He was at lunch, waiting for Gerald, resisting the impulse to shake his head or hit his ears, the way you do when you get out of a pool, when Josh Bernstein, from his Latin class, came up to his table. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure. I guess. It ain’t … I mean, nobody else is sitting here yet.”

Bernstein seemed to have something on his mind. He fiddled with his knife and fork for a minute, then spoke. “Listen, Rashid. I know that you think that a lot of us are just … that we’ve got a lot of ideas about this stuff and about you, but … well, I thought what you did today took a lot of guts. More than I have, anyway.” He paused. “And that’s really sad about your brother.” He laughed nervously now. “I know we haven’t talked much. But I wanted you to know … what I was thinking. Not everybody’s the same here.”

The roaring in Rashid’s head got very quiet. “Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”

A moment’s silence hung between them, then Gerald came up to the table, “Yo, R. You. Are. The. Man! You rocked the house today. Everybody’s talking about it.”

They both turned to Gerald, and the moment was over; the conversation went on, flitting from Rashid’s speech to the terror of waiting for midterm results to whatever. No one talked about Kofi. But for a little while, Rashid felt at rest, at ease. Quiet. If only it could stay this way.

That night, another shock. He was in his room, studying, like always, when there was a knock at the door. “Phone for you, Bryson.”

For him? It was never for him. But he got up and went to answer it.

“Hi, son.” His mother’s voice. She had called him.

“Ma? I … What’s wrong?” he asked sharply.

“Nothing’s wrong, Rashid. I can’t call my son?”

Rashid was silent. She sighed and went on. “I know that I don’t usually make the call, but tonight I had the funniest feeling. I felt like I needed to talk to you. Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah.”

“So. You all right?”

His hand was so tight around the receiver that it was starting to hurt. He pressed his lips to the mouthpiece. “Mama. I told. I told,” he whispered.

“Told what, Rashid?”

“I told about Kofi. I know you and Daddy didn’t want me to, but I couldn’t stand it anymore, Mama. I couldn’t stand it. So I told everybody. I made a speech.”

She was silent. For one minute, two, more. Rashid thought about buildings collapsing, tidal waves. The roaring in his ears returned.