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Naz was angry because he allowed himself to get involved in something like this. He had avoided similar confrontations for over three years, and now he was smack dab in the middle of one.

  “He’s scared,” the voice said.

  Naz was scared because he didn’t know what would happen to Meri if something happened to him. That was unthinkable, and he became even angrier. He needed to find a way out of this. His mind raced, but everything around him was in slow motion, just as his dream from the night before. He now recalled it vividly, but he wasn’t dreaming, and he knew it.

  “He doesn’t understand us,” the voice continued.

  Are therevoices… or just one voice? Naz thought. He wished he had taken Ham’s efforts to teach him Spanish more seriously, and he vowed to do just that if he ever … no, when I get out of this, he thought. If I could just speak Spanish, I know I could talk my way out of this.

  “You can’t fight,” said the voice.

  He needed to find another way.

  “You better not run,” the voice said.

  That’s a good idea, he thought. I can run. He was fast, real fast. He had always been faster than anybody in his class. But he couldn’t leave Ham, even though it was Ham who had gotten him into this mess. Still, he needed to find a way out, another way.

  “You’re going to die,” said the voice.

  All of a sudden, the husky boy lunged at Ham with his knife. Barely moving, Ham slid to the side evading the husky boy’s attack and ended up right next to the boy.

  Between the voices and the commotion of the fight, Naz lost sight of the taller boy. He had suddenly grabbed Naz from behind and was holding the point of his knife at Naz’s throat, while jabbing and just breaking the skin.

  “Don’t move, or you’re going to die,” said the voice.

  “¡ÚNETE A NOSOTROS!” yelled the taller boy as he continued to hold Naz.

  Meanwhile, Ham elbowed the husky boy in the nose and caused him to drop his knife and fall to his knees while he covered his face with his hands.

  “Oh,my God,” the voice continued.

  As the boy holding Naz tightened his grip, Naz could feel the searing sting from the tip of the knife. He wasn’t sure if it was blood, sweat, or a combination of the two running down his neck. He tried to block out the voices, but now there were more of them, and they were growing even louder.

  Ham yelled something in Spanish to the boy that was holding Naz. Naz could only assume he’d said to let him go.

  “What should I do now?” the voice yelled and then,“Blood!”

  Naz tried to see if the voices were coming from one of the boys. They weren’t. They were all speaking in Spanish, and he didn’t understand any of it.

  “Blood!” the voice screamed again. The voices were in his head, and they were distracting him.

  The boy yelled something back at Ham. Ham repeated himself, and it turned into a shouting match.

  “But he’s too little,” the voice said.

  By this time the boy on his knees was holding his bloodied nose and began creeping toward his knife. The knife was lying on the ground several feet away. Naz noticed and began yelling, but it was too late.

  “He’s a coward,” said the voice.

  With one quick move the boy picked up his knife and stabbed Ham just above his belt.

  “Oh, my God!” said the voice.

  Ham let out a terrible scream. “AAAAAAAAARGH,” yelled Ham as he fell on his side and curled into a fetal position.

  All of a sudden the husky boy that had stabbed Ham took off running down the street yelling,“¡Roffio, vamos! ¡Roffio,vamos!”

  Without warning, the boy who held Naz threw him to the ground and ran down the street after the other boy.

  At first Naz didn’t move, until he felt the sharp sting on his neck and instinctively brought his hand up to touch the puncture wound that was now oozing blood. He tentatively looked down and saw the trail of blood that stained his gray shirt a dark, maroon hue. Am I OK? Is this what shock feels like? he wondered. He had never seen anything like this, much less been in the middle of it.

  “Look … blood,” the voice said.

  Naz heard Ham moan. He tried to shake the voices out of his head as he stood up and stumbled over to Ham who was writhing in pain.

  “Look … blood … he’s bleeding,” Naz heard a girl say.

  He only now noticed the kids gathering, walking by, and pointing, probably on their way to school, he figured.

  “Blood,” the voice said quietly.

