As Davidson wiped off the board at the front of the class, ­Tanner, his head tilted, faux-whispered to Sarah. His voice was only barely audible under the flutter of papers shifting, books coming out of bags and slapping onto the desktops. But I heard it. “Yeah, I mean I heard she’s a DYKE.”

I froze, my poetry textbook gripped in my hand.

Next to me, Berry shifted in her seat.

“Guess the city would rather give a job to a dyke than someone who can actually do it for real,” Tanner’s voice crept up in volume, as the sound of books flopping open, throats clearing, shoes on the floor, got louder.

Gilly, the girl with long hair, dropped her head into her hand, staring at her desk.

“I heard they’re all dykes,” Sarah loud whispered back.

My stomach flopped in my belly.

Suddenly there was a loud bang at the front of the classroom. Everyone looked up to see Mr. Davidson, his hands still hovering in the air over the book he’d dropped. He picked the book up. “We’re in class now. And in class we listen until spoken to.”

Across the room, Tanner gave a big stretch and yawned.

“Mr. Spencer.” Mr. Davidson stepped into the open circle of desks, walked over to Tanner and put his finger on the desk in front of him. “SIT. UP.”

Tanner slowly unfolded his body until he was sitting up straight.

I could feel Berry looking at me.

She mouthed, “Sorry.”

I could see a sheen of sweat beaded on her forehead.

“It’s okay,” I whispered back.

I opened my poetry book and flipped through it, my lips numb.

Mr. Davidson strode through the classroom back to his desk.

“Why don’t we start with. . .Gilly? Read our first poem on page six.”

Gilly raised her head slowly. “What?”

“Reading,” Davidson repeated. “Which we all enjoy. Please open your book, Gilly.”

I flipped through the contents while Gilly opened her book and started reading the first poem, by Robert Frost. The textbook was about 70 percent white guys, but it had a poem by Mary Oliver in it, “Wild Geese.” Which is Lucy’s favorite poem.

Ideally seeing Mary Oliver’s words would have carried me past this very stressful situation. Because she is a very very amazing writer. But all I could feel was a buzzing in my head during the rest of English. When the bell rang, I followed Berry to the cafeteria like there was cement in my sneakers, selecting a boat of fries to go with my apple juice. Outside, there was a paved area filled with tables. We sat at one near the edge.

“Yeah so,” Berry said, dropping down onto her seat and biting into her apple.

“Yeah.”