The morning sun peeked over the trees as I stood by the front door, my backpack slung over my shoulder and my new shoes laced up tight. Today was the first day of third grade at Folkston Elementary, and even though I was nervous, I was a little excited too.

Mama smoothed my hair down, even though I knew it would get messy again before I made it to the bus stop. "You ready, sugar?"

"I think so," I said, though my stomach was doing little flips.

"Don't forget your lunch," she said, handin' me a brown paper bag.

I took it and peeked inside—peanut butter and jelly, an apple, and some crackers. Just what I liked.

I walked to the bus stop down the dirt road, feelin' the warmth of the morning sun on my back. My heart raced as I wondered who'd be in my class this year. Would Miss Parker still be my teacher? Would the other girls still whisper about their dresses and hair?

Up ahead, I spotted her—Abby Parker, my best friend since we were little. She was wearin' her usual shorts and a t-shirt, her backpack slung low on her back. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and the second she saw me, she grinned.

"Emily!" she called, waving like she hadn't seen me in years, even though we'd been fishin' at the creek just last week.

"Abby!" I shouted back, runnin' up to meet her.

"You ready for third grade?" she asked, though her tone made it sound like we were headin' into battle.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I said with a grin.

We fell into step together, talkin' about what we thought this year would be like—whether we'd get to sit next to each other, and if Miss Parker, her aunt, was still teachin' third grade. Abby told me she heard there was a new boy in our grade, and we both wondered what he'd be like.

When the bus finally arrived, we climbed on together, sittin' in our usual spot near the middle. I felt a little braver knowin' Abby was right there beside me.

When we got to Folkston Elementary, the bus hissed to a stop, and Abby and I hopped down onto the gravel. Kids were everywhere—runnin', laughin', huggin' friends they hadn't seen all summer. The building looked the same as always, with its brick walls and windows that rattled a little when the wind blew just right.

I was feelin' pretty good—until we stepped into our classroom.

That's when I saw him.

A man was standin' at the front, writin' his name on the chalkboard in big, neat letters.

Mr. Johnson.

Not Miss Parker.

My heart sank. I looked at Abby, and she must've felt the same way 'cause her face had that same confused look.

"Where's your aunt?" I whispered.

Abby shrugged. "I dunno. Mama didn't say nothin' about her not teachin' this year."

I slid into a seat near the window, suddenly not feelin' as excited anymore. I had been hoping and hoping all summer that we'd get Miss Parker again. She was always so kind—let me read ahead when I wanted, didn't mind when I asked a million questions, and never fussed when my shoes were a little muddy from playin' outside before school.

Mr. Johnson looked nice enough, I guess. He had brown hair that was kinda messy, and he wore a blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up. He smiled as more kids came in, but it wasn't the same.

I leaned over to Abby. "What if he's mean?"

She snorted. "He don't look mean. But I liked your aunt better."

"Me too."

Mr. Johnson clapped his hands together once we were all settled. "Alright, third graders. Welcome back! We're gonna have a great year."

I tried sittin' up a little straighter, but my heart still felt heavy. I kept glancin' at the door, half-hopin' Miss Parker would walk in and say there was some kind of mistake. But she didn't.

Mr. Johnson grabbed a clipboard off his desk. "Let's start with attendance. Gotta make sure I know who's who."

He started readin' names, his voice calm but firm. "Abby Parker?"

"Here," Abby said, sittin' up a little taller.

"Thomas Reed?"

"Here."

I waited, twiddlin' my thumbs under the desk. Each name felt like it took forever. Then finally—

"Emily Saunders?"

"Here," I said, maybe a little louder than I meant to. My voice cracked just a bit.

Mr. Johnson glanced up and smiled. "Good. Gotcha."

I gave a small nod, but my mind was still on Miss Parker. Her classroom had always felt warm—like you could breathe easy. This? This just felt different. I didn't know if it was bad... but it wasn't what I wanted.

When Mr. Johnson finished callin' names, he set the clipboard down and leaned against his desk. "Looks like we've got a good bunch this year. I'm new to third grade, but I've been teaching for a long time. We'll get along just fine."

I glanced at Abby. She gave me a quick smile, like she was sayin', "See? It's okay."

I smiled back... but it still didn't feel okay. Not yet.

After Mr. Johnson finished attendance, he clapped his hands together, like he was wakin' us all up.

"Alright, class. Let's get started with math," he said, picking up a piece of chalk. "This year, we'll be learning multiplication."

I felt my stomach twist up a little. I liked math, but multiplication sounded like one of those big, grown-up words that made my head hurt.

"We're gonna start with the zeros," he continued, writing Multiplication – 0s on the board. "Now, who knows what multiplication means?"

A few kids raised their hands. Jacob, the boy who always acted like he knew everything, spoke up first.

"It's just like adding, right? You just add the number together over and over."

Mr. Johnson nodded slowly. "Hmm... kinda, but not exactly. We'll talk more about that soon. Let's try some examples."

He wrote 0 x 1 = ? on the board.

"Anyone know what this is?" he asked.

Jacob raised his hand again. "One?"

Mr. Johnson didn't say anything right away. He just looked at the board and let Jacob's answer hang in the air.

A few other kids started noddin'. "Yeah, it's one. 'Cause zero plus one is one," Jessica said.

Mr. Johnson smiled a little but didn't give the answer. "Okay... What about this one?"

