Kieran Lanier…”

She nods at Kieran, who stands closest to her. On cue, he takes his hand from his front jeans pocket and gives the class a quick wave hello.

“And Kayla Lanier.”

Kayla flashes a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile.

“Well, if the two of you could find seats and we’ll…” Mrs. Harvey stops short, realizing the only seat left in what’s one of the school’s smaller classrooms happens to be right in front of her. “Oh, well, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, blushing a little as if she’s an embarrassed hostess and the Laniers are guests in her home. “There’s a chair in the back that’ll have to do for today, unfortunately. I’ll talk to the custodial staff after school about getting another desk in here.”

She nods in my general direction at a folding chair leaning against the back wall about a foot from my desk. Without a word, Kayla slides into the front desk and shoves her backpack in the space underneath, while Kieran shuffles along next to the windows, head down and hands in his hoodie pockets, eventually passing next to me and continuing behind. His backpack hits the floor and the low squeak the chair releases as he unfolds it makes me flinch.

“So, To Kill a Mockingbird.” Mrs. Harvey picks up where she left off. “I’d like for us to do a think-pair-share…”

Wonderful. The think-pair-share. We’ll spend a few minutes writing on some aspect of the reading we found interesting, troubling, confusing, or whatever, and then we’ll pair up with someone and talk about what we wrote before Mrs. Harvey randomly calls on pairs to share their discussion with the entire class, getting to as many people as possible before the bell rings. I swear we do this every other day, and I’m starting to wonder if Mrs. Harvey knows any different teaching techniques because she did this a lot in Freshman English, too.

“I’d like you to choose some aspect of the reading you found interesting and write for five minutes, explaining why it was so interesting to you…”

I’m already scribbling my thoughts across an empty notebook page. No sense in waiting for her to finish.

“And then I’ll ask you to pair up with someone to discuss. If you finish before time’s up, you may sit quietly and read. Kayla and Kieran, I’ll bring copies of the book to you while the others are writing.”

Mrs. Harvey moves about as we write, retrieving two copies of To Kill a Mockingbird from the metal bookshelf at the front of the room and walking over first to Kayla and then to Kieran, her pumps tap-tapping on the floor as she travels. I finish my response with about a minute to spare and spend the remaining time pretending to read since I’ve read the book several times already. What I’m really concentrating on, however, is the fact that some guy I don’t know is sitting behind me, probably staring at my back, ruining the security I usually revel in when I sit in the back of the room. Reaching over my shoulder, I smooth the strands of my dark blonde ponytail before letting my hand travel