I never have found out exactly what happened that day. I never spoke to Jerome about it—he vanished from the campus like smoke. Rashid and I have become friends, good friends, in the year since Jerome left. But that is one thing he has never told me. And I have never asked. He doesn’t know about my relationship with Jerome. I sometimes think he suspects that something was going on but, like me, feels that some things are better left unsaid. We talk about many other things. He is astonishingly mature—sometimes I forget that I’m talking to a fifteen-year-old. He loves to tell me about his life back in Brooklyn, before he came here, though he still doesn’t say much about Kofi. He did tell me that Kofi loved to read—especially Toni Morrison. And that he played the saxophone—one his parents had saved for more than a year to buy. Rashid has it now; he’s thinking of taking lessons. His mother and father have been up to visit once or twice on various parent occasions—we’ve been out to eat. It’s touching to see the three of them together. They are like people slowly being born again—not the same, but alive.

Once this whole business with Jerome was over and Rashid came out in the right, it seemed to set something free in him. He took my help after that, the tutors, the suggestions. His grades crept up and he became more confident in class, a better student. He began to reach out to other boys as well; his hard shell peeled away. He even made a few friends besides Gerald, who remained his best buddy. Oh, the stupid ones still avoided him, and the place didn’t become a bastion of racial harmony overnight—but he stuck it out and let what was good touch him. That’s worth something, isn’t it? I think it is.

He was in my office the other day, interesting to talk to and funny and charming, and as we wound down I said, “You know, Rashid, a year ago, did you ever think that you’d be happy here? Happy the way you are right now?”

A serious look came over his face. He was silent for a long time. “I didn’t think I could ever be happy again. I didn’t think it was right … after Kofi, you know.”

“Yes.”

“But it’s not giving him anything if I’m not, you know? He’s not here either way.” He paused again. “Happy’s not the right word anyway I’m … not afraid. I’m where I have to be. I used to be scared all the time. 24-7. But now … I’m not running anymore. That’s all. Doesn’t get you anywhere anyway.”

“I suppose that’s right, Rashid.”