  He didn’t know what to do. It’s not like the movies now, he thought. There was no hero, no music, no riding away. There was just blood, everywhere, his blood, the husky boy’s blood, and Ham’s blood, a lot of Ham’s blood. It was thick and deep red.

  “Blood,” Naz heard the voice say again.

  “Somebody call an ambulance!” a lady in the distance screamed. He didn’t know what to say to Ham who was clearly not OK.

  “I’m scared,” the voice said quietly.

  He kneeled down with his hand still on his neck. With his free hand, he grabbed Ham’s hand. It was cold. He didn’t know what to do after that. Ham was still moving, and that made him feel a little better.

  “Ham,” Naz called.

  Ham moaned.

  “I’m scared,” said the voice again.

  “Ham,” Naz called again, and again Ham moaned. Naz noticed that Ham had wet his pants. Between that, the blood, the sweat, and the smell, all of it made him feel sick, nauseous. He turned to the side and threw up. But he wouldn’t leave Ham’s side.

  “I’m scared,” the voice said one more time.

  With his mouth dry and soured with the taste of vomit, Naz began to yell,“Somebody call an ambulance,” and then louder,“Somebody call an ambulance!” and then as loud as he could,“SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

  “Somebody call an ambulance,” the voice said quietly. Then it was gone, and there was silence. Looking to his side, Naz noticed a man driving by on the street. It was the same man that had been parked in front of his house earlier, and he wondered, what does únete a nosotros mean?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FEARS

  “MR. ANDERSEN,” the voice bellowed, snapping Naz back to reality.“For the third time, that is your name, isn’t it, son?”

  When Naz looked up, the entire class was staring at him. He had obviously been daydreaming about what happened earlier that morning and missed something. He saw the towering figure clad in a royal blue T-shirt and royal blue fleece pants in front of the classroom. The figure’s eyes fixed on Naz. Naz decided to take a chance.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know the answer,” said Naz.

  Students began to snicker and mutter to each other as the tall man walked to the middle of the classroom where Naz was sitting. He needed only to wave his hand and the noise from the students subsided immediately. With Naz looking up at him, the man could now see the blood seeping through the bandage on Naz’s neck. Naz lowered his head in an attempt to conceal the bandaged wound.

  “You are correct, Mr. Andersen. You are sorry. But why are you sorry?” The teacher spoke in a calm, low tone that almost seemed friendly. But Naz knew that wasn’t the case so he tried to steel himself for what was about to come.

  “Um … for not knowing the answer, sir,” Naz said.

  “The answer to what, son?”

  Naz was caught. He had no idea what the question was, let alone the answer, so he decided to shake his head and hope he would be let off the hook. A long silence followed, so Naz thought he’dbetter at least say something.“I wasn’t paying attention, sir.”

  “Obviously, but the question at hand was not a question at all, Mr. Andersen, but instead a directive … a directive for you to tell us one interesting thing you did this summer.”

  I should have known it was something like that, Naz thought. It is the first day of school.

  “So, enlighten us, Mr. Andersen.”

  Naz was stumped. A whole s
ummer had gone by, and he couldn’t think of one interesting thing he had done. He shook his head and replied,“Nothing.”

  “Come on now, Mr. Andersen, there must have been something. Did you travel somewhere, visit a relative… go to an amusement park?” the teacher asked as he walked toward the back of the room and waited for a reply.

  “I went to see my uncle in Washington D.C.…” Naz said quickly, and then to make it more convincing and believable he added,“… withmy little sister.” He felt like everyone in the classroom knew that he was lying, and it made him hot all over.

  “And what did you see in D.C.?”

  “Um … um … um … The White House … a monument … and…” He saw a picture of Abraham Lincoln on the wall, and in a flash it came to him from nowhere.“The Lincoln Memorial, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the Pentagon, the …”

  “Thank you… Mr. Andersen! I will say this one more time for the benefit of Mr. Andersen and anyone else who was out to lunch the first time.” He pointed to the name printed on the dry-erase board in large capital letters.

