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  She laughed, and they ran across the street.

  “Your sister was different … how?” he asked.

  “I don’t know … special or something. She knew things about people, things that there was no way she could know.”

  “You mean she was psychic—”

  “I didn’t say that.” D’s voice rose.

  Naz could sense he had offended her. “I know. Go ahead.”

  “I mean, she could tell things about a person just by looking at them, and she was always in the dark, gothic-like.”

  “You mean with black fingernail polish and that black stuff girls put on their eyes.”

  “Mascara and eye shadow, yes, but it was more than that. She was always walking around with the lights out. The only time the lights were ever on in her bedroom was when she was reading … or drawing.”

  This information caused Naz’s mind to drift, and he was barely listening.

  “And she had a boyfriend who was the same. My parents thought he was in a gang,” D continued.

  Naz thought about his ability to use his other senses effectively in the absence of light and wondered if it was related. “You mean like she was blind.”

  “Yeah … just like that, except, she could see … a lot better than me anyway.” D laughed and squeezed Naz’s hand.

  He shook off the coming sensation before it could start. “We’re here.” Naz took in the monstrosity that was Union High School.

  They were early, but hundreds of students still poured in through its massive front doors. “Can I keep this … until last hour? I’ll bring it to Ms. Goins’ class.” Naz held up D’s art project.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to look at it some more, and … it’s mine, right?” He smiled.

  “Well, actually it won’t be yours until after Ms. Goins grades it and gives it back to me. I don’t know, Naz. What if you lose it … or mess it up or something?”

  “Come on. You trust me don’t you—”

  “Stop saying that. It’s so cliché. You know I trust you, and I don’t know why.”

  “It’s my smile.” Naz gave his biggest smile.

  “Don’t even try it. I rarely see that.” Her glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose.

  “Pleazzzzzzze. Let me see your glasses again then. Your eyes are sooooo … pretty.”

  She laughed. “Whatever. I’m not giving you my glasses again. Naz … nothing better happen to it.”

  As they entered the building they, separated, D going to her locker and Naz straight to Fears’ class.

  Only Fears, Soul, and Harvis were in the classroom when Naz arrived. Fears wrote on the dry-erase board, holding a Styrofoam cup with a cover on it. Harvis sat at his desk writing in his composition notebook, and Soul played on his phone.

  Naz couldn’t resist. “Look.” He pulled the foam board out of the plastic bag and walked over to Harvis.

  Harvis stood up to see while Soul and Fears joined them.

  “What’s up, Tin man,” said Soul. “Who did this?”

  “Ms. Dinwiddie,” said Fears.

  “How’d you know, Coach?” Naz looked at Fears.

  Harvis pointed to the signature at the bottom of the board that read:

  “Duh,” said Soul.

  “Does she know you’re showing this to everybody?” asked Fears.

  “Uh, no. Why?” asked Naz.

  “Your girlfriend’s talented, Andersen.” Fears nodded with a smirk on his face that Naz hadn’t seen before.

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “She did all this for you? Uh … Tin Man, I’m afraid to break this to you, but …” Soul put his arm around Naz’s shoulder and looked him directly in his eyes. “She is your girlfriend.”

  They all started laughing, and Naz shook his head as other students trickled in. Some looked at D’s project and made positive comments while others went to their seats and worked on what Fears had put on the board.

  “Is my nose really that big?” asked Soul as he pointed to his picture.

  “I don’t think she changed that.” Naz laughed.

  As if he had been waiting for their arrival and before they could get inside the door, Soul waved Ham and Milton over. “Check it out.”

  John walked in and made his way over, too. “What’s going on?” He peered through the huddle. “Nice! Who did that?”

  “D,” said Naz, still a little salty with John from the pop in the mouth.

  “Oh, Naz,” said John. “I hope we’re OK about my little punch. I was just trying to help, and I couldn’t think of anything else. And technically … it’s the reason we’re all here.” John smiled.

  “Yeah, and technically … I owe you one,” Naz said playfully, showing John his fist.

  They both gave a less-than-enthusiastic laugh.

  “She needs to work for the school newspaper or something.” John had moved to where he could see the foam board up close.

  “There is no school newspaper,” said Fears.

  “Somebody needs to do something about that.” John pulled out his phone and entered some data.

  “My guys, my guys … and gals,” boomed Fears, now leaning on the edge of the front of his desk. “Have a seat. Your board work is … on the board. Get to it.”

  When the little crowd that had gathered dispersed, D stood there with her hand on her hip, looking daggers at Naz. A multitude of thoughts rushed in, none of which Naz could decipher except that some of them were profane. He turned from her with a sick feeling in his stomach, one he’d never felt before. Only now did Fears’ words—does she know you’re showing everybody this—make sense.

  Naz had done something wrong, and he knew it—but I didn’t mean it. His mind was bombarded with thoughts as if everyone in the class were talking at the same time. Harvis gave Naz a sign to breathe, which Naz did, and the voices slowly subsided.

