While me and Abby were hoppin' across the tires, a group of boys started gatherin' near the soccer field. Jacob was leadin' them—he always liked to act like he was in charge. They were kickin' a ball around, but it wasn't just a game. I could tell from the way they were lookin' over our way. Somethin' was brewin'.

"Hey, Emily!" Jacob called out, hands cupped around his mouth. "You girls too scared to play?"

I looked at Abby, who was smirkin'.

"We ain't scared of nothin'," I shot back.

A few girls nearby perked up, hearin' what was goin' on. Jessica and Megan came over, eyes bright with curiosity.

Jacob grinned. "Boys against girls. Soccer. Right now."

I felt my heart race. I loved stuff like this. It was all in fun, but it felt important—like we had somethin' to prove. And I liked playin' with the boys sometimes. I felt like I could keep up with them, even if some of the girls didn't always like gettin' dirty.

I glanced at Abby. "You in?"

She shrugged but was smilin'. "Why not?"

"Y'all are goin' down," I called back to Jacob.

"We'll see about that!" he laughed.

It wasn't serious—nothin' more than a bunch of kids kickin' a ball around—but it felt like a big deal to us. The boys played rough, runnin' fast and callin' out plays like they were in some big league. Us girls, though? We were quick. And we had somethin' to prove.

The ball shot across the field, and I sprinted after it, feelin' my heart pound in my chest. My new shoes gripped the grass better than my old ones would've, and I was glad Mama had taken me to get them.

Jacob was quick—he always was—but I was quicker. I darted in front of him, stretchin' my leg out just in time to nudge the ball away. He stumbled a little, but he laughed, not mad, just more determined.

"Nice one, Emily!" Abby cheered from the side, clappin' her hands.

I grinned but didn't look back. I kept chasin' the ball, zig-zaggin' between the boys. Jessica was on my right, and Megan was further back, ready to block if the ball got kicked our way. We were workin' together, and it felt good—like we were our own little team.

"Pass it, Emily!" Jessica called.

I kicked the ball toward her, but it went a little off course. Jacob darted in, interceptin' it. He turned and charged toward the other side of the field.

"No, you don't!" I yelled, takin' off after him.

I caught up, but he passed it to Thomas, one of his friends, and suddenly, it felt like the boys were gettin' the upper hand. They were fast, but we were smart.

"Block him, Abby!" I called.

She dashed in front of Thomas, wavin' her arms. He hesitated, and that's all it took. I slid in, kickin' the ball out from under him.

"Got it!" I shouted, feelin' the thrill rush through me.

I dribbled fast toward the goal—well, the "goal," which was really just two jackets laid down as markers. Jacob was hot on my heels, and I knew if I waited too long, he'd catch me.

I planted my foot and kicked as hard as I could.

The ball flew—straight between the jackets.

"GOAL!" Abby screamed, throwin' her hands up.

The girls cheered, and I threw my arms in the air like I'd just won the World Cup.

Jacob huffed, hands on his hips, but he was smilin'. "Alright, alright... that was good."

I wiped the sweat off my brow, grinnin' so wide my cheeks hurt.

"We ain't done yet," Jacob said, pickin' up the ball.

I glanced at Abby, and she gave me a nod. We were ready.

For the rest of recess, we ran, laughed, and played our hearts out—Boys vs. Girls. There weren't any real winners or losers, just a bunch of kids runnin' wild under the hot sun, feelin' free.

When the whistle blew, callin' us back inside, we were all pantin', sweaty, and smilin'.

"That was fun," Jacob said, joggin' up beside me as we walked back toward the school.

"Yeah, it was," I agreed.

"We'll get y'all next time," he teased.

I smirked. "We'll see about that."

Me and Abby bumped fists as we stepped inside, our faces still flushed from runnin'.

It was only the first day of school, but it already felt like this year might just be a good one.

By the time we made it back inside, my shirt was stickin' to my back, and my face was hot from runnin' in the sun. The air conditioning in the hallway felt like heaven.

Me and Abby made our way to the cafeteria, still talkin' about the soccer game.

"You almost tripped Jacob that one time," I said, laughin'.

"I wasn't tryin' to," Abby giggled. "He just runs like a baby deer."

We grabbed our lunches—me with my brown paper bag Mama packed, and Abby with her lunch box that had faded rainbows on it. We found a seat at the long table near the window, where you could see part of the playground.

I pulled out my sandwich, an apple, and some crackers. Abby had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, too, but she also had one of those little snack cakes with chocolate and cream in the middle. I eyed it.

"You tradin' that cake?" I asked, half-teasin'.

