THE ONE WE LEFT BEHIND

By Sara Coven

The first day of junior high school is exciting, and a little scary. In The One We Left Behind, the day is ruined because of the weird, new kid in town. Due to food allergies, William and his family are forcing ridiculous food restrictions on the ENTIRE seventh grade. No more pizza. No more peanut butter. Not even a candy bar. It's completely unfair!

Evan, who already has enough to worry about-maintaining his "cool guy" status, his reputation as the best batter in his grade, and impressing the more intimidating students and teachers-is chosen first to sit alone in a room with this geek. What kind of kid can't sit in a school cafeteria? And why should it be Evan's problem?

William becomes the most taunted and teased boy at school. Yet in that first week, Evan realizes he doesn't actually hate being stuck with William. No kid has EVER made Evan laugh so hard. William is also a whiz with baseball statistics, a fabulous prank puller, and a pretty good listener.

But when the week is over, will Evan risk everything to befriend the school loser? It's not his fault that William is so dorky, pale and "different." Why should Evan help the "allergy kid" just because he was assigned to be his first "lunch buddy?" What is Evan supposed to do when the other kids pick on William, and the bullying starts to escalate?

The One We Left Behind explores unlikely friendships, the angst of growing up, and the desire to be accepted for who you are. It reminds readers that decisions sometimes have consequences that can never be taken back.

Editorial Reviews
In this debut YA novel, a teenager in 1995 finds himself torn between his social status and his growing friendship with the class nerd.

Junior high is a new experience for 13-year-old Evan Roth in Columbus, Ohio. He’d been a popular athlete, but seventh grade overflows with tweens and teens from different elementary schools. Sadly, it looks as if he won’t make a good impression the first week, as he’s the assigned “lunch buddy” of the Cincinnati transfer student. William Nash has severe food allergies and must eat lunch in a classroom rather than the crowded cafeteria. Evan finds the situation alarming: “Lunch was one of the times when kids figured out who would be leaders, who would be followers, and who would be left with no friends at all.” But it turns out Evan and William have a lot in common, including their love of baseball. Being friends with William is an adjustment for Evan, as he and his fellow students learn how to use an “epi” in case the boy goes into anaphylactic shock. But William is worth it, and Evan enjoys hanging out with him. Yet Evan likes to be popular, too, which sometimes involves keeping his head down while others tease and openly mock William. Evan may have to choose—siding with insensitive bullies or a warm, funny, and generous guy. Each of Coven’s believable characters is chock-full of personality, as not all bullies are entirely apathetic and not every mother is as affectionate as Evan’s. William shows the most layers; he’s often unruffled when peers toss out insults (dubbing him Casper on account of his pale skin), but he’s devastated when convinced he’s a burden to his parents. Readers will learn a lot about allergies, especially in a chapterlong conversation on William’s medical problems and the shocking physical reactions he’s endured. Coven deftly taps into the teenage mind, as Evan and his male friends, when not mulling over girls or professional sports, play pranks and video games. This story serves lighthearted and profound moments in equal measure all the way to the unforgettable ending.

Strong characters drive an enthusiastic adolescent tale that ably tackles serious issues.—Kirkus Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Sep 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662924866

Book preview

Iwould like to think that William and I would have been friends even if he’d been a normal kid. William—my co-conspirator in prank pulling, video-gaming and general mischief-making—could rattle off baseball statistics like no one else. He knew how to handle bullies and tough kids. He could make you laugh, even on the worst days. While most of our days were filled with sunshine and laughter, games and adventures, in those moments in between—when the skies dimmed, and the world turned gray—I could see that William was not really a kid. Not in the same sense as me. I close my eyes and see William’s smiley, gap-toothed face, flyaway hair, compact body in constant motion. His twelve-year-old image forever etched in my mind in blazing color.

Why was I tiptoeing? I was acting like some kind of freak. Man up, Roth. You can handle this . It’s just school. Like last year. And the year before. So what if the building is bigger? You’re the dude. You’ll still be the dude. I glanced behind me as my mom’s blue Buick pulled slowly out of the drop-off lane. Part of me couldn’t wait to get inside, get started with this next step in my life. Most of me wanted to run after my mom’s car. I breathed in. This place didn’t even smell like my old school, Sutton Elementary. It smelled like old concrete and new paint—not completely foreign, but different. Where was I? Kids swirled around me. I tried to blink the blur away so that I could find my oldest and best friend, Jason Green, or any familiar face.

All summer I’d been counting down the days until junior high would begin. And 1995 was sure to be my best year yet. I was finally a teenager, and ready for some excitement. Something larger than what I had yet experienced in Pinehurst, a comfortable but dull suburb of Columbus, Ohio.

Okay nimwad, go find your locker at least. Don’t just stand here like a fool. I could do that. I made my way over to the block of gray lockers we had first seen on our tour last spring. There. Number 123. That’s mine. It’s really not bad. Last year, we’d still had cubbies—like little babies. Here, I could have some privacy, more freedom. I could even put up some pictures. I was blinking less rapidly, so I could see better. But the pounding in my heart just wouldn’t subside. Ugh, come on, Roth. You’re tough. A superstar. You already know all the kids from Sutton—you were a rock star there. You will be here.