  After ten minutes of board work, Fears continued with sex education by assigning a role-play where students had to practice saying no to other students who were pressuring them to have sex. It was no surprise that Soul kept volunteering to play the role of predator, ready and willing to try and convince the girls to have sex. More often than not, the students erupted in laughter before the role-play ran its course. Naz hoped that he didn’t get paired with D, and Fears helped Naz to that end, making sure the two never even came close to each other. For his part, Naz avoided making eye contact with D altogether.

  When the bell rang, D was the first one out the door, nodding to a few of the students who told her how much they liked her project.

  Naz sat at his desk. He felt like he was in big trouble, but trouble with who—my girlfriend? He wasn’t sure what he had done—everybody liked the picture, everybody.

  “Naz, you OK?” asked Harvis.

  Naz stood, grabbed the foam board next to his desk, and shrugged.

  “Told you, Tin Man. Girlfriend was hot,” said Soul as they all made their way to the door.

  “Andersen,” bellowed Fears. “This too shall pass.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  They all went their separate ways as Naz contemplated Fears’ words—this too shall pass. It was something his mother always said.

  Naz made sure he was the first person to arrive at Art Survey for two reasons: he wanted to let Ms. Goins know that he was a new student and to address him as Naz rather than Igod, and he didn’t want to be left having to sit next to D. He didn’t think he could take being in close proximity with her for an hour, not when he considered how angry she might be. I’ve only been here two days, and already, Tone hates me, and my girlfr … well, D hates me.

  He walked into class. “Hi, Ms. Goins?”

  “Yes.” The pale women stood up and gave Naz a firm handshake. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m … Igod Andersen, and I’m new here.” Naz was taught somewhere to shake another man’s hand firmly, but never a woman. He shook her hand timidly in response.

  She grabbed a cli
pboard off her desk that held a piece of paper with a list of names on it. “Ah, yes. We were expecting you yesterday.” She bore into him with her piercing, icy blue eyes. She was taller than Dr. Gwen, even with Dr. Gwen’s heels, and Naz found himself looking up at her, passed her eyes to her spikey, blonde haircut that made her even taller.

  “Um, yeah. I was meeting with my counselor and um …”

  “Well, that’s fine.” She looked at him as if to ask, was there anything else?

  “Also, I don’t really go by my first name; everyone pretty much calls me Naz.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Naz … N-A-Z Andersen.”

  “That’s fine. Most of the boys don’t go by their names, anyway. I’ll try to remember.” She wrote something on the clipboard.

  Several students walked in. One carried what appeared to be a small boulder with an antenna sticking out of it. Another had a bag that obviously held a foam board like the one Naz was holding. Another student was empty-handed. They all sat in the same area and talked amongst themselves.

  “Do we sit anywhere?” Naz turned back to the teacher.

  “Yes.” She looked at the clipboard. “Naz, we encourage creativity here in Art Survey, not structure. Help yourself.” She gestured to all of the open seats in the classroom. “First come, first served.”

  “Thank you.” Naz found his way to the back of the room and took a seat. He was relatively sure he wouldn’t end up sitting next to D there.

  Before he could get comfortable, D and several students walked in. He made sure he wasn’t looking at the door, but he knew it was her; he could feel the tension. A peripheral peek confirmed his feeling. She stopped when she saw him and then made her way to the back of the room, sat next to him, and turned her body so it was facing him. He tried to ignore her, but it was impossible. When he finally turned to her, she was staring at him with a look of stone. He immediately looked away, not sure what to think. Naz didn’t expect D’s maneuver, or he would’ve come in class late and risked having his name called out loud. The bell rang as more students filed in and took seats.

  He had to know what she was thinking, and it would be easy right about now as emotionally high strung as he was. He focused.

  Haha! He still thinks I’m mad.

  He was relieved she wasn’t mad at him anymore but, wondering why she wasn’t, he decided to dig a little deeper.

  Two can play at that.

  Uh-oh! Now he was feeling worse for reading her thoughts, but he couldn’t help himself. Naz decided to apologize right then and there for showing her foam board to everybody. He turned to her.

  “Clap once if you can hear me,” said Ms. Goins.

  D clapped one time and looked toward the front of the class.

  “Clap twice if you can hear me,” said Ms. Goins.

  This time Naz and everyone else clapped twice and turned their attention to Ms. Goins.

  “All right, ladies and gents, you’ve had weeks to work on these projects. Who would like to go first?”

  D’s hand shot up, and Naz’s head whipped around to take notice of it.

  “Delilah, be my guest.” Ms. Goins smiled, returned to her desk and picked up her clipboard.

  D furrowed her brow at the sound of her name, but she got up without hesitation, grabbed the board that leaned against Naz’s desk, and walked confidently to the front of the class. Naz watched with pride as his girlfriend took center stage. Then it struck him—those pictures in her presentation are of me.

  D pulled the foam board out, discarding the plastic bag on the floor. She turned sideways so she could cradle the board against her body and then pointed to the pictures with her free hand.

  “Last year, along with some of you…” D made eye contact with some of the students she knew from the year before. “I attended Lincoln Middle School. Our basketball team, led by my good friend, Igod Andersen, went undefeated and won the Marshal Park Middle School League Championship. Igod, will you stand up please.”

