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Matt dropped his backpack with a heavy thud as he sank to the pavement and leaned against the brick of the school building. Tiny bullets of water exploded on the street, but the overhang of the school's roof sheltered him from the rain. He breathed in the scent of fresh rain and slowly relaxed after a long day. Even at a new school in the suburbs, life wasn't much different. Matt still moved from class to class in a daze, trying to ignore the busyness and laughter in the hallways. None of the other kids noticed him because he was quiet. Even some of the teachers couldn't remember his name. Today he'd stayed after school for jazz band, hoping to find enjoyment by learning an instrument. But he was sure that the other kids had noticed his mistakes, and they wouldn't understand that he was an inexperienced drummer. Or worse, they hadn't noticed him at all. He had prayed for a new beginning here, but it was exactly the same. Matt closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. God, he asked, please comfort me now.

The school door swung open behind Matt, startling him. A short kid with brown-red curls sat down beside him. "Hey," the kid said, grinning widely. "You're the new kid in jazz band, right? Percussion?"

Matt blinked in surprise. "Yeah."

"Thought I recognized you. My name's Jack."

He swallowed nervously and said, "I'm Matt."

"So, how long have you been playing drums?"

"Only a couple of weeks."

"Oh, you're pretty good for a beginner. You'll like Mr. K., he's cool. Are you new here?"

"Yeah, I just moved."

"From where?"

Matt glanced at the pools of rain on the street as he recalled the places he'd come from. Images flashed through his head: His mom's peaceful cabin. The white walls of the hospital. Loss. Meeting his grandma for the first time. Her home, her tiny garden, beauty in a lonely world. The new school in Chicago. Isolation, bullying, pain, grief. Trying to think of ways to end his life.

He shuddered inwardly, but somehow managed to keep his voice steady. "Chicago."

"Really? What's Chicago like?"

Matt shrugged. "I dunno. Crazy. Constant noise. I used to live in a cabin in Wisconsin. It was quiet there."

"But it must've been fun in Chicago, right?" asked Jack. "Not like here in the suburbs, where everything's boring and nothing happens."

"It's OK so far," Matt replied. "In Chicago, it's crazy. I mean, there's lots of stuff to do if you have the extra money, but there are so many people, and the city never falls asleep." He didn't mention the gangs he'd seen, the police sirens that woke him in the middle of the night. The bullet that had whizzed past him as he walked to school. Nor did he mention the kids from school who called him Goth because of his dark clothes, and, when he decided to defend himself, broke his nose. But they didn't know he wore black for mourning after losing his mom, the most important person in his life.

He didn't mention how his grandmother, terrified that he could be hurt, forbade him from wearing a cross in public out of concern that it could be misinterpreted as a gang symbol. And he said nothing about his grandma moving out to the suburbs so he'd be safer.

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