Rashid stood speechless, which Washington seemed to take as assent. “I’m glad we had this talk,” he said, sticking his hand out to shake. It was cold and dry unexpectedly callused. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow. I don’t expect this morning’s incident to be repeated.”

“No, sir.”

With that, Washington turned and walked toward his office. There was a roaring inside Rashid’s head. He stood there for a long time after the man had gone.

Rashid went through the rest of the day in a kind of a fog. He went to classes to avoid the trouble he’d be in if he didn’t go, but he was so distracted that he couldn’t really hear. A gifted runner? Extra workout times? The highest levels? He liked running, the smoothness of his stride, the way he didn’t have to think, the way it felt to have the tape snap across his chest—ping—and everyone cheering. But how could he even consider more running—as hard as his schoolwork was? And if it meant more time with Wooden Washington … He couldn’t imagine it. His legs turned to stone at the thought, and his eyes filled with tears. He kept feeling Washington’s hand on his shoulder, hearing his voice going on, remembering himself crying in the barn. He didn’t even go to dinner. He couldn’t eat. When Gerald came in about seven, he was sitting on his bed, staring at the gray-green wall opposite him. Gerald threw his backpack on his bed, took a long look at Rashid, and came to a decision. He spoke.

“What is up with you, man? You ain’t said two words to me since you got back from wherever it is you went this morning, and you been acting beyond weird for longer than that. Last couple of days, really. Since we got back from my folks’ house. And then Washington wants to speak to you. What is going on?”

That did it. More tears came to Rashid’s eyes, but this time he let them fall. He felt something shifting inside of him. He sat up and his mouth opened to set free some words. He didn’t know what they would be until he spoke them. “My brother is dead. He’s been dead for a year. More than a year.” He looked steadily at his feet but he could hear the creak as Gerald sat down on his own bed.

“What? You had a brother? What?”

Rashid nodded. His eyes were burning, and he brought his hands up to keep the tears, the very blood, from flowing out of them. His hands were scalded. Gerald didn’t move, but Rashid could feel his eyes on him. There was no sound but Rashid’s ragged breath. Then Gerald’s question: “What happened?”