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and almost no one else is around?
    But one of the first things Mr. Chandler did when taking over earlier this year was cancel all school traditions. We have to stay on task, our principal says. Which basically means if it isn’t on a test, we can’t do it any longer.
    “Well,” Briggs said, putting the hat back in the closet, “it’s a shame. This would have been one cool crazy hat.”
    It’s second period. I wrote up a rough sketch of an outline during homeroom and now I’m in computer lab, wondering if I can create my bibliography on the laptop in front of me without Ms. Finch noticing. Not an easy feat. Ms. Finch is the type of teacher who notices
everything.
    We’re supposed to be exploring different sites that make word clouds. “Visual representations can be powerful,” Ms. Finch says. I make eye contact so she thinks I’m following along. “What words come to mind when I say
community
?”
    Paper Things,
I think, but of course I don’t say it. Instead, I open a blank document, pull one of the library books onto my lap, and begin typing the title and author, hoping the desk is doing a good job of blocking me.
    Daniel, whom I’ve been determined to ignore since he dove onto the seat beside me — thereby forcing Sasha to sit on the other side of the lab — reaches over and grabs the book from my lap. I want to yell at him, but I can’t risk alerting Ms. Finch, so I settle for a glare. I think he’s just trying to get me to focus on my computer work, but instead he stretches over and starts typing on my laptop!
    I try to brush his hands away, but I see that he’s at the Port City library site and is searching for Louisa May Alcott. He clicks on the title of my book, copies the bibliographical information, and pastes it into my document. And just like that, I have all the information I need for my bibliography — with hardly any typing!
    “Daniel?” Ms. Finch asks. I freeze. Have we been caught?
    “Group, common, society,”
Daniel says calmly.
    “Very good,” Ms. Finch says, and moves on.
    I let out a breath. Across the room, I catch Sasha’s gaze. She rolls her eyes, as though Daniel was being a show-off. I smile at her, but secretly I’m grateful to Daniel. Doing my bibliography this way will save me a ton of time — and is less likely to get me in trouble with Ms. Finch, since I don’t even have to take the rest of the books out of my bag. I know their titles and authors, and that’s all I need for looking them up on the library’s website.
    As the rest of the kids are typing in words (“How do you spell
organization
?” I hear Linnie ask Ms. Finch), I look up the information for the next book. I’m careful to type only when everyone else is typing.
    I’m getting close to the end — all the information is in place, but I’ll need to fix the spacing before I turn it in — when Daniel reaches over and brushes his hand across my keypad, minimizing my bibliography.
    “Daniel! ”
I snap. “Quit messing —”
    “Ari,” says Ms. Finch from behind me. Her wool pants brush against my arm. “Have you pulled up the class results?”
    “Results?” I say weakly, but Daniel jumps in.
    “We pulled up the results together. See?” He points to the word cloud on his screen. The word
community
is large and in the center. Around it are words in different sizes and colors, hanging together like a floating mobile.
Togetherness
stands out in large bold letters, almost as big as the word
community.
    Ms. Finch nods and moves on.
    I glance at Daniel. “Thanks,” I mutter, wondering why he’s gone out of his way to help me — but too afraid of the answer to ask.

“Come with me to the lab,” I say to Sasha. “Please?”
    “That bibliography was due ages ago,” says Linnie. We’re at the lunch table, and I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to get my bibliography printed and in my hands before social studies.
    I ignore Linnie and continue to wheedle Sasha. “Please,” I repeat.