“I ain’t trying to meddle in your business. I’m a live-and-let-live sort of dude. But I hear things. If it’s none of my business, just let me know.” I press my hand to my chest to emphasize that I’m more than willing to back off and mind my own.

“What’d you hear?” Jaron suddenly can’t get comfortable in his chair. He studies his classmates, his eyes accusing each of them.

“You see that light-skinned dude with the beaver teeth and goofy glasses? I heard him talking about you. About how you never met a cheeseburger you didn’t like.”

“He said that?” Jaron sits up straighter, anger slowly filling his eyes. Like I say, everyone has their snapping point. Everyone has that limit where they grow tired of what people assume or say about them. When they can’t take any more and just want to put the world on notice to leave them alone.

“Word is bond. He says you have to go to a special Goodwill to get your shirts ’cause no one stocks sizes with that many X’s in them. And the stuff he says about your momma . . .”

“What’d he say about my momma?” Jaron balls up his sheet music in his meaty fists.

What was the point of trying to be better when other folks always believed the worst about you? Sometimes you just want to give in and be what they believe you are.

“I don’t know the woman, so I’m not making any judgments, but he was saying how she don’t cook. She just shovels food into a trough, then rings a bell to have you come eat.”

“That . . .” Jaron springs up and dashes across the room.

The sound of a chair scraping the floor causes the sub to pause mid-writing on the whiteboard the list of classwork to be completed today and turn around. The sight of Jaron charging toward another student with murderous intent freezes him. While the sub gathers himself to figure out what to do next, I turn to my right.

With a sly glance, I study the boy. Sweat-streaked dirt rings his shirt collar. Something greasy smears his wrinkled pants. His shoes flop with each step as the sole separates from the rest of it. “Hey, my dude.”

“My name’s RaShawn. Hold up, man, I want to see this.” RaShawn Lothery, like I didn’t already know his name, crouches half out of his chair in order to sneak a peek.

The sub wraps his arms around Jaron, but in a tentative way, not wanting to injure him. Or just scared of being sued later. But Jaron is a beefy kid, much larger and harder to get ahold of, especially when he’s all worked up.

“That’s cool. I probably ought to stay out of what folks are saying about you anyway.” I lean back in my chair with a cool disinterest.

RaShawn keeps one eye on the fight, but the other returns to me. “What’d you say?”