“I will not trip,” he thought. “Trip, I will not. This is me, not tripping. Never shall I trip.” Clusters of unfamiliar students stood around the flagpole, sat on the steps, and hung out by the front door. Billy felt as if everyone was staring at him, judging him, checking out every detail about him. He wondered what they were thinking, if he measured up. He hoped that someone — anyone — would come up and say hello, or even toss him a welcoming nod. Just a crumb to make him feel like he belonged. The Hoove had given him some tips on how to make a good first impression. “Just walk by, give them a confident nod, and snap your suspenders with both thumbs. Nothing says confidence like a suspender snap.” But of course that wasn’t possible. Neither Billy nor anyone he had ever known wore suspenders. The Hoove had volunteered to get up early to check Billy out before he left, but when he found out that school started at seven forty-five in the morning, he announced to Billy that he didn’t do mornings.
