“Everyone was laughing at me?” I ask, rubbing in soap under the water.

“Not really.” Mona shrugs. “I think everyone was just surprised and kind of reacted at first, but then it just died down and we moved on when Mrs. Clay made other people start reading.”

I hold my hands under the forced air to dry them.

“I’m not sure who was more traumatized,” Mona continues. “You or Ezra.”

Our eyes catch in the mirror. By some miracle, our lips start twitching simultaneously. And then the tension that’s held my shoulders stiff and my back too straight for the last twenty minutes snaps, and I’m giggling. Mona giggles, too, hopping up onto the counter and leaning against the mirror.

“He hauled you out of there like he was the Secret Service or something,” Mona says.

“I know, right?” I chuckle and shake my head. “That’s Ezra.”

The air dryer stops and I grab my backpack and head for the door. The hall is empty, a stretch of muted voices behind closed doors.

“I saw him as he was coming back to class.” Mona lets the bathroom door swing closed behind her. “Told him this was girl stuff and I got it.”

“Bet that went over great,” I say dryly.

“I know you guys have been friends a long time.”

“Literally since we were babies,” I say, smiling as memories over the years run through my mind. I’ve always had Ezra and he’s always had me. I can’t imagine it any other way.

“Yeah, well, he’s a guy, and he’s gonna have to get used to sharing you with friends who are girls. I mean, he’s got Hannah now, and you don’t have a problem with it, right?”

“Hannah?” My smile dims then fades to nothing. “Ezra barely knows her. They don’t have any classes together or anything.”

“Weren’t they in that Bar Mitzvah thing, or whatever together at the synagogue a lot?” Mona nods even though I don’t respond. “That’s when it started. He didn’t tell you?”

“Um, well, I’m not sure there’s anything to tell.”

“From what I heard,” Mona says, looking around like the empty hall might be bugged before looking back to me, “her brother was mad about it.”

Stay away from Hannah.

That’s what the boy yelled that day they attacked Ezra.

“Ezra better be careful,” Mona says. “He might be all ‘Bar Mitzvah,’ but this is still Georgia, and Hannah is still white and Ezra is still black.”

Mona’s grin tips to one side, and she leans against a locker. “Well, semi-black. Her daddy would say he’s black, though I doubt she’ll be taking him home to meet the parents.”