  Students scanned the room to locate D’s victim. The ones who knew Naz egged him on to stand up.

  “That’s so nice. Stand up, Igod.” Ms. Goins walked around her desk to get a better look at D’s foam board.

  Naz smiled as heat rushed to his face, and his heart pounded. He could’ve sworn he’d turned red all over. All he could do was grin and bear it. He was at D’s mercy, the mercy of the class, and the mercy of Ms. Goins and Art Survey. He had no choice but to stand up on shaky legs. Thoughts from everywhere rushed in—They were good! What’s this about? They must go together. I can study for my test now. She’s good. I heard about them. Boring … Nobody could beat that team. She’s hot! That Soulomon Bender kid is crazy. He didn’t even try to suppress them. It was like a tsunami he had to endure, and he did it with a smile.

  “The photographs have been enhanced by a freehand drawing program as well as freehand sketches. This picture of … Igod … is a complete sketch of what he likes to call a wrap-around pass to one of his teammates. This is a picture of … Igod … shooting a jump shot, two of his game-high forty points.”

  The students oohed and ahed, and some of them laughed. D took her time explaining each picture on the board, how and what she used to alter or draw it, and what Naz was doing in the picture. Naz could feel his legs getting even weaker, and he could tell D was eating it up. When she finished, the students clapped as she walked back to her seat the same way she had come up to the front of the class: with a smug confidence. She and Naz sat down at the same time. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

  “Touché,” Naz said, only loud enough for D to hear as the clapping died down.

  The rest of the class was a blur to Naz. It wasn’t so bad being the center of attention—along with D. They were like a team. He couldn’t wait to get outside and talk to her.

  After school, they walked a few blocks without saying a word until they both erupted in laughter.

  “I give up; don’t shoot.” Naz pretended like he was waving a white flag in surrender then put both hands in the air.

  “I was sooo mad at you this morning,” said D, through her laughter.

  “Were you? Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I was not thinking.” Naz shook his head and stuffed his hands in his front pockets.

  “I know you weren’t. When I walked in, you were like a little boy with a brand new toy on the day after Christmas, all your boys gathered around you to share in your excitement.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “I’m a really private person, and nobody had seen that, except you and Mr. Tesla … nobody.”

  “I felt so bad all day long.”

  “But you didn’t know that about me.” D pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  “Yeah, but as Meri used to say, ‘Ignorance of the law is no excuse.’”

  “Did she?”

  “Yup.”

  “She told me she wanted to be a lawyer one day.”

  “When?”

  “At your first game last year.”

  “I remember that. You guys were sitting there talking, and I wondered what you were talking about.”

  “You weren’t paying attention, and Harvis passed the ball to you.” She had to stop herself from laughing to finish. “It … it bounced off your head.”

  Remembering, Naz laughed. “And Coach was mmmaaaaaad. He warned me today, by the way, that you’d be mad.”

  “Warned you how?

  “He asked, ‘does she know you’re showing this to everybody?’” Naz did a poor imitation of Fears. “I didn’t know what he was talking about until it was too late. Why am I always learning things after the fact, after it’s too late?”

  “It’s never too late to learn … and we’re teenagers. That’s how it works, trial and error. It doesn’t mean as much if people have to tell us everything. Experience is a good teacher, right?”

  “Rrright.”

  “Anyhow, by lunchtime, I was OK, and
came up with a plan to get you back.”

  “And get me back you did.” Naz laughed.

  “Did you get mad when I asked you to stand up?”

  “No, I was too embarrassed.”

  “What about when I kept saying your name over and over again. Igod, Igod, Igod—”

  “Stop! Now that was over the top, but I was still too rattled to be mad. I just had to survive your storm. What’s that saying about a woman’s fury again?”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

  “That’s it. Wait … listen.” Naz stopped walking. He could hear the rhythm of conga drums.

  “What?” D stopped.

  “It’s Juba.”

  “Juba?”

  “Yeah, Juba Lee. Harvis swears by this guy. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a trot. “Never in the same place twice.”

  “Naz,” she protested.

  “Come on. You’re gonna love this.”

  One block up and a half block over Naz’s ears found Juba Lee, playing three weather-worn conga drums with a graffiti-painted storefront as his backdrop. He wore a ragged smile with crooked, cream-colored teeth, and his salt and pepper dreads swayed to and fro as he drummed out his hypnotic beat. Two men, drinking something concealed by brown paper bags, leaned against a parked car while another watched from inside the car, smoking something. A couple with a small girl stood on the sidewalk and listened intently, their heads bobbing up and down together.

  “Naz,” said Juba, never losing his beat. “Long time, mon. Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “Uh…” Naz smiled, embarrassed. “This is my friend … uh, girl.”

  “Ah … cheatin’ den, mon.” Juba laughed.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” D asked Naz under her breath.

  “No, Juba’s just silly like that.”

  “Such a pretty girl, mon. What’s her name?”

  “D.”

  “Ah … D it tis.” Juba stopped his beat abruptly and started another smooth beat.

  “What’s he about to do?” asked D.