“What is, man?” Gerald said without looking up.

“Killing ourselves studying on the first day of classes. We’ve got all weekend. Let’s go catch some tube or go do something before lights out.” He closed his just-opened text with an authoritative snap.

Rashid looked at Gerald, his eyes widening. He didn’t dare stop working or he’d never, ever be able to stay at Chelsea. Scott and Gerald looked relaxed, at ease. “Jesus, Hayward,” said Gerald, “we just got down here. What’d you think we were gonna do, jerk off? They call it the study room.”

“I know, I know, but hey. We’re young. We should be farting around, watching TV, staying up all night cramming the night before tests, not the week classes start.”

“Well, call me geek. I’m staying,” replied Gerald.

Scott turned to Rashid. “And you? You a geek, too, man?”

“No … I mean yeah, I guess I am. I gotta finish this stuff.”

Hayward made a great show of mock exasperation and pulled his stuff up under his arm. “Well, I guess I’ll see ya later, then.” He left the room. Rashid’s head was pounding. At his old school, that definitely would have ended up with a fight. But Gerald had turned back to his book calmly Rashid stared at him for a while. The ghetto. You didn’t learn how to talk to a guy like Scott Hayward in the ghetto. Not in any ghetto he’d ever been in, anyway.

Gerald looked up. “What are you looking at?” he said, one eyebrow raised.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“You need to be thinking about that Latin. Washington’s gonna kick your ass. You know it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He turned his eyes back to his book, and the words formed themselves in front of him, a little more sensible this time. But that lump was still in his throat. He wondered if it was ever going to go away.

They Say That It’s a Man’s World
(But You Can’t Prove That by Me)