She held it close to her chest. "Not today."

I laughed and took a bite of my sandwich.

Kids were chatterin' all around us, the cafeteria fillin' with the sound of crinklin' wrappers and clinkin' milk cartons. The boys from the soccer game sat a few seats down, still jokin' around, talkin' about how they'd win tomorrow.

Jacob called over, "We're bringin' our best game tomorrow!"

"We ain't scared," I shot back, smilin'.

Me and Abby talked about everything and nothin'—what we'd do after school, what frogs I was plannin' to catch, and whether or not we'd get homework on the first day.

Before we ate, Abby bowed her head for a quick prayer over her food. I did the same, whisperin' a quiet "Thank you, Lord" like Mama always taught me.

When I peeked up, I noticed not everyone prayed. Some kids just started eatin' right away. I wondered if they did it different at home, but I didn't think too much about it. Everyone was just doin' their own thing.

By the time the lunch lady rang the little bell, signalin' we had five minutes left, my belly was full, and I felt pretty good about the day so far. Even if I still missed Miss Parker, and even if Mr. Johnson wanted me to say running instead of runnin', school didn't seem so bad.

At least not with Abby sittin' next to me.

After lunch, Mr. Johnson led us down the hall to art class. The classroom smelled like paper, glue, and those thick crayons that always left little bits of wax behind when you pressed too hard. Art had always been one of my favorite classes—mostly 'cause you could make a mess and no one got onto you for it.

The art teacher, Mrs. Wilson, stood at the front of the room, wearing a long necklace with colorful beads. She had short, dark hair, and her smile was bright like she'd been waitin' all summer just to see us.

"Good afternoon, class," she said, "Welcome back. Today, we're starting off easy. I want you to draw a picture of something from your summer. It could be a place you visited, something you did, or just a special memory."

I sat up straighter, already thinkin' about what I wanted to draw. I liked art because no one could tell you your picture was wrong—it was yours.

Most kids got right to work, sketchin' beaches, houses, or stick-figure families. Abby was drawin' her dog, Max, chasin' a ball.

Me? I picked somethin' a little different.

I started drawin' Papa cleanin' that gator he shot. I drew him standin' by the porch with his knife, the big gator stretched out beside him. I even added myself, standin' nearby with my hands on my hips, proud as could be. And I made sure to draw Mama, peekin' out the door with a look on her face that said she wasn't too happy about it.

I was colorin' the gator's tail when Mrs. Wilson stopped by my desk. She leaned down to look at my paper.

"Oh, my," she said with a small laugh. "Is that an alligator?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said proudly. "My Papa shot it. We ate it for supper."

Her eyebrows lifted just a little, but she didn't look upset. "Well, that's certainly a unique summer memory. Very detailed work, Emily. I like that you included your whole family."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, smilin' big.

As she walked to the next table, Abby leaned over and peeked at my picture.

"You really drew the gator?" she whispered, tryin' not to giggle.

"Course I did," I said, addin' a little more green to its scales. "It was the best part of my summer."

She grinned. "You're crazy."

I grinned right back. Bein' called crazy by Abby felt like a compliment.

The rest of art class flew by, and by the time we packed up, I felt like maybe third grade wasn't gonna be so bad after all.

After art, we had one last stop before the day was done—music class.

We followed Mr. Johnson down the hallway, and even before we got to the door, I could hear the soft notes of a piano playin' from inside. I liked music class well enough, even if singin' wasn't my best thing. Sometimes they let us play instruments, and I always hoped for the drums.

The music teacher, Mrs. Taylor, was at the front of the room when we walked in, her silver hair pulled back neatly and a warm smile on her face. Her fingers moved gently over the piano keys, like she'd been playin' forever.

"Good afternoon, class," she said, her voice smooth and proper. "Welcome to music. I hope you're all ready for a wonderful year."

We sat down on the floor, cross-legged, in a big semi-circle around her. The floor was that scratchy carpet kind, but I didn't mind. Bein' close to the front made me feel like I was really part of things.

Abby plopped down beside me, leanin' back on her hands. "Hope we get the tambourines," she whispered.

I grinned. I was hopin' for drums, but tambourines weren't bad either.

Mrs. Taylor started us off easy. She taught us a song—one of those folksy ones with hand motions and clappin'.

"This land is your land, this land is my land..."

Most of us knew it already, but singin' it together felt kinda nice. Some kids sang loud, like they were tryin' to drown everyone else out, and others were barely mumblin'. I did my best, even though my voice cracked a little when we got to the high parts.

After we finished the song, Mrs. Taylor sat on the edge of her piano bench and clapped her hands lightly.

