Going through the motions of being hungry, I grab a strawberry yogurt, a package of Teddy Grahams, and a container of apple juice from the cooler outside our classroom. Part of the free breakfast program—the district makes sure every kid has a balanced breakfast to start the day. No kid left behind or something like that.

On the second floor are the seventh-grade lockers. I spin my lock and open mine. A mirror greets me and I check my hair. Beneath it is a cup containing pens and highlighters. On the top shelf, what few books I need—since they have me mostly on computers—are stacked in a neat pile. Three rows of hanging shelves organize my folders. Taking the bare minimum I need for class, one folder and tucking a pen behind my ear, I close my locker and lean against it. I just manage to fit the straw into my apple juice when Nehemiah storms down the hall with a mean mug on, like he’s mad at the air.

Nehemiah bounces his Teddy Grahams package off my chest. He hates them because he “never trusts anything that smiles all the time.”

“Hey, T. What you no good?” We clap our hands, fire our guns, and snap our fingers as usual. From the jump, I liked Nehemiah. His confidence, his strut, his energy. Nehemiah knows who he is: one note, full volume, always. He has no pretenses about it. Sometimes I envy him that. Nehemiah glances from the unopened yogurt to my face. Twice.

I toss him my yogurt and open the second package of Teddy Grahams.

When he gets to his locker, he tugs the handle and it opens. He presets his locker so he can just open it when he’s ready. It doesn’t save him any time since he has to set the combination when he’s done and he still manages to arrive to class late. Books and folders tumble out of his locker like they’re doing a prison break. A tattered picture of Kevin Durant is glued to the inside of the door.

I check for any prying eyes before I reach for the metal bit and hand it to him. “I think I found something.”

“Where’d you get this?” Nehemiah examines it in his palm.

“In the bushes. By where they say they found the gun. What do you think it is?”

“A tie clip, I think,” Nehemiah says.

“Let me see.” I snatch it back. Now that he said that, I can see it. A cheap tie clip.

“Ain’t but one dude round here that’d wear something that corny.”

“I’m just wondering what our next move should be,” I say.

“Doesn’t matter why. Like you say, they just going to blame us anyway.”

“Yeah, well, just ’cause it’s so don’t mean it’s got to sit right with me.” I say, biting the head off another bear.

“Besides, what they going to do? Kick us out so we have to stay home and watch TV all day?”