Rashid stared at the page until the words began to run together. More careful study. That’s all he’d been trying to do since he got here. And Washington was giving him no credit at all. Rashid looked up at the teacher, who gave him an icy glance. If he hadn’t been in a classroom full of boys, he might have broken down and cried. But since he was in a classroom, he got up, gathered his books and the test with the horrible note, and walked to Washington’s desk. “Mr. Washington?”

“Yes, Mr. Bryson?”

“Mr. Fox talked to me today. He wants me to go on a recruiting trip into the city with you and Ms. Hansen and some other students. I guess we’ll be going to some schools like the one I came from. Looking for some more guys like me.”

Rashid could feel the edge in his voice as he said this last. And from the look on his face, he knew that Washington heard it, too. They might have been standing on a street corner, shattered glass under their feet, the whir of traffic going by. The hum of privilege seemed to vanish, the quietly lovely campus, the beautifully appointed classroom with enough unbroken, undamaged chairs and room for everyone, the textbooks that were current and not destroyed by overuse and obsolescence—all that seemed to disappear in that moment. They were two black men, dark hard skin about the same shade. The same angry look in their eyes. Silence rose up between them.

Washington broke first. He looked down at his desk, arranging papers quickly and stuffing them into his briefcase. “Very well, then. Perhaps you will avail yourself sometime soon of the opportunity to discuss your work with me. Or at least to apply yourself to it with a bit more enthusiasm. I want you to take advantage of the chances you’ve been given.”

“I will.”

Washington left the room first. Rashid followed behind him a few steps, but then turned to go his own way, back to his locker. Who’s going to help me? he thought. But then he thought that maybe there was no help for him. That however this played out, he would have to play it out alone.

Gerald came up behind him at his locker and got him in a fast headlock. “What up, G?”

Rashid felt the heat behind his eyes and the tightness in his throat quickly shoot down to his stomach. He was back in control. “Nothing, man. Nothing at all.”

“How was Washington today?”

“The same.” The big, determined roundness of the D, the definite little slash following it. The same. Gerald was speaking again.

“Listen, man, did Fox speak to you?” he said.

“About this trip? Yeah, he did. You gonna do it?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Hell, yeah.”