The parking lot was chaos.
First day of school. Parents stood in clusters near the gates, some lingering, some already retreating toward their cars. Children streamed through the entrance in waves, backpacks bouncing, lunch bags swinging. The air smelled like fresh pencils and autumn, though the season was spring and the pencils were probably the same ones from last year. The building had been repainted over the break — a softer blue, less institutional. Someone had planted flowers along the walkway. They were already being trampled.
Julian was nervous.
He stood beside his car with his hands in his pockets, his eyes tracking every child who passed as if one of them might be Kyle, though Kyle was standing directly in front of him. He'd repacked Kyle's bag twice that morning. Once for supplies — pencils, notebooks, the required three folders in three different colors — and once because Kyle had removed the pencils to make room for a dinosaur.
"You have everything?" Julian asked.
