The three second-graders are as cool as A Flock of Seagulls.

The tall boy with his slicked-back mullet chewing Big League Chew.

The short boy with his oversized San Francisco Giants jersey that smells like tacos.

The freckled girl with her cruiser bike and sweater skirt striped in matching Mello Yello-yellow and green.

“Wait for me!” I chase them toward the rock-throwing spot, peddling my bike at superspeed.

Tonight, I’m gonna become like them. No more asking classmates how they think Han Solo will escape his carbonite prison. No more arguing that Hinkey from The Greatest American Hero is awesomer than Superman. My mom’s job change dumped my first-grade year into Medford, Oregon and if I have any shot at turning cool here, this is it.

The three second-graders skid up against a curb and the tall one motions at me. “Over here, Keebler.”

No one ever gets my name right on the first try.

I race up and slam on my brakes. I may not be as old as them, but I can skid to a stop too. "My name's Keitly."

The girl laughs like I’d sprayed Silly String on my Pacman t-shirt. “Just find some good ones, alright?”

She scoops up some rocks from the curbside. They’re the little white ones I’d see everywhere in California. Someone with a new house used them to make a walkway between their trees. The sunset through the leaves makes them so sparkly I want to fill my pockets to the brim. But the big kids are just grabbing a few.

I drop my bike and pick out the three heaviest ones, so they’ll know I’m no weakling. “Ready!”

“K, you’re up first, Keebler.” The short boy pushes me toward the street.

I blow the hair out of my eyes. A car, green as a Minty My Little Pony, rolls by making a noise like someone popping their lips.

“Now!” the tall one says.

My heart jumps. I’m still fumbling a rock into my right hand. “Wait!” The car doesn’t. “Sorry, I wasn’t ready.”

The girl frowns. “Do you even know how to throw?”

I nod, trying not to shiver. Oregon in spring isn’t nearly as warm as California. “I saw Vida Blue pitch for the Giants at Candlestick.”

The short one’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

My chest heats but before I can tell him about the game something new rumbles onto the street. We all turn.

A garbage truck.

My forehead goes sweaty. I squeeze the two rocks in my catching hand, grip the third between my thumb and big fingers, and take a deep breath.

The air smells like maple trees. I can be strong like them, just like these second-graders.

I haul my arm back and throw.

The rock slips from my fingers and tinks onto the road.

Heat bursts in my ears. “Crud!”

The girl tosses her side ponytail. “Airhead.”

The others snort. Prepare to chuck their rocks. The two garbage men drive by in their jumpsuits and flat hats yelling along to that radio song that goes ‘Forever’s gonna start tonight.’ The second-graders throw. Three white stones skip unnoticed between garbage truck wheels.

I blow the hair out of my eyes and pass the second rock into my throwing hand. “Guys, I can do this.”

The tall one pops his gum. “Then prove it.”

Sweat trickles down my armpits. Hundreds of rocks glitter at my back, but the second-graders are snickering. If I have to go back for more, that’s all they’ll remember.

I take a deep breath.

Another car rumbles down the street. One of those round ones that people punch my arm when they see.

I shy away from the big kids. If I can skip this rock beneath this little pink car, these kids will know I’m as cool as them. Or they’ll tell kids in first grade what I did. Either way, someone in my new town will be my friend.

The thought pounds my chest like Donkey Kong. Hoping to channel his strength, I wind up my arm and throw.

The rock flies from my fingers so fast.

Too fast.

It skips into the far gutter before the car passes. The driver glances my way, pulling down her sunglasses.

The second-graders groan.

“Dweeb, you gotta aim,” the tall one says.

I wave to the woman in the car and smile, trying to hide the way my knees are knocking.

“I know that.” I clench my last rock in both hands and try to breathe.

Just one skip under a car. Please. Then everyone in school will realize I’m brave and fun and know stuff about doing things.

I turn my head toward the sunset so the cool kids can’t see my face and whisper like a best friend would. “Keitly, you got this.”

As if in answer, the little white rock digs into my skin like he’s writing something.

I’ll make you your friends, Keitly.

His weight is right, and his edges.

I believe him.

A wood-paneled van pulls onto the road, farting black smoke. At the same time, from the opposite direction, another car hums around the corner. Sweat trickles down my ribs. The second car is red as a Speak & Spell and looks really fast.

The second-graders raise their rocks to sling them under the van. I follow their lead. But something in my rock stops me.

The red car. The sports car. It’s going faster and on the far side of the road.

I have to go for it. I won’t make friends playing games on easy mode.

The van passes in front of us. I lose sight of the red car. The second-graders skip their rocks between van wheels. Then its wood paneling is past and I see red through its smoke.

With the song from the garbage truck pounding in my ears, I throw.

My little rock friend flies forward and hits the pavement right between the red car’s front and back tires, dead on target. But he doesn’t skip. He bounces.

Straight up into the driver-side glass.

Nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart.

Crack.

Tires screech.

My whole body freezes.

The driver cranks down the window I just pegged. “Which one of you little jerks did that?”

His voice is as loud as the bear in The Fox and the Hound and way more scary.

The second-graders don’t wait. They snatch their bikes off the curb and blast away. But I can’t move. My heart is in my mouth and my lungs are inside out and something warm runs down my leg.

The driver kicks open his door.