But the kids in the hall looked so intimidating. I must be surrounded by eighth graders.

In sixth grade, I had ruled the school. I was the fastest runner, the one who could hit the baseball the farthest. They called me Robot Roth because of my strength, a name I only pretended to hate.

I had always been one of the bigger guys in my class. And though I was a little freaked, I was mostly proud when I started to notice hair down there and under my arms. I knew I was ahead of a lot of my friends—becoming a real man. But still, could I compete with guys a year older? I could feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead and took a quick whiff of my armpits. The last thing I needed was to stink up the school on the first day.

I caught a glimpse of the kid standing at the locker next to me, fumbling with his combination. He was much smaller than me with nearly colorless skin and tiny freckles spattering his nose and cheeks. He grinned at me. Though my shoulders finally relaxed enough so that I no longer felt like a mummy, I did not return his smile.

Where the heck is Jason? We’d talked about meeting up at my locker before homeroom. But he was nowhere in sight. We’d spent last night hanging out at my house. Rambling about school and who we thought would make the soccer team this year. Rod Schaefer’s not gonna cut it, you’ll see, I said, trying to assuage Jason’s worry about his biggest elementary school rival. You’re way better. No contest. I’d liked the way my voice had started deepening over the summer. It made me sound more authoritative—when it wasn’t making that funny cracking sound.

Like me, Jason was an athlete. Jason had been the star soccer player at Sutton.

The warning bell rang. There was no more time for worrying about Jason, I had to get to homeroom.

Yikes, why couldn’t I remember which direction to go?

Sitting in my very first homeroom, feet tapping, knees jiggling, I recognized most of the kids sitting around me. But what I hadn’t immediately noticed was that I had unintentionally plopped down right beside the kid with the freckles. I looked at him and did a double take. Wow. He was so pale, his face was practically transparent. Would we be allowed to change seats, or was I stuck here the rest of the year? He looked like a real nerd. I quickly turned my head. I hoped he wouldn’t talk to me. In junior high, kids only had one chance. One mess up could stick with you forever. If I was gonna stay on top, I needed to make sure I only talked to the right kids. Freckles wasn’t one of them—the right kids could just tell these things.

Our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Stone, was pinched-faced and sour looking. It didn’t help that, prior to our entrance, she had filled the chalkboard, edge to edge, with class rules, written in stark, no-nonsense handwriting. Any student not in his seat by the bell will be considered tardy. Roughhousing will not be tolerated. Respect for teachers is expected at ALL times. I was sure that laughing and smiling would be forbidden too. I noticed that the other kids also sat tight-lipped, staring at their ancient, chipped-up wooden desks. A light flickered on the ceiling above us. Man was this room depressing. Oh well. At least homeroom was the shortest period of the day.

Mrs. Stone cleared her throat, and the room became radio silent. One by one, but in no understandable order, she asked each of us to introduce ourselves. I was one of the first. Evan Roth, she said. I tried hard to keep my voice steady, praying that no one would detect my slightly shaking hands or heavier-than-normal breathing.

Hey, I…I’m Evan Roth…from…ummm…Sutton. Oh my God. I sounded like such a tool. Chill out, Evan. Before everyone starts to think you’re super weird.

After I was finished, I stopped paying attention until Mrs. Stone called on the last kid—my small, pasty desk neighbor. He sat up straight and smiled. My name is William Nash and me and my family are from Cincinnati. We moved here over the summer.

Was it just me, or was this kid a little too eager? He didn’t even seem self-conscious of his high, squeaky, Mickey Mouse voice. Maybe kids from Cincinnati weren’t as cool as the people here. But seconds later, I understood William had way bigger problems than his voice or dorky demeanor.

When William finished his introduction, Mrs. Stone looked around at all of us. Her expression seemed to soften. Thank you, William. Now, each of you may read the rules on the chalkboard on your own. For now, we have an extremely important matter to discuss.

As it turned out, this matter was William Nash. This matter would affect each one of us for the entire school year.

William has severe allergies to peanuts, eggs and dairy, Mrs. Stone explained. This means, in our homeroom, each of you will have to wash your hands every morning as soon as you enter the room. Seventh grade is barred from bringing snacks that contain eggs, dairy, or peanuts.

Barred? What the … I heard a loud gasp come from somewhere behind me.

What about lunch? What are we sp’osed to bring? called out Roger Clark.

Yeah, what about pizza day? asked Leslie Cohen.

William was staring directly ahead, seemingly unaffected by the reactions of the other kids.

Mrs. Stone continued calmly, William will eat in a separate room so the allergies will not affect anyone in the cafeteria. One student will be chosen each week to sit with William, so he will not be alone.

