His mother turned back to the television. “If they ask. But I don’t see any reason to announce it. We’ve said that to the headmaster and the admissions people.”

Rashid turned to the television, his chest tightening. He’d said there was nothing to be ashamed of. But why did he feel guilty? He felt guilty even for drawing breath. And he was ashamed. That’s why he told no one.

He supposed he ought to tell them about the essay. But it was easy enough not to. Right after he got back from Gerald’s, he talked to his mother on the phone. She asked about his visit. He told her he had had fun, that they’d fed him well, and that Gerald’s parents were very nice. He didn’t say, You’re supposed to eat chicken with a knife and fork. He didn’t say, Gerald’s mother looks like a model and their house looks like a TV show. He didn’t say, Gerald’s sister is alive. He didn’t say, I wrote about Kofi because my heart is crumbling in my chest. He didn’t say, Mama, I miss you. He hung up the phone at the end of the conversation. He was holding the receiver so tightly that his hand hurt.

The day after he’d handed in his paper, he felt every eye in the school on him—though in fact Ms. Hansen hadn’t sought him out to speak with him and no one else knew about it. Still, the only place he felt comfortable all day was in the barn.

He hadn’t planned on taking this course when he’d come to visit, and he knew that none of his boys back home would even half believe it, but the truth was that he had developed a real affection for the big, black cows. This course probably wouldn’t do him any good after he left Chelsea. But he was comfortable in the barn. The cows asked nothing of him, nothing but that he bring them hay and feed. That he could do. Today, he didn’t have to deal with the other boys much because it was his day in the stalls, a duty each boy took alone. The cows mooed noisily as he entered the barn.