He wrote 0 x 2 = ?

"Two!" Jacob blurted out.

"Three!" someone else called.

I furrowed my brow. It didn't sound right to me. I stared at those zeros. Somethin' about them felt... empty.

Mr. Johnson kept goin', writin' 0 x 3 = ?

"Three!" a girl in the back said.

"Wait," I whispered to Abby. "That don't make sense."

She shrugged. "It's like addin', right?"

I thought hard, my eyes fixed on the zeros.

Then it clicked.

My hand shot up, and before he even called on me, the words spilled out. "It's zero!"

Mr. Johnson finally turned from the board. "Why do you say that, Emily?"

"'Cause... you don't got nothin' to add together," I said, feelin' my cheeks get warm. "Zero's nothin', right? So if you do nothin' two times... you still got nothin'. It don't matter how many times you do it."

The room got quiet.

Mr. Johnson grinned. "That's it. That's exactly it."

He circled the zeros on the board. "See, multiplication is like adding the same number over and over, but if you're starting with zero, you've got nothing to add. So the answer is always zero."

A few kids groaned. Jacob looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.

Abby leaned over and whispered, "You're smart."

I grinned. "I know."

Mr. Johnson clapped his hands together. "Alright, now let's try some more—together this time."

As we worked through the problems, I felt a little taller in my seat. Maybe multiplication wasn't so scary after all.

After math, Mr. Johnson set his chalk down and dusted his hands off like he was ready to move on.

"All right, class. Let's shift gears to reading," he said, his words crisp and clear, each letter sounding just the way it should. His voice was different from most folks around here—no dropping letters or stretching words. It was proper, the kind of talk you heard on the news sometimes.

Readin'—reading—was my favorite. Always had been. I sat up a little straighter, even though my hand was already sore from writin' out all those zero times tables.

Mr. Johnson picked up a neat stack of thin books from his desk. They looked brand new, with bright covers showing kids playin' outside and dogs chasin' sticks.

"We'll begin with these readers," he said, walkin' between our desks and handing them out. "Today, we'll take turns reading aloud. Just a few sentences each. No need to rush. The important thing is to read each word clearly."

I took my book and flipped through it. There were stories about kids fishin'—fishing—by a pond, and others with talking animals. It wasn't as good as the chapter books I read at home, but it was still a book. And that made it all right.

Once everyone had a book, Mr. Johnson paused, looking at all of us. "Before we start, I want to say something important. We're going to work on not just reading the words, but how we say them. You all are bright, wonderful students, but sometimes we get a little too relaxed when we speak. We might drop letters off the end of our words or mash things together."

I squirmed a little. I knew what he meant. I did it all the time—fishin', runnin', talkin'—it was just the way folks spoke around here.

"But speaking clearly is important," Mr. Johnson went on. "It'll help you later in life—whether you're applying for a job, talking to someone important, or even reading to your own children someday."

I nodded slowly. I liked the way Papa talked, all easy and familiar, but I understood what Mr. Johnson meant. I wanted to sound smart when it mattered.

We started reading out loud, and just like in math, some kids struggled. Jacob stumbled over words, and Jessica rushed like she was late for the bus. When it was my turn, I read steady, but I caught myself sayin' fixin' instead of fixing, and I cringed a little.

Mr. Johnson smiled when I finished. "Very good, Emily. You read smoothly. And just remember, we're all working on making those endings nice and clear—ing, not in. You'll get there."

I smiled, feelin' both proud and a little embarrassed.

As we moved on, I noticed Abby wasn't as into it. She liked drawin' more than readin', and that was okay. We were different, but we fit together just right.

When the lesson ended, Mr. Johnson closed his book. "Great start today. We'll get better every day. And remember—clear words, clear minds."

As we closed our books, I thought about it. I liked the way Mama and Papa spoke, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to learn both ways—so I could talk clear when it mattered, and still sound like me when I was home.

Maybe this year was gonna teach me more than I thought.

After reading, we had another class—science, I think—but my mind was startin' to wander by then. We learned a little about plants, how their roots dig down deep to drink water from the ground, and how leaves need sunlight to stay green. I liked the part about the roots, 'cause it made me think of the big oak tree in our yard—the one I loved climbin'. I wondered how far its roots stretched under the ground, maybe all the way past the chicken coop.

But mostly, I was watchin' the clock.

By the time Mr. Johnson set his book down and said, "Alright, let's head outside for recess," I was already halfway out of my seat.

Abby grinned at me. We both knew recess was the best part of the day.

We hurried outside with the rest of the kids, the warm Georgia sun hittin' my face the second we stepped onto the playground. The air smelled like fresh grass and a little bit like sweat. The blacktop was already hot under our shoes, but I didn't care. I was free—for a little while, at least.

The swings were already taken, and a group of boys was kickin' a soccer ball around. Me and Abby made a beeline for the old tire structure near the edge of the playground. It had been there forever—half-buried tires stickin' out of the ground like a little obstacle course. We liked climbin' over them and pretendin' they were part of some adventure, like we were explorin' ruins or battlin' pirates.

"You think we'll get homework today?" Abby asked, balancin' on top of one of the bigger tires.

"Hope not," I said, climbin' up beside her. "I got frogs to catch after school."

She laughed. "Of course you do."

We jumped from tire to tire, our backpacks and classrooms far from our minds. For a little while, it was just the sun, the dirt, and our imaginations.