GATORS ARE JUST SOMETHING YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT where I come from. Most don’t go anywhere near the houses, even though there are lots of delicious children and dogs there. Every once in a while, though, an alligator has a lightbulb moment and decides to take a stroll and see the world a bit. One day when I was eight or so, I opened the back door, and I saw this thing way at the end of the yard. I remember thinking it was a big black log—so, of course, I went down to look at it, because what’s more exciting than a big log, right? I know. Children are stupid.

I had gotten about halfway down the yard when I realized the log was moving toward me. Something in the primitive part of my brain immediately said, “Alligator. Alligator. ALLIGATOR.” But for a second, I couldn’t move. I had to stand there and watch the thing come toward me. It looked genuinely happy, like it couldn’t believe its luck. It started slowly, waddling its way closer to get a better look. And there I was, with my brain still saying, “ALLIGATOR. ALLIGATOR.” Something finally clicked, and I started running like hell toward the house, screaming one of those high-pitched screeches only kids can do.

Okay, maybe it didn’t get that close and it didn’t move that much, but it still came toward me, and if you’ve been chased by an alligator at any distance or speed, I don’t think people should get all “But how far was it? And how fast was it going?”

And I’m not saying that having Boo Chodhari in my room was exactly like having an alligator in my yard, but there were certain similarities. It broke the illusion that this space was our own. It wasn’t. The school was just an environment—a little ecosystem—over which we had no control.