CHAPTER 3: MEGAN KNIGHT

Megan Knight, the fifth-grade volleyball queen who transferred last spring, marched up the hall and punched me in the shoulder. She wore her usual black tight pants and a grunge shirt— with her hair perfectly groomed. She was like a whole foot taller than everyone and always smelled like feet. “Dropzone,” she announced. “What’s happening? Who were you just talking to?” Dropzone. Yes, that was my nickname. You see, Megan Knight was part of the Empire. ‘Empire’ was the word we used for the cool kids, who acted like they owned the school. Most of them were girls who felt it was important to turn up their noses and snicker at anyone who dressed differently or actually had a personality. The trick was to just avoid eye contact. Otherwise, you’d find yourself at the butt-end of a hurtful comment just to help solidify their place in the group. Talk about stressful, eh? Sadly, I expected this ‘stress’ to happen in my later years of school—not in Grade Four. My mom thinks young kids act like this nowadays because they watch too much YouTube. So, why am I called Dropzone? Last spring, in the third grade, before I learned how to play the trumpet, I played a little instrument called a ‘toot’. I had to play a solo for my music exam. It was my first time doing a performance in front of a big audience— and—I totally froze. Only, there was a little more to it than that. As I stood in front of the class, watching Mr. Meebly write some notes on his clipboard, I suddenly felt the room spin. Little voices pecked away at my brain. Patches of white fogged my vision and the muscles in my body turned to jelly. Before I knew it, I blacked out. I fainted. In front of everyone. I had never been so embarrassed before in my life. On top of that, Megan Knight had just joined our split 3/4 class days earlier and decided to start calling me Dropzone. I convinced my parents I had a severe migraine and avoided school for an entire week. “Did you hear me?” Megan asked, punching me again. “Yes, I heard you,” I replied. “Then, answer me. What are you doing?” “Nothing.” “Who were you talking to?” “Nobody.” Megan blew air out of her mouth and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Megan Knight never went to class— or school-wide assemblies. For some reason, she seemed to think she was better than everyone and always managed to sneak out—just to roam the empty halls. I think the principal tried getting her to see a counselor or something, but I just think she hates the world. “Who were you talking to?” she asked again. “Nobody,” I replied. “What are you doing here, then?” Her nostrils flared—like she was letting me know that I shouldn’t be walking around during her ‘alone’ time. “I’m taking a break,” I replied. “Did you faint again in there?” “No, I didn’t faint. I’m just taking a break.” I folded my arms and then turned back to my locker. “I bet you messed up.” Megan kicked an empty water bottle down the hall. “Man, I wish I saw it. That would’ve been a riot. Is that why I heard everyone laughing? I should text Gabby.” “I didn’t mess up. There was something wrong with my trumpet.” I scratched at an old emoji sticker on the locker next to mine. “There’s something wrong with you,” Megan laughed. Her long blonde hair shook as she cackled to herself. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said. Megan leaned against my locker, chewing wildly on a chunk of gum. She sounded like a horse. “Yes, there is something wrong with you.” Her gaze turned to my lock. “Open it.” Goosebumps ran up my arms. “Open what?” “Your locker.” “Why?” I asked, feeling my throat tighten. “I want to know who you were talking to in there.” “I told you, I wasn’t talking to anyone.” Megan grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side. She reached for the lock and yanked it open. “Who’s in there?” “Leave me alone!” I shouted. “I’m telling.” I pointed my finger at her and waved it like a little old lady. “I’m going to tell on you.” Megan hip-checked me as I tried to get in front of her. Her giant hand gripped the lock. “Who’s in there?” she said again. The door swung open, causing loose pages of sheet music to slide off the top shelf. The light from the fluorescent ceiling bulbs bounced off the tiny plastic mirror. The dorky, flowery frame shifted as the door banged against the next locker over. The whole mirror slid down a few inches, nearly losing its magnetic grip. I regained my balance and jumped in front of the volleyball queen, trying my best to block the boy’s image. But he wasn’t there. The boy was gone. Who was he? Was he really from another planet?