  FEARS

  Marcus Fears was the most respected and feared teacher at Lincoln. He was also the boys’ basketball coach. To him, basketball was a microcosm of life, and he never missed an opportunity to take advantage of a teaching moment—on or off the court.

  “I like to give my students choices … my choices. You can address me in one of three ways: Mr. Fears, Coach Fears, or Coach, and that is all. Sir, was my father’s name,” said Fears as he looked at Naz.

  Naz wondered how he had missed all of that. He had been there for the whole second half of the day, but it was as if he hadn’t been there at all. His mind was still out on that street—in the Exclave, the battlefield. He kept rewinding it in his mind and playing it back, over and over again. His mind would retell how the ambulance came almost an hour after being called, with the police close behind. Ham could’ve died, he thought. And they asked so many questions. It was only the second time he had ever talked to a police officer, and as before, their presence alone made him feel like he was the one in trouble. They kept saying that they would catch the boys who did this, but it was well known in the Exclave that the police never caught anyone.

  Fears’ bellowing voice cut through again, startling Naz back to reality once more. “This is your last hour class of the day, Health 101, and I am here to teach you all one important thing this year, Railsplitters.” He seemed to take pride in referring to the students as Railsplitters.

  This took Naz’s mind back to Ham, who first said that name to him earlier that morning.

  “Risk Reduction,” Fears continued.“Mr. Andersen, what one important thing will you learn this year?” He noticed Naz tuning out again.

  “Uh … Risk Reduction?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me, Mr. Andersen?”

  “Uh … telling you, sir … I mean, Mr.…” Naz looked at the board and quickly added,“Fears.”

  “Right! Risk Reduction, and how so?” He turned to the rest of the class.“Anyone have a clue?” He looked around as he continued to pace back toward the middle of room.

  None of the students raised hands. Naz couldn’t remember Fears sitting down since the class began, and that seemed like half an hour ago.

  “No, you wouldn’t … mainly because I haven’t told you yet,” Fears continued. He spoke in barely more than a whisper at times, but no one seemed to have any trouble hearing him.

  Between the pauses of his carefully chosen words you could hear a pin drop. There was no movement whatsoever in the classroom other than Fears quietly pacing through the maze of desks and the heads of the students as they turned in sync to follow his every move. It was as if time was frozen. The students seemed transported to a static hypnotic dimension with Fears the only navigator.

  “I can tell you to wear a bicycle helmet to save you from splitting your skull in half when you land on the cement after your bike hits a rock or pothole,” Fears lectured and pointed out the window,as some of the students winced and grimaced in imaginary pain.“But you won’t. Helmets look silly anyway.”

  Some students laughed nervously. He stopped his pacing to look at one student’s hands in a loathsome manner then continued.“To prevent you from catching a cold, I can tell you to wash your filthy hands when you wake up in the morning. I can tell you to wash them before and after you eat. I can tell you to wash them after you use the bathroom and again before you go to bed at night.” He turned to a girl who had just finished blowing her nose.“But you will not.”

  During this fleeting moment of awareness Naz noticed there was one student who sat in the front row and never looked up while Fears was talking. Naz couldn’t quite see the boy’s face from where he was sitting, but he noticed the boy’s hair was extremely short on the sides much like a soldier’s, but longer and all spiky on top like porcupine needles. Naz began to twist a tendril of his own hair. It looked like the boy was writing in a notebook, maybe taking notes, thought Naz. Naz noticed him in the class just before Fears’ class. He had been doing the exact same thing and had also been sitting in the front row. Naz wondered why no one, including Fears, found this boy’s behavior odd, unacceptable, or even interesting. Except for Naz, it was as if no one in the room noticed the boy just writing away and not looking at Fears. Naz then realized, if he continued to focus on the boy in the front row, he would be hearing it from Fears real soon again so he turned his attention back to Fears.

  Fears, now standing in the middle of the room, turned around and began to walk slowly backwards. When he reached a large, round boy with dark, curly hair, he stopped. It was as if Fears had eyes in the back of his head. He wheeled around and put out his hand. The boy looked up, and realizing he had been discovered, he pulled a half-eaten candy bar from underneath his desk and put it in Fears’ hand.

