“Mmm.” Rashid had turned his attention back to his book and was chewing hard on the edge of his thumb. The words swam in front of him. Amo, amas, amat. Transitive, intransitive, present perfect. What? He jumped a little when he heard Gerald’s voice, hoping that his roommate hadn’t noticed. “You better not get too comfortable, cuz. It’s almost time for our next class. What do you got?” Gerald shouldered his backpack easily.

“I got English next. Miss Hansen.”

“Me too. Come on, bro.” Gerald paused, then grinned. “Washington is such a Poindexter-looking dude anyway. Latin will do that to you. I don’t get why you’re taking it.”

“I don’t know. I thought it would be cool. And you don’t have to take as much.”

“I guess. You coming?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hold up.”

Rashid and Gerald were the only black boys on the floor of their dorm, their room the last one at the back of the hall. They’d been quick to dub it “the ghetto,” but in fact, this was as close to a real ghetto as Gerald had ever been. Both boys realized this early on, but they couldn’t find a way to talk about it. The knowledge was just there, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes not. The first day of school, the two boys came out of the shower at the same time, Gerald barefoot, Rashid wearing the flip-flops he always wore. He never went barefoot because his mother told him it was nasty Besides, where was it safe to walk? There was always glass and junk on the ground. “Yo, man, aren’t you worried about catching something?” said Rashid, gesturing toward Gerald’s feet.

Gerald looked baffled. “How?”

“Going barefoot. You do that all the time?”

Gerald looked even more confused and said, “Yeah. I’m usually naked in the shower, man.” He smiled a bit. Rashid shook his head. “I mean, they clean it, right?” Gerald added.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Rashid. An awkward silence persisted. What Rashid didn’t know was that at Gerald’s home, a cheerful Jamaican woman came once a week to clean. The lawns in Maryland’s Prince Georges County, where he lived, were meticulously groomed and trimmed. His house had wall-to-wall carpet. Why shouldn’t he go barefoot? What was the big deal?

Anyone looking at them as they walked across campus to their English class would not have been able to imagine that scene. They would see only two handsome black boys, walking with a group of handsome white boys across a beautiful campus toward a distinguished, low classroom building. The sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners sitting together at the table of brotherhood. The picture of a dream come true.