A hush came over the room. Was everyone else as confused and upset as me? I’d never heard of a kid like William, with these crazy allergies. Was this for real? Why couldn’t he just stay away from the wrong foods? Wasn’t it kind of his own problem? It seemed awfully extreme and unfair. There were at least 300 seventh graders, but only one William.

Some kids looked puzzled, some rolled their eyes. A few even had their mouths hanging open. I couldn’t imagine the horror of being singled out on the very first day of junior high, already labeled a dweeb and a nuisance. But William didn’t so much as flinch, his eyes focused upon Mrs. Stone, that stupid grin still plastered on his face.

Forget William. I had plenty of other things to worry about. There were so many rules and expectations. What if I got lost trying to find my new classrooms? What if I wasn’t in my seat by the time the bell rang? How would I remember the names of every teacher? How would I ever impress them all? I knew I would do okay with math and computers, but what if seventh-grade science was just too tough for me?

Plus, there were a lot of kids here from different elementary schools, with their own cliques, athletes and losers. Not everyone here knew Robot Roth.

Finally, the bell rang. I was in such a rush to get out of there, I almost missed my name being called.

Evan Roth, please come see me before you head out.

Ugh, this was bad—how had I messed up already? I didn’t want to be late to my second period, social studies in room 221. Were there two levels in this place? I didn’t remember an elevator from our tour of the building last spring. I watched as the rest of the class rushed out, anxious to find their new rooms and to grab seats next to friends.

Mrs. Stone’s expression was far less harsh close up. Behind thick, dark glasses, her eyes were a deep blue. They were intense, but they didn’t look cold or mean.

Evan, your sixth-grade teachers have recommended you to be William’s first lunch buddy. They have spoken to Principal Walkins and some other staff here about how outgoing you are and how well you get along with the other students. They feel you would be a good role model to those who are chosen in the coming weeks. It will be great for William to have a buddy like you to help him get through his first week at a new school. And it will be wonderful for you to have this opportunity to get to know William, right? What a testament to your strengths as a leader!

Had this lady lost her mind? Hadn’t Mrs. Stone been teaching for, like, eighteen years? Could she not see what this would mean for me? I would be isolated from all the other kids the very first week of school, during the most important period of the day. Lunch was one of the times when kids figured out who would be leaders, who would be followers, and who would be left with no friends at all.

Umm, okay, I guess, I mumbled. I didn’t meet Mrs. Stone’s gaze. My mind raced and I seethed with an intense hatred for the scrawny kid who was about to ruin my life.

Mrs. Stone explained that William would sit with a school administrator on this first day, so I was not required to begin my sentence until Tuesday.

In second period social studies, I pulled out the rumpled sheet of paper we were handed in homeroom and instructed to deliver to our parents. The sheet was a guideline, outlining exactly which foods were now prohibited and suggesting some options that were safe to bring in for snacks, holidays or birthday treats. There was even a section on lotions and soaps that could contain nut oils. I couldn’t believe that the school expected our whole class to read hand soap labels because of one kid’s needy and overprotective parents. What gave his family the right to forbid us from eating Snickers bars at school? And what was I supposed to have my mom pack for the rest of the week? My summer staple, consisting of peanut butter and banana on white bread, was now out of the question. Would she have time to run to the store before school the next morning? How could I survive my first week if I was hungry?

When lunch period rolled around on that first day, I practically sprinted to the cafeteria. I needed to stake out an acceptable seat at the right table and make sure it would be waiting for me when I returned the following Monday. I grabbed my bagged lunch out of my locker and entered the sea of tee shirts and acid-washed jeans. I found Jason seated at a big rectangular table with eight chairs surrounding it. There were six boys already sitting there—all of whom I recognized from Sutton. I plopped myself down next to Brad Konover, another guy I’d always liked.

"Have you seen that eighth grader, Randy Walker?" exclaimed Jason.

Yeah! Brad responded. "That dude is HUGE. I heard he’s an absolute beast on the soccer field."

I realized I was not the only guy at this table who was feeling out of my element.

But the conversation soon turned to William. What about that allergy kid? Do you think he’s so scrawny because he can’t eat anything? asked Tony Russo.

Tony had been in my class last year. He was always the first kid to make a joke at another’s expense. Embarrassing people was his special gift. Other kids sucked up to him all the time, I guess because they were a little afraid of him. I sure was.

He went on, What would happen if we snuck some cheese into his sandwich? Would he puke in class? That’d be hilarious!

For once, I kind of agreed with Tony. But how could I bring up my own situation without becoming a joke myself? Why, why, why, did I have to go first?

Jason responded to Tony before I could figure out what to say. Yeah, he said. "I don’t understand what makes him so special that we all have to suffer. I’m allergic to ragweed and it makes me miserable. My mom gives me some crappy medicine and tells me to stop whining."

What’s ragweed, barf bag? sputtered Tony, I never heard of nobody bein’ allergic to weeds.

Wait, piped in David King, eyes surveying the room, "isn’t Cari Weston allergic to peanuts?" David was another kid from Sutton. I’d never gotten to know him very well. He gave off an air of superiority that intimidated me. But I had something to contribute to