“I said I know about you. You motherfucker.” His voice was a low hum. Sasser couldn’t hear. He didn’t even know he was going to say it. But it was all right. Washington was silent, clearly too stunned to respond. “You spend all your time talking about honor and justice, and you’ll do any goddamn thing you can to get my black ass out of this school. You’ll do any goddamn thing you can. I don’t know who fucked with you to get you so royally fucked up, but you know what … I don’t care. You’re not getting me out of here. I’m not getting beat down. You got that?” He felt calm. Unafraid. They stared into each other’s eyes. Then Rashid drew a deep breath. Went on. “You know one other thing? The really sad thing? As far as they’re concerned, there ain’t … there isn’t any difference between us. You’re just another nigger.”

Washington slapped him full in the face, so hard and so fast that he didn’t have a second to think, a second to react, even a second to regret his words. He was just down, his crutches flying out from under him. And then, almost as fast, Washington was kneeling over him, trying to help him up and apologizing frantically, and calling him some other name—Isaiah, it sounded like.

Rashid got to his feet unsteadily, without Washington’s help, and stood for a moment regarding him. His eyes were filled with tears, a muscle in his jaw jumping furiously. “My name’s not Isaiah. I don’t even know who the hell Isaiah is. My name’s Rashid. Rashid Bryson. You know that.”

“I do know that. I’m so sorry. I don’t know …”

Rashid rubbed his cheek absently, massaging away the sting. “It’s a lot you don’t know. I see that now.” His voice was gentle but confident, not angry anymore. “Look what they’ve done to you.” He took a deep breath. “Look what you’ve done to yourself.” Mr. Sasser was just a few feet away now, a look of horror on his face. Rashid spoke up, more loudly. “It’s okay, Mr. Sasser. It’s all over now.”

What’s Going On

EVEN ONCE IT had faded into the past, washing away and away from me, I still had trouble believing it. He had been my lover, after all. You like to think you know a person before you allow them that. Know the worst thing they would do. But I didn’t. He hit a child. A child in his care. There was some talk that Rashid had said or done something first. But what could it have been? What could have provoked something like that? I will never understand it.