I remember my first day at Eagle Hill Middle School, a place I didn’t want to be. A new school was nothing I wanted. No, I wanted to be back in the small parochial school I had attended since kindergarten, but Dad had bought a funeral home and so we moved to the suburbs. I entered Eagle Hill about six weeks into fifth grade and everything about it seemed wrong. It felt especially wrong to be walking through that strange and giant place. I was scared.

When I got to Mrs. Maloff's fifth grade class and suffered being introduced to the class, I put on what I hoped was a brave face. I couldn't let anyone know how terrible I felt. It felt imperative to fit in from the get-go even if I could tell that they all dressed differently and soon learned that most of them had been together since pre-school. When the teacher asked me to sit in a certain chair, I did. As the class got to work, I did the work too. In math class the teacher handed out multiplication practice. I finished that sheet in a minute. These were the choices I made in order to let them know I was serious, someone to notice and appreciate. I wanted to be someone with whom to be reckoned and so I played that role.

Today is Mikael's first day in our school. His dad didn't buy a funeral home or move him to the suburbs. Mikael was sent to us from his home school for various reasons, none of them especially good, and because we are the school version of the Island Of Misfit Toys. When he came to my classroom from social studies I saw a red welt over most of his forehead. I knew a lot about him from just that.

I'm no Sherlock Holmes but have been doing this alternative education thing with at-risk kids long enough to have figured out a few things. It wasn't abuse — those marks are usually hidden and kids cover them well. No, I thought, he's a sleeper. He came in and moved toward a chair without making eye contact. I went toward him slowly and at a slight angle, held out my hand and said, "I'm Brian." He muttered his name, limply shook my hand for a second, then sat at a desk and put his head down on the table. His hood was up and I saw his hands under the desk pull the strings tight and closed, leaving only his forehead exposed and resting on the desk. He folded in on himself and went to sleep or pretended to.

Ever seen a turtle go into its shell?

I don’t know exactly what to expect of Mikael, but kids react a couple different ways to traumatic changes such as coming to a new school. I showed off my abilities. Mikael went into hiding and hibernation. We both announced ourselves on entering the new classroom and both wanted people to think that they should take note of and not trifle with us. We both were scared. I'm fifty years old, so I can admit that. He might need a little while.

What do you do with a kid like this? Well, first you realize that there is no kid like this but there is a kid doing this. It's an action, putting his head down, done by a person I don't know yet. I nodded a lot, gently invited and cajoled him to join us, then let him be. He kept his head down and went to sleep. My goal was to be a ghost in this situation, to give him nothing against which to push back. I will wait and see what he decides to do, how he wants to present himself, and who he might be. For the first day I was content to have him head down, showing me that I can't make him do anything.

It’s not my place to make him do certain things, act in any one way. That’s up to him. I invite but don’t have the power to make his decisions. I'm curious what his decisions will be and how long he'll let that red welt announce how he is.