“He’s black when it’s convenient for other people, and white when it’s not,” I say. “If Hannah can’t introduce Ezra to her parents, then she doesn’t deserve him.”

She doesn’t deserve Ezra, period.

“I’m gonna go.” I shift the backpack on my shoulder and tug on the sleeve of Ezra’s coat. “I need to call Mama and have her pick me up. These pants are ruined.”

“Okay.” Mona’s mischievous smile returns with a vengeance. “What are you gonna tell Jeremy?”

An image of Hannah comes to mind, a memory from Ezra’s Bar Mitzvah. Hannah dressed in pink, her face pretty and smooth and sprinkled with freckles. Her long, curly hair had been loose and hanging down her back. Is that what Ezra wants? Someone who looks more like his mother than like me? A lump burns in my throat like lit coal, and I have trouble swallowing past it.

“Yeah.” I turn and head toward the office to call Mama. “I’ll go to the dance with Jeremy. Whatever.”

I call and leave a message at the elementary school front desk since Mama’s teaching.

How long will she take?

In the hall, I lower my eyes every time a student walks by. Even seated and with the safety of Ezra’s jacket, it feels like they can see my stain.

“Kimba,” Mrs. Stern says from the office door. “You ready?”

I grab my backpack and tighten Ezra’s windbreaker at my waist. She climbs behind the wheel of her green Camry and I take the passenger seat. Mrs. Stern pulls carefully out of the school parking lot like she’s testing for her driver’s permit.

“Your mom’s in class, obviously,” Mrs. Stern says. “So she asked me to come.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

We ride in silence. It’s not awkward exactly. More like the kind of quiet where you don’t have to say anything and it’s okay. Mrs. Stern often makes me feel that way. Maybe that’s where Ezra gets it.

“So I heard you had a little accident,” she says, shooting me a quick glance when we come to a stoplight. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, but if you do…”

I shake my head and fix my gaze out the window, staring at the trees dressed in their brightest colors, celebrating spring.

“Well, just know it happens to all us girls at some point,” Mrs. Stern says. “Anyway, having just Ezra, I don’t get to deal with the girl problems. I thought we’d have another, but we haven’t been able to.”

She doesn’t sound sad exactly. I can see how Ezra would be enough for anybody.

“I do have a question,” I say after another few seconds of silence.

“Oh, of course.” Her voice is eager, and she flashes me an encouraging smile. “Anything.”