“Not this year,” I said.

“All right.”

That was the whole conversation.

I enrolled in a nearby school after the placement became more stable.

My teachers knew enough to help me catch up but not enough to treat me like a permanent tragedy.

The guidance counselor introduced me to a student named Amira, who showed me how to find the science lab without getting lost.

By the end of the second week, we were laughing about a history teacher who pronounced every foreign name with astonishing confidence.