Gerald shot a surprised look at Rashid but nodded after a moment. “Cool, I got this period free, too.” The boys returned to their lockers, got their coats, and pushed through the school’s front doors at the same time. They teased and joked as they walked into the dense woods surrounding the tennis courts. The air was tense with cold, sharp and glassy, and as they walked away from the school, gradually the only sounds to be heard were their heavy hiking boots breaching the light crust of snow and ice on the ground and their voices bouncing through the air. Their breath puffed before them. After a while, they came to a small clearing, not far from the barn, that was littered with cigarette butts and the tag ends of joints. A few large rocks were arranged into a rough circle of seats. Sean dug around in his overstuffed backpack for a while and finally produced the small, soft bag of pot. He rolled a joint, quickly and expertly, picking the seeds out carefully. He held it up for brief admiration when he was done and then said, “Nature. Nothing quite like it.” Gerald and Rashid both laughed as he lit up, took a hit, and passed the joint to Rashid.

After the first couple of hits, Rashid’s head started to feel light and full of air. Latin class seemed very far away and the test in his backpack—the one that just a few minutes ago seemed as though it would burn right through to his skin—no longer even bothered him particularly. The dusting of snow on the ground took on a delicate glow. He felt as though he could see each flake if he only looked carefully enough. It had been a long time since he’d smoked—he’d done it only a couple of times back home and hadn’t done it at all at Chelsea—but the feeling of warmth swaddled him like a blanket from his childhood. Everything that had been so difficult began to shift and slip easily away, the edges softening and blurring. His friends looked particularly kind and beautiful to him. They talked for a while of many things in a circular, laughing way—football, music, girls, reading, music, girls. After a little while, Gerald and Sean were laughing about some girl who had been at the last dance they had had with Langton Day, the one where Washington hit the dance floor. “Yo, did you see that girl? That one, what’s her name, Sheila Jackson? You couldn’t miss her. She was like the best-looking honey in the place,” said Gerald.

“And she only danced with Josh McGovern,” said Sean. “She wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of you, Davis. Thinks all the Negroes other than her doctor daddy and all us Korean folks are here on scholarship while our folks back home run grocery stores or rob banks.”