"Very good," she said. "Now, music isn't just about the words—it's about rhythm. Rhythm is the heartbeat of music. It's what holds a song together."

She showed us a few simple clappin' patterns—clap, clap, pat your knees, clap—stuff that made you focus but was still kinda fun.

Then she passed out rhythm sticks—two wooden sticks, smooth and shiny. We tapped 'em together along with the beat she played on the piano.

Tap, tap, tap—pause. Tap, tap, tap—pause.

It felt good, like we were makin' music together, even if it was just simple taps. The sound of all the sticks clickin' at the same time filled the room. It reminded me of rain on the roof.

When the class was over, Mrs. Taylor smiled as she collected the sticks.

"You all did very well today," she said. "We're going to learn so much this year. Music is all around you—sometimes you just need to listen."

I liked that. It made me wanna pay attention more—to the birds at home, the sound of frogs near the creek, even the creak of Papa's truck when he pulled into the driveway.

We lined up to head back to Mr. Johnson's room, and as I walked, I tapped my fingers against my leg—keepin' the rhythm goin' all the way down the hall.

By the time the final bell rang, I was feelin' that good kind of tired—the kind where your feet ache a little, but your head's full of new things, and your belly's still happy from lunch.

Me and Abby grabbed our backpacks and made our way out to the bus loop. The afternoon sun was still high, bakin' the pavement, and the smell of hot asphalt mixed with the faint scent of pine trees from the woods nearby. Kids were chatterin' everywhere, some excited, some just ready to get home.

When our yellow bus pulled up with a loud hiss, we climbed aboard, headin' straight for our usual seat near the middle.

I plopped down next to the window, and Abby slid in beside me, tossin' her backpack onto her lap.

"Well, what'd you think?" she asked, leanin' her head back against the seat.

"Better than I thought it'd be," I admitted, lookin' out the window as the bus jolted forward. "I mean... I still wish we had Miss Parker, but Mr. Johnson seems alright. Even if he wants me to say reading instead of readin' all the time."

Abby snorted. "I heard him correct Jacob like three times. Bet he's gonna drive him crazy."

I laughed. "Jacob needs it."

We hit a bump, and the whole bus bounced, makin' a few kids squeal. The driver, Mr. Miller, just grunted up front like he was used to it.

"What was your favorite part?" Abby asked, twirlin' a loose strand of hair.

I thought for a second. "Probably recess. That soccer game was fun. We showed those boys we can play just as good as them."

Abby grinned. "Yeah, but you know Jacob's gonna come back tomorrow like it's the championship."

"Good," I said, sittin' up straighter. "I like a challenge."

We rode in silence for a minute, watchin' the trees whip by. As the bus rounded the curve toward our road, I spotted it—the train, crawlin' along the tracks in the distance, back toward town.

"You see it?" I said, pointin' out the window.

Abby leaned over to look. "Yeah. Looks like a long one today."

The cars clanged together as they rolled along, the sound faint from where we were, but still there if you listened.

"I wish it stopped here," I said, watchin' the train snake through the trees. "It'd be cool to get on one and see where it goes."

Abby shrugged. "I don't know. I kinda like it here."

I smiled, but part of me still wondered what it'd be like to hop on that train and just... go somewhere new.

As we got closer to our stop, the bus started to thin out. Some kids waved as they hopped off, runnin' down dirt driveways toward houses that looked a lot like mine—porches, gardens, and big yards with dogs barkin'.

When we got near my road, I nudged Abby. "You comin' over later?"

"Maybe," she said. "Depends if Mama makes me clean my room."

I laughed. "You'd rather wrestle a gator."

"Pretty much."

The bus slowed down, and I stood up, slingin' my backpack over my shoulder. Mr. Miller glanced at me in the mirror, noddin'.

"See you tomorrow," Abby called as I stepped down onto the dusty road.

I waved back. "See you."

The bus rumbled off, leavin' me standin' there with my backpack slung over one shoulder. I could hear the faint hum of the bus engine disappearin' down the dirt road, mixed with the sounds of nature all around me—the chirpin' of crickets and the distant croak of frogs floatin' from the direction of the swamp.

I stood still for a second, breathin' it all in. The warm air smelled earthy, with just a hint of that swampy dampness that always seemed to hang in the air. It felt like home.

The train was long gone, back toward town, pretty sure it was miles away now. Out here, it was just me, the trees, and the swamp breathin' in the distance.

I adjusted my backpack and started walkin' up the path toward the house, the familiar creak of the porch callin' me home.

My heart felt full—like today had been a good start.

And I was already thinkin' about what tomorrow might bring.