Rodrigo raises his index finger to ask for one minute. The second Mrs. Horner and Mr. Blackmon turn away, he flips off the rest of the class. He can’t help himself.

“Come on, Pierce,” Twon says to the last kid remaining in his seat. “Mrs. Horner wants us all in community circle.”

“It’s okay. Leave Pierce alone,” Mrs. Horner says. “He’s doing his work.”

“Yeah, plus he has that creepy stare. I don’t need to deal with that before lunch,” Rodrigo whispers.

Pierce Lyons is in sixth grade, but is so small for his size he looks like he could’ve been in third. With his blond hair trimmed down to military length, a thick cloud of freckles dots each cheek. His regular teacher even leaves him in here to eat his lunch at a desk. Like Nehemiah, he violates the school uniform policy with regularity. Unlike Nehemiah, he wears a sweater vest and necktie, which make him look like he wandered in from some upscale private academy. The colors almost match the Persons Crossing Public Academy colors, so Mrs. Horner lets it slide.

Then again, if there’s a student Mrs. Horner tends to favor, it’s Pierce. She holds out hope for him, I guess. We aren’t dumb. We know if his skin was darker, he’d be deemed as much a lost cause as the rest of us. It’s the other reason we tune her out. There’s something to be said for self-preservation.

The vaulted ceilings hide recessed fluorescent lights that call attention to the row of student names: Thelonius, Nehemiah, Twon, Rodrigo, Pierce, Brionna. Centered between them is a quote: “In a world where you can be anything . . . be yourself!” The carpet of the Special Ed room matches the rest of the school with its pink-against-maroon pattern woven into it. The wall with the whiteboard fixed to it is a faded red. This is the only room in the school with anything close to pink in it. Some genius convinced someone gullible along the way that the color scheme would be soothing. Burgundy cubbies hold our coats, backpacks, and lunch boxes along the wall farthest from the door. Cabinets hang over a sink on the side where the time-out closet is. Its door dangles open, like an expectant mouth eager to devour the next kid that acts out. That’s why most kids called it the “Scream Room” instead.

“Raise your hands if you’ve come back to the class and found your stuff messed with or stolen.” Mrs. Horner starts her morning lecture she calls community circle. Community circle was supposed to be about sharing frustrations and working through our feelings. I swear teachers have nothing better to do than come up with new ways for us to think about our feelings. Feelings we got. Communicating our feelings we got. When Nehemiah takes off his shirt and screams at people, even the dullest detective in the world can pick up on his feelings. Most days Mrs. Horner simmers, just as frustrated as us, except she works through her feelings by punishing us. We just have to take it . . . while thinking about our feelings.