Excerpt:

Jumper slammed his locker shut and raced to his homeroom.  He slid into his seat just as the bell rang.  It was his second week in the sixth grade at Langston Hughes Middle School, and his first day on time for all his classes.

There was no excuse for his being late.  The Harlem brownstone he shared with his mother and grandmother was only a block from school.  He just cut it too close; he'd have to do better.

"Elijah J. Breeze," Mrs. Miller called out.

Jumper lifted the index finger of his right hand.  His teacher insisted on calling him Elijah; his friends knew him as Jumper.

There were advantages to being first on the attendance roll, Jumper thought, as his mind wandered without fear of interruption.  On this particular afternoon, Jumper's attention was on his after-school plans.

Mrs. Miller hammered out names with painstaking accuracy: Juston. Nico. Jabari. Lilli. Jamilla. Brooklyn. Mr. Francisco. Eddie. Quinsetta. Trevor.

Homeroom was the first and last period of the day.  Mrs. Miller used the time to keep her sixth graders organized.  But even with Mrs. Miller's help, Jumper still found the day's rhythm confusing.  He brought the wrong books to class and got lost in crowded hallways, amidst unfamiliar faces and languages.  By the last period of the day, Jumper was ready to explode on the basketball court.  Today was no different, except he would be shooting hoops at a store and mixing it with some NBA stars.

The dismissal bell rang.  Jumper bolted out of the classroom, dodging other students, and burst out of the front door.  He spotted his best friend Kelvin Francis, waved, and ran toward him.  He and Kelvin had met over the summer.  They were both eleven, but Kelvin was six months older and Jumper was three inches taller.

"This has been the longest day!"  Jumper complained as the boys knocked knuckles.