He’s gonna kill me.

I haven’t even had the chance to make a friend who’d care if he did.

The realization launches a rocket in my insides. I yank up my bike, jump on the seat, and set fire to my sneakers.

“You fucking kid!” The door slams and the car’s engine roars.

He’s not just gonna kill me. He’s gonna roadkill me. I jump up a driveway, race down a sidewalk, and cut a corner through a patch of yellow tulips.

Little brown houses flash past. The car’s honks shake my teeth.

I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t even know where I am. I just know that, while I’m not as strong as those second-graders, I can pedal fast enough that a sports car will never catch me.

“Get off the bike, you little shit!”

Somehow, he’s keeping up.

My breath hammers through my lungs. I have to escape. If he doesn’t run me over, he’ll have the cops arrest me. I’ll spend years coloring license plates behind bars and if I ever get out, I’ll be way older than the other first-graders. This is my last chance. Disappear, or be friendless forever.

Just ahead, one of the little brown houses has its side gate open.

I rocket my bike across the street and into its front yard. The driver honks so loud my shoulders flinch toward my ears and I lose my balance. I nearly biff it in the grass and have to kick out with my knock-off Keds. My handlebar glances off the gate post, but I swerve through.

I race around a tree covered in pink blossoms, splash through a mud puddle, and crash into the bright green bushes at the end of the yard.

Branches and pokey leaves claw at my face, arms, and jeans. I break out the far side and fall into a dandelion patch. There’s another street here.

I got away.

Except that driver looked so mad, he’s probably about to pull a Fall Guy and jump his car over the house to catch me.

I fight my bike up and blast off onto the new road. My pedals fly faster than ever before. A skinny church blurs by at hyperspeed. I launch up a bridge. Over a stream so quick.

Too quick.

I don’t see the manhole bump. The bounce knocks my bike chain off.

My pedal plummets. I swerve into the bridge’s railing. It hits my knee like a dozen bee stings and the sky flips. Grass and water, upside down. An icy stream crashes over me.

My head rings, river rocks poking at my back, the setting sun squiggles colors like melted crayons.

I can’t move. Can’t blink. Icy water chokes my mouth and nose, but all I can think is the promise of that rock.

I’ll make you your friends, Keitly.

It didn’t sound like a lie.

In my vision, spots pop.

No.

Not spots. Faces. Two different-colored faces peering at me like I’m a new Cabbage Patch Kid in a Toys “R” Us window.

Warm hands catch my skin.

I’m hauled from the freezing stream and dropped onto grass. I choke out water. The back of my head pounds.

“Holy cow!” A boy stares at me, his eyes brighter than Mrs. Brisby’s in The Secret of NIMH.

The girl beside him shakes her pigtails, flashing crooked teeth. “That was insane!”

They’re both my age.

My chest bubbles like a vinegar volcano. It doesn’t matter if that red race car runs me over now. These kids saw everything. I just moved here and they’re gonna tell everyone how I biffed it and how I’m crying and all the kids in all of Oregon are gonna laugh at me.

I choke on a sob and kick my sneakers to try and get up, but I slip in the grass. Still, the river water must hide my tears because the kids keep talking.

“That was almost as cool as A Flock of Seagulls,” the girl says.

“It was wild as the bike jumps in E.T.,” the boy says. “Oh, have you seen E.T.?”

The sob in my throat catches.

They think I jumped off the bridge on purpose. And they’re talking about rock stars and movies.

I must’ve really nailed my head.

I nod it anyway. “I love E.T.”

“It’s so bad!” The boy reaches out a hand. “I’m Krishna, by the way, but everyone calls me Chris.”

The girl grins her crooked teeth and follows his lead. “I’m the princess of Medford but everyone calls me Jess.”

I let them help me up. “I’m Keitly.”

“Keitly?” Chris says. “Cool name!”

Jess gestures. “You want a hand pulling your bike out, Keitly?”

I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought. They both got my name right. And Jess just asked me something and is pointing at the stream. I glance over, shivering. One end of my bike’s handlebars pokes from the water’s cotton candy gleam.

“Uh...”

“Then maybe you can show us some of your rad moves,” Chris says.

“Yeah!” Jess says.

I turn back. I don’t believe it. They want to play.

My teeth chatter but something wraps my heart like the warmest blanket.

Two bikes lay in the grass behind Chris and Jess. One has a plastic crate tied to the front that’s big enough to carry an alien. The other is covered in Rebel Alliance stickers and has two flashlights duct-taped on like headlamps.

I must be dreaming.

“You guys like Star Wars?” I say.

Jess raises an eyebrow like anyone who’d ask such a question must’ve just brained themselves on river rocks. “No doy!”

Chris splashes for my bike. “I can’t wait to see how Luke rescues Han from the carbonite.”

Jess follows him. “I told you it’s gonna be Leia. She loves him.”

Chris glances back, the stream bubbling around his shins. “What do you think, Keitly?”

My answer has always been Chewbacca, but the words stick in my throat so hard I can’t even make a noise like a Wookie. It’s not because I nailed my head. It’s not because I’m freezing. Even if Return of the Jedi had come out two weeks early and I actually already knew who rescued Han, I couldn’t answer them because on this streambank beneath the setting sun, I only know one thing.

Me, Chris, and Jess are gonna be friends forever.