"Teasing the Cygnan children," said the teacher, "will have consequences, possibly including being held back a year. So please be kind to our new students." Morning classes were quiet. No one passed notes or whispered, partly because of the checkerboard placement of Cygnans among the humans. The teacher lectured and children answered questions, in English words or Cygnan wordsong.

Recess freed their pent energy. Extra teachers watched the playground, but they could not watch everything. Eight-year-old Jonah and his friends cornered a Cygnan from their class. He was half Jonah's size, with skin the color of wine and jutting ribs in an alien pattern showing through his American t-shirt.

"You think you're smarter than us?" demanded Jonah. He pushed the Cygnan, who responded with his wind-chime voice. "He can't even talk," said Jonah. "I don't know what you're saying, Cyggie," he said. He shoved the Cygnan again, but vanished before his hands made contact.

After recess, Jonah and two more remained absent from the classroom.

"I see some of us have forgotten," said the teacher, "about the Cygnan reflexive ability to push their aggressors forward in time. The following students will be missing school until they reintersect our space-time continuum..."