  “I can try to convince you to eat right and exercise,” Fears continued as he looked at the boy.“But most of you will not.” His voice was slowly getting louder with each phrase as if he werea preacher in church and about to reach a crescendo.“I can ask you … no, implore that you say ‘no’ to drugs, but some of you will inevitably say ‘yes.’ And for my guys … and girls, the gangs of the Exclave are not your family. Your family is at home where you live, and here with your classmates and teachers. Gangs are to be avoided at all cost. They are for the weak-minded follower, and here at Lincoln we are allleaders.” He had a flair for the dramatic that captivated his students.

  Fears’ last words caught Naz’s attention and sent him elsewhere again. Gang, Naz thought?

  “But let me make this perfectly clear,” Fears continued.“While you are here at Lincoln, you will respect the rules of this classroom and this school. You will respect yourselves and everyone else for that matter. And when I say Risk Reduction, it will do you good to know that your very life depends on it, Mr. Andersen!” Fears bellowed.“Is there a problem?”

  Naz, snapping back to reality once more, realized he had just been staring out the window and replaying the morning’s events in his brain again. On this first day of class he had been caught breaking Fears’ biggest rule about not paying attention not once, but twice.

  “No, sir, I mean, Mr. Fears.” Naz reached up to feel the blood now leaking from under his bandage.

  The girl next to him saw it and turned away, as if she didn’t want Naz to notice she saw it.

  “May I be excused, sir?” asked Naz.

  “By all means … sir,” Fears replied in a sarcastic, yet conciliatory tone. The students muttered to each other, as Fears was silent while Naz hurried out of the classroom into the half-deserted hallways of Lincoln.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LINCOLN

  HE looked in the mirror in the dimly lit bathroom and thought everything seemed washed out—not as vibrant or colorful as before, even his own appearance. Is it my imagination? he wondered. It didn’t help that he always wore dark or drab colors, his ongoing attempt at anonymity. I’ve changed s
omehow, he thought. How could I have gone through that and not have changed?

  He removed the bandage and changed the dressing with the ointment and new bandage the paramedic had given him. The man told him the wound wasn’t that bad and would heal in a week or so, if he kept it clean and dressed.

  After the fight that morning, Naz snuck back home to change his bloodied shirt. While climbing out of his bedroom window, he’d half torn off the first bandage. Miss Tracey didn’t trust him with a key yet, and he wasn’t sure if she ever would. He waited until he knew she was gone before he went back. He didn’t want any trouble, and a knife wound on his neck, serious or not, along with a bloodied shirt would certainly spell trouble. He made sure he didn’t leave any signs that indicated he had come back home. On the way back to school he tossed the bloodied, Henley T-shirt into the first dumpster he came across. He would replace it later with money he earned from the Market Merchants.

  As he stared in the mirror he thought, únete a nosotros. What could that mean? Then he went back even further in his mind to the minutes before the stabbing occurred. What could he have done differently to prevent what happened, to get Ham to cross that street, and to keep him from confronting those boys? How is Ham? he wondered. He would call him later, then again, maybe not. Would Ham be angry with him for not fighting back? Would he blame Naz for everything? But what could I have done? Naz thought. I didn’t have a knife. Maybe I should carry a knife from now on.“No, no, no. I’ve never even held a knife like that.” I would’ve gotten stabbed for sure, or even worse, he thought, and Meri would be alone now.

  No matter how he turned things over in his mind he still felt responsible for Ham. It took me too long to call Ham’s mom, he thought. She arrived frantic,just before the ambulance.“I just couldn’t think. Maybe Ham can teach me how to use a knife when he gets …,” he paused. The paramedic did say he’d be OK, he remembered.

  Still, Naz couldn’t help feeling he was a coward because he wanted to cross the street to avoid the whole situation, while Ham was willing to stand and fight. He felt like a coward because he had thought about running